Neanderthal Seeks Human
I frowned at him, he must’ve tossed his kippers, “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t write it down. I keep a running log in my head- you know, of things I liked, didn’t like. Things you liked, or seemed to like. That kind of stuff.”
He slow-blinked, “Oh.” His eyes moved between mine, plain bemusement was an unusual expression for him.
Growing uncomfortable under his stalwart scrutiny, I dipped my chin, once again not wanting to meet his gaze directly. It was, perhaps, too soon to share my freakish tendencies with him.
However, it abruptly occurred to me, perhaps it was exactly the right time to be sharing my freakish tendencies with him. Perhaps now was precisely the right time to send him running, which he would inevitably do, before I really changed and started zealously pursuing him to get my next Quinn-fix.
Before some Quinn-related biochemical process, likely methylation, flipped on all the girl-gone-wild genetic markers of my DNA.
“It’s like shoe sizes.” I volunteered, studying him closely.
“Shoe sizes.” He slow-blinked again, “What are you talking about?”
“Well, they only make so many shoe sizes. If your feet are larger than the largest shoe size then you are considered to have freakishly big feet.” I touched my thumb and forefinger to the buttons of my shirt, ensuring they were all completely fastened and rigidly buttoning the last two. “You should know that I have similarly inescapable freakish attributes.”
Quinn immediately smiled but then suppressed it; he cleared his throat, “Well, what about clowns? They wear freakishly big shoes.”
“So?”
“So- big shoes have their place.”
“Yeah. In the circus…” I crossed my arms, “You know, with the freaks.”
He mimicked my stance, “You are not a freak.”
“You should know this about me before this, whatever this is, gets out of hand. I am, indeed, a freak.”
“Define ‘out of hand’.”
My cheeks flamed at how he made the colloquialism sound sordid.
Regardless, I straightened my spine and attempted to come across as reasonable, logical; “You know, before this turns into something… else and you think I’m one way and I’m actually another way.”
“Janie, you’re not the only one in this room who is freakish.”
Blush, meet nose and ears. Nose and ears, meet blush. You will be spending lots of time together.
“No you’re not. You’re a falcon and I’m an ostrich.”
Looking very predatory, he narrowed his eyes, “First, you are using too many analogies today and-”
I interrupted, “See?” I pointed to myself with both hands for emphasis, “Freak!”
He ignored me, “-secondly, I can totally see the similarities between you and an ostrich.”
This surprised me; I thought he would try to defend me against my own insults.
“I- uh- you can?” It was my turn to slow-blink.
“Yes.” The slow-sexy-grin gradually claimed his features.
“Because I’m a strange bird who buries my head in the sand?”
He laughed as he rubbed his chin lightly, “No, because you have long legs, large eyes, and-” his eyes moved over my hair, “a lot of plumage.”
Unthinkingly, I reached for the dreaded crazy-town curls and twisted the bulk of them, hoping to calm their chaoticness, to no avail.
He smiled at me.
At me.
The full force of his smile felt almost painful.
“So, about dinner…”
“I- uh- can’t go out with you tonight.” I was somewhat surprised by how normal my voice sounded. “You know, I’m meeting my knitting group. I told you before, before we- before you-” I huffed.
Quinn titled his head to the side, his smile receding, and he lifted his large hands to cover my shoulders. It was so strange to think that he could, and would, just touch me. That it was now suddenly ok and expected because the seal had been broken, the line had been crossed.
I held certain truths to be self-evident, truths about myself and people and the world and how everything fit together, and those were changing.
Everything was changing rather fast.
Everything.
The only thing that was constant was the change.
His hands moved down my arms and he tugged me toward him, away from the desk. I allowed him to pull me to his chest as he swept the drape of hair from my face. He tilted my chin upwards and kissed me softly on the mouth.
He didn’t release me, his long fingers now under my chin, but did shift his head far enough away so that his forehead and nose were in focus. Quinn’s eyes moved between mine; I was once again struck by how blue they were and I lost some of my breath when I endeavored to exhale.
He frowned, “You still want to go to your knitting group tonight?”
I nodded.
His gaze moved over my features as though looking for the veracity of my head-bob answer.
“You could always skip this week and spend some time with that guy you’re dating.” His hands moved to my waist, ostensibly to keep me in place.
I swallowed and pressed my lips into a smile. “That is very tempting.”
His mouth hooked to the side; he looked just hopeful; it was another expression when, by itself, felt all kinds of strange on his typically reserved features, “We could go out to a movie.”
I wanted- no, needed- to keep my knitting group commitment. It suddenly felt really important.
“It’s my night to bring the wine. If I don’t go they’ll start prank calling senior citizens then blame me for the ensuing arrests.”
The truth was I needed time to figure this out. I was, I believed prematurely, very attached to Quinn. Forming an attachment to someone typically took me years. I’d known him less than six weeks and already felt more and thought more- about him, for him- than I’d ever felt for Jon.
For the love of Thor, I was missing him even when we were in the same room together. The force of the feelings and the virtually all-consuming nature of them made me want to hide under my desk until my brain and my heart and my vagina came to a consensus.
Therefore, I pushed him away, albeit gently, and insisted on meeting my friends.
His expression morphed into one that was familiar, taciturn. I noticed that Quinn’s jaw ticked and his mouth curved downward.
He sighed. It sounded pained.
“Janie I thought that- after-“ Quinn licked his lips, released my waist, and stepped away. His arms crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart as though posturing himself. “What is it?” His tone was chipped.
I swallowed before answering, “What is what?”
The predatory look returned; what felt like hostility reticulated through his glare, “We just-” his voice started to rise and I watched as he swallowed with difficulty, glanced to the side, sighed again, “You want to go spend time with your knitting group, tonight, after what just happened? After what happened last night?”
I started to worry my lip, my eyes were wide, “…Yes?”
“Yes?” His eyebrows rose expectantly, “Is that a question?”
“… No?”
Quinn’s eyebrows pulled into a sharp V. “Are we on the same page here at all?”
“I don’t know what to say.” I hugged myself, gritting my teeth.
We stared at each other, the moment was protracted, stiff like a heavily starched shirt. His gaze- weary, accusatory, but searching- made me feel like I was an imbecile. Maybe I was.
In fact, I knew I was.
I had the opportunity to spend the evening with Quinn- who I really, really, really liked in every way- and I was passing it up because I was scared.
Yes, scared.
Fe, fi, fo, fum, scared.
Unable to hold his penetrating glare, I let out a slow breath, closed my eyes, and turned away from him, just my face, and shook my head.
“I don’t know what to say.” I repeated, my voice sounding strangely lost to my own ears.
I felt, rather than saw, him shift closer. “If you’re not interested in me- that way, as something permanent- then you need to tell me now.”
My half laugh was involuntary, immediate, as were my words, “God, Quinn, you have no idea how permanent I’d like this to be. I’d like us to be twinkies and cockroaches, death and taxes. But I-”
His hands were on me again, on my waist, slipping around to my back, pressing me to his chest, pulling me into an embrace. I automatically gabbed fistfuls of his shirt and clung to him.
“Then stay with me tonight.” His words were warm against my ear, the earlier saturation of irritation absent. He sounded almost relieved.
“I just need-” My breath was ragged; I’d journeyed into uncharted waters and my unintentional confession didn’t calm my unease, but it didn’t exacerbate it either.
I was in emotional limbo.
I rested my head against his shoulder and breathed him; he was so warm, like a furnace; I closed my eyes.
Finally I said the only thing that made sense, made easier by the anonymity of darkness behind my closed eyelids; “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid. I’m not used to it.”
I felt him smile against my neck where he’d dipped his head, his lips brushed against my shoulder. He pulled away, slowly, with obvious reluctance.