Neanderthal Seeks Human

“It’s just water. What? Why?”

Quinn sighed. It sounded ragged. He pulled his gaze away from me as though it were painful or strenuous to do so. He stood and offered his hand to me stiffly, pulling me up with ease. “We should go get dinner.”

I tilted my head to the side, considering him, “You’re not going to answer my question?”

He shook his head, not looking at me, gathering up the basket and bottles and blanket; he tucked my glasses in the pocket of his shirt. I chewed on my lip and watched him and I couldn’t help feel like I’d said something wrong. I twisted my fingers nervously, tucking my hair behind my ears and started to help clean up.

As we pulled everything together and he still hadn’t looked at me I began to feel anxious and, therefore, my mind started to wander. I picked up the trash and walked to the waste basket, wondering whether the trash was picked up daily or whether it was every other day, wondering how much trash was generated by the park, wondering if anyone had thought about starting a recycling program in the city parks, wondering how much that would cost the city, wondering-

“Oh!”

I ran smack dab into a someone and immediately tried to take a step back but the someone grabbed my shoulders, not gently, and kept me from moving away. I looked into a rather unpleasant face. It wasn’t an ugly face; in fact it was a rather handsome face, but it was making an unpleasant expression and his eyes were hard and cold.

The stranger was maybe one or two inches taller than me and extremely muscular; his head was shaved bald, his eyes were olive green, his rather angular jaw was flexed, black tattoos wound up from the collar of his shirt around his neck, and his full mouth was curved into a rigid frown.

I managed a small, what I hoped was a, polite smile but he merely stared at me with all the flexibility of steel. I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Furthermore I had the distinct impression he wanted to do me harm.

I swallowed, again tried to move away. “Sorry, sorry- I wasn’t looking where I was going-”

Instead of releasing me his grip tightened painfully and he inclined his head forward, whispering, “If you think you’re going to talk yourself out of this-”

“Hey!” Quinn’s voice sounded from my left and I turned to watch him sprint over. His expression was thunderous; in fact, he also looked unpleasant. He looked like he was intent on doing someone a great deal of harm.

Before Quinn reached us the man released my arms, shoved me away, and held his hands up, palms out, as though he surrendered. He shuffled his feet backward. “Hey man, there’s nothing going on here.”

Quinn immediately stepped in front of me but continued to advance on the stranger, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The tone of his voice moved me to intercede, “Quinn- listen- it was nothing. I wasn’t looking where I was going and he-”

“Listen to your girlfriend-”

Quinn crowded the stockier man and leaned over him menacingly; his tone was eerily quiet, “You don’t touch her, you don’t look at her. If I ever see you again it will be the last time anyone sees you.”

I flinched. I didn’t get the impression that Quinn’s words were meant to be metaphorical or contained an ounce of dramatic license. Instinctively I felt the truth in them and I would be lying if I said, at that moment, he didn’t scare me.

The staring contest lasted another few seconds until the bald man shifted uncomfortably and lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. Seemingly satisfied, Quinn walked backwards a few steps then turned and, without looking at me, grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our abandoned picnic basket. My heart was galloping in my chest and I was shaking just a little. Without wanting to or meaning to I glanced over my shoulder.

The bald man was still watching me.

Not us.

He was watching me.

He looked at me like he knew me, like he still wanted to do me harm, like the only thing keeping him from ripping me apart was the very large, angry man at my side. I pulled my eyes away and moved closer to Quinn.

For the third time in as many weeks I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. Only, this time, I knew I was right.

We didn’t talk as we walked. Quinn held my hand firmly in his, gripping it almost to the point of painful. I carried the basket and the blanket and he held his phone, touching the screen every few minutes then glancing watchfully around the park. Instead of walking back to the garage Quinn took us to South Michigan Avenue next to the Face Fountain. We stood there for less than thirty seconds before a black SUV slowed then stopped in front of us.

Quinn opened the rear passenger door and said, “Get in.”

Too flustered to question him, I climbed into the back seat and placed the basket and blanket on the bench beside me, settling myself in the middle. Quinn came in after me, slammed the door, and I immediately heard the door lock. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cab. I glanced at Quinn, his leg was pressed against mine as he twisted in his seat and peered out the window as though he were looking for someone.

The car started to move and I sought out the identity of our driver. All I could see was the back of his head and the impressive size of his neck. It wasn’t Vincent unless Vincent had grown a foot and a half, digressed in age thirty years, and become an African American overnight. My attention was pulled back to Quinn as he settled his hand on my thigh and squeezed.

He was studying me with a guarded suspicion. I could only look at him with wide eyed confusion. I didn’t understand what had just happened. I didn’t understand why the man in the park looked at me with such a sinister expression. I didn’t understand why Quinn felt the need to go above and beyond with medieval threats. I didn’t understand why we ran out of the park like we were being pursued. I was at a complete loss.

My chin may have wobbled.

Quinn must have caught the movement because he moved his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest. I wasn’t in any danger of crying but I didn’t push his comfort away. It felt good to be wrapped in his arms so I allowed myself to rest there, absorbed by the strength of him. He set his chin on my head and I felt him sigh.

“Do you know that guy?” I asked, my voice sounding remarkably small in the big car.

He stiffened, “No.” his hand slid from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer. Then he said, “I don’t know. He looked familiar.”

I lifted my head from his chest so I could look in his eyes, “Is he one of the private clients?”

Quinn shook his head, his eyes flickering briefly to the driver then back to me, “No. Definitely not… No, he looks like someone I used to know...”

“Oh.”

His thumb stroked my hip and his eyes traveled searchingly over my face, “Are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Quinn’s voice was rough.

“No. No, he just startled me.” I licked my lips, “He was probably just some stranger and, remember, I bumped into him so… no big deal.”

He nodded but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. I placed my hand on his chest and he covered it with his own, moving it to his heart. It was beating rapidly. He cleared his throat, “Do you- uh- want to go home?”

I gave him a small smile, “Home?”

He shook his head and said, “You should probably get home.”

A dark cloud of disappointment settled over my forehead. I wasn’t ready for the night to be over. I didn’t understand why my clumsy encounter meant our evening had to end.

“What are my options?” I looked at our entwined hands covering his heart then I licked my lips as my eyes moved to his mouth.

“Home.” He said the word firmly.

My gaze met his and found him regarding me with a paradoxical heated stoicism; dually pushing me away and crushing me close. Something possessed me, call it wonton woman instinct, and I pressed myself to him; I felt him stiffen. I slid my body upwards, crushing my chest against his; I felt his breath hitch. My leg moved between his and I lifted my mouth to his neck then his ear and whispered, hoping the words didn’t come out clumsily and awkward, “I’m hungry.”

Another ragged sigh escaped him, similar in tenor to the one in the park, his hand moving again to my thigh where my dress had hitched upward baring my leg. He rested it there, the palm of his hand warming my skin, for a hesitating second before he pulled the hem of my skirt down to cover my knee and shifted away from me on the seat. I felt the loss of his warmth acutely as he disentangled our limbs.

Quinn leaned forward slightly toward the driver, “We need to take Ms. Morris home.”

I watched him; at first surprised then, eventually, with the understanding of stinging rejection ringing in my ears. A scarlet so deep I felt in danger of being consumed by embarrassed incineration wound its way up my neck to my cheeks and the tip of my ears. I crossed my arms over my chest and angled my knees away from him as he settled back next to me.

We sat in silence for a brief moment and I could hear the whooshing of the blood through my heart and between my ears. My brain was overtaken by a dramacoaster of adolescent self-doubt- which I embraced as fact: I am never going to be that girl. It just isn’t in me to be sexy and seductive.

As we approached my building I pulled my bag from the picnic basket. Quinn surprised me by brushing unruly curls from my shoulder. I turned to look at him; he was holding my glasses out between us.