Neanderthal Seeks Human

“You said you weren’t angry.”

“In retrospect I think I was angry-” I tried to take a step to the side and met only the immobile granite of his arm, “-am angry.” I corrected myself.

“What can we do about that?” his eyes moved between mine.

I tried to keep my voice steady. Again his closeness was twisting my stomach in to knots. Didn’t he understand the concept of personal space?

“You can start by moving out of the way. I’ve been gone for too long and my lunch is now cold.”

I let out a breath of relief tinged with a semi-subconscious note of disappointment as he stepped back; he straightened and let his arms fall to his sides. It was suddenly clear to me that our short time together had helped me to become slightly more at ease around him. If he’d cornered me like he’d just done when he escorted me from my old job I think I would have spontaneously combusted with lust or fainted into a coma of bliss.

It felt like we were becoming friends or, at least, friendly. I didn’t see him as just a delicious piece of man meat any more. I saw him as Quinn: pushy, intelligent, frustrating, sexy Quinn who liked to tease me and thought I was smart and talented.

The corner of his mouth pulled upward just a fraction, “Yesterday you said I could interrupt your meals anytime.”

I grunted non-committedly and wrapped my arms around myself; without his closeness I felt cold and something about his eyes made me shiver.

He sighed, suddenly becoming serious, “Listen, I was calling earlier to cancel for today but I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten for training.” he pulled a hand through his hair, the locks arranging themselves with adorable askewness before settling back to their tousled perfection, “You go eat your cold lunch. I have to go to a meeting.”

“Go then.” I shrugged. “And if you lock yourself out of your car don’t call me. I won’t be answering my cell phone.”

His eyes narrowed threateningly in response, “You’ll answer. Besides, I’m taking the motorcycle.”

I frowned, “Be careful on that thing.”

He nodded once, gave me a half smile, and left. I stood in place for several minutes after he left, motionless except for intermittent smiles and frowns alternating over my features. I replayed our conversation in my head; the phone felt heavy in my pocket. I thought about appealing to Carlos about the phone; as Quinn said, Carlos was my boss and if he decided the phone was unnecessary then maybe I could get out of having to carry it around.

On my way back to my office to eat my now cold lunch I felt the phone vibrate against my thigh. At first I didn’t know what it was and jumped in startled surprise. I fished out the contraption and glanced at the screen; true to his word he’d sent me a joke:

There are 10 kinds of people in the world, those who understand binary numbers and those who don't

I shook my head and said to no one in particular, “What a nerd.”

But, by the time I existed the elevator to my floor I had a silly grin on my face and any thoughts of appealing to Carlos had vanished.

When I arrived home that night after tutoring on the south side Elizabeth was still gone and it looked like she hadn’t yet returned to the apartment. This was fairly typical and I think was one of the main reasons why she and I were able to cohabitate in a small one bedroom apartment with no issues or drama. That and we were drama free by nature. I plowed through my Chinese takeout then dutifully opened my laptop and began searching for two bedroom apartments.

Three hours later and no real progress made, I navigated instead to my email. As usual, I had an email from my dad; it was a forward of some joke. This was how he communicated with me. I often wondered if my dad knew he could modify the content of messages as he’d never sent me anything but forwarded emails.

There was also an email from Jon.

Jon and I were speaking every few days and meeting for coffee or lunch or dinner since his freak-out a week and a half earlier. It was almost like dating again except we lived separately and the night didn’t end with soft kisses and caresses but rather awkward goodbyes and weird staring contests.

Each time we saw each other he would indirectly- or, sometimes, not so indirectly- bring up the possibility of us getting back together. I hoped that over time he would realize our romantic past was exactly that: the past.

This particular email from Jon was in response to me and a confirmation of changing a lunch to a dinner.

Jon and I were scheduled to meet for lunch on Friday afternoon and I was planning to bring Steven along. One day at work, after reviewing the corporate account structures and during a particularly funny story about one of Steven’s most recent dating disasters, I mentioned to Steven that Jon- my ex- and I were still friends. Steven, his grey eyes narrowing with plain suspicion, said he wanted to see what an amicable break-up looked like; he insisted the concept was as mythical as odor-free cat litter.

