Neanderthal Seeks Human(118)

It was… a confession of sorts; but it was the type of confession which encouraged my sarcasm rather than my appreciation. The statement struck me as the epitome of non-committal, pseudo-subtle, self-deprecation; I was amazed by its definitive tepidness.

“That’s so poetic. You should write greeting cards: ‘Dear Dad, thank you for helping me become not as big of a jerk as you are. I’m still a jerk, just not a really big jerk like you.’”

Quinn laughed again but this time with complete abandon; it was a deep, rumbly belly laugh which- since I was within earshot of the blast radius- was extremely infectious and I felt it acutely like a touch rather than a sound. He held his hand over his chest and my attention loitered on the spot. Even as I laughed I felt a twist of discomfort emanating from a mirrored location in my own chest.

I ached. I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to know everything about him.

The suddenness of the pain caught me by surprise and I closed my eyes against it, breathing out slowly, collecting myself so I wouldn’t give into my desire to climb over the desk and tackle him where he sat, Italian beef sandwich on his lap, napkin in his hand.

“Janie.”

My eyes remained closed but I gave him a slight, evasive, closed mouth smile.

“What are you thinking?”

I swallowed but didn’t answer. My heart started to race. I wanted to tell him I was thinking about the fiber content in stain resistant carpet but that would have been a lie. Even if I wanted to, and I did want to, I couldn’t seem to distract myself from the reality of being with him and all the irrepressible terror and hunger that accompanied it.

“Why are you so afraid?”

“Because I’m not thinking about the fiber content in stain resistant carpet.” My eyes remained stubbornly shut.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” I lifted my lids and found him surveying me with simple curiosity. I swallowed a new thickness in my throat, knowing that I needed to tell him the truth. “It means my brain finds you more interesting than all the really interesting trivial facts I could be contemplating or researching at present.”

His answering smile was leisurely, measured; “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

I returned his smile although I felt suddenly sober, my eyes inexplicably watery, “Quinn…” I took a deep, steadying breath, “Quinn, you need to be a good guy. I need you to be a good guy.”

He nodded, his expression reacting to and echoing my sudden seriousness, “I know. I want to.” Quinn licked his lips as his eyes moved to my mouth. “I will.”





CHAPTER 26

We left work shortly after 4pm. Together.

Quinn reached for and grabbed my hand; he flashed me a smile and gently held it as we walked down the hallway, past a gaping Keira, onto the elevator, within plain view of the security desk, and its inhabitants, to the lobby. As we walked, fingers threaded together, Quinn caressed the wrinkles of my knuckles with the pad of his thumb and spoke of the current corporate client Las Vegas dilemma.

At first I was fairly preoccupied by our public display of physical contact and managed only single syllable responses. However, once we were settled in a large black limo, I tried to focus on his words rather than the predictably astonished glances from my co-workers.

But then, we sat close together on the bench seat; he lifted my legs so that they were positioned across his, and he fiddled distractedly with my collar, his eyes on the buttons of my business shirt.

I was watching his lips as he spoke. I tried to find my place in the conversation but the way he looked at me, the closeness of him, the feel of his hands- one on my thigh, one brushing against my neck- made me feel fuzzy-headed and unfocused.

“Janie?”

I blinked, saw his mouth form my name before I heard the word. My eyes widened then met his.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you… Did you hear what I said?”

“No.” I answered truthfully, my attention moving to his mouth again; at the moment, his mouth was a Janie-attention-hogging-lodestone.

Quinn squeezed my leg, “Am I boring you?”

“No.” I sighed, allowing my head to rest against his arm behind me, still focused on the bottom half of his face. “I was just thinking about your