Neanderthal Seeks Human(107)

“I know where we should go to dinner tonight,” his voice came from someplace behind me, I guessed he was standing by the window, “but we’ll need to change first.”

My fingers began to tremble and, therefore, I stopped buttoning my shirt. Placing my hands on my hips I leaned against my desk and ducked my head. I allowed the coppery spirals to curtain my features and tried to absorb the fact that last night and several minutes ago were real events in my life. They were allowed to be my memories.

I brain repeated: That happened. That happened, that happened, this is happening.

And this time, I couldn’t blame the wine for my impaired judgment.

I heard his steps cross the room. Through the filter of my curls I spied his black leather shoes stop directly in front of me. He paused then tucked my hair away and behind my ears. The infinitely gentle gesture maybe made me feel cherished.

“Hey.” He said.

I glanced at him through my eyelashes and we stared at each other. His tenderness- of his voice, touch- filled me with the acute need to invade the silence.

I cleared my throat, met his gaze fully, wanted to say something that would ease the growing discord in my Bermuda triangle of brain-heart-vagina; finally I decided on praise and honesty.

“For the record, that was really enjoyable.”

His lips quirked to the side as his gaze moved over my features, “Is there a record? Have you been keeping a log?”

I nodded, “Yes. I keep a log of everything. Data is immeasurably valuable, which is why there are such stringent data access policies for medical research.”

I noted that his eyes abruptly affixed to mine in the middle of my statement, “You- do you-“ he licked his lips, “You actually keep a written log of every time you’ve had sex? ”

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.