However, since Quinn’s announcement less than forty eight hours ago that my days would now include afternoons spent meeting corporate partners, I emailed Jon earlier in the day and canceled the lunch. Instead it was settled that Jon, Steven, and I would all have dinner together tomorrow night at a new Ethiopian restaurant near my place.

Before I closed my inbox another message popped up, sent less than a minutes ago. I blinked at the screen several times before the words made sense.

It was from my younger sister, Jem.

The body of the email was blank but the subject line read: I’m coming to visit, I want to see you.

CHAPTER 10

The next morning I woke up, took a shower, got dressed in ten minutes then spent twenty minutes contemplating my shoe selection. I arrived at the office early and started working through emails, pending tasks, and preparation for my upcoming business trip to Las Vegas in less than two weeks. Minutes ticked by at a cruelly slow pace. My mind wandered to Jem’s strange email.

I was so engrossed in my meanderings that the ring of my cell phone made me jump. Frantically and fumbling I answered. It was ridiculous. My office phone never made me nervous.

“Hello?” I said when I finally brought it to my ear.

“Hey- it’s me. Come downstairs.” Quinn’s gravely tenor sounded from the other end. There was traffic in the background and the roar of a large truck.

I sighed as I stood, gathering my portfolio from the desk, “Why didn’t you just call my office phone? I’m in my office.”

“I wanted to make sure you were reachable on the cell.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I felt half-heartedly annoyed.

“Next time just call the office phone.” I hung up on him before he could respond and felt a little twinge of satisfaction. If he could initiate a conversation with me whenever he wanted then I could end it whenever I wanted.

A black Mercedes was illegally parked at the corner and Quinn stepped out of the back seat as I exited the building. He wasn’t wearing his guard uniform or a suit; instead his tall form was clothed in black boots, dark jeans, and a blue t-shirt; as normal, his hair was expertly tousled, his face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sun glasses. I took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He looked really yummy. I may have sighed. I may have licked my lips.

I walked out to the car, feeling a little conspicuous in my capped sleeve red oxford shirt, grey pants, and red satin stilettos. I’d opted to wear my glasses instead of contacts; for some reason I always felt a little bit more invisible when I wore glasses, like I blended into the scenery behind the frames. My hair was once again in a tight bun. As I approached I saw my reflection in his sunglasses which only increased my unease. I thought he was going to lecture me for hanging up on him but instead he smiled as I approached.

“Hey.” He nodded once.

“Hi.” I gave him a half wave, gripping a portfolio notebook to my chest for taking notes; just in case. Neither Steven nor Carlos proactively briefed me on the scope or purpose of the training. I thought of Steven’s statement yesterday when I asked him if I should prepare or bring anything for the training, that we would tour a property but it should take only an hour.

Steven was half right. Quinn did show me one of the properties but we were not back within the hour.

The car took us a short distance to the League Center. The League Center is your typical arena concert venue and Guard Systems was acting as a security consultant for the managing security company.

There had been a number of breeches in physical security during the last six months. The most recent included an impressively enthusiastic fan that posed as a roadie and serenaded the early audience with a drunken/stoned rendition of Justin Beber, or Bieber or something, Girl, I Love You Hard song. Note, Justin Bieber may or may not have a song entitled Girl, I Love You Hard; however, the title- I feel- is reflective enough of Justin Bieber songs- as a sum total- to be utilized as a placeholder for whatever song this drunken crazy person was singing.

When we arrived we were given a comprehensive tour and the visit ended up being part business meeting between Quinn, the lead Guard Security liaison, and the onsite supervisor of the security management company; part training-slash-information session for my benefit; part review and tour of newly implemented measures.

Quinn was very quiet in the car on the drive to the League Center and very businessy, abrupt, and authoritative with everyone we encountered at the venue. He was not the Quinn I knew from club Outrageous, the morning after at his sister’s apartment and Giavani’s Pancake Diner, Smith’s deli or even Starbucks. If he didn’t look bored he looked unimpressed. People called him Mr. Sullivan or Sir. At one point I thought one of the ground staff was going to salute.