“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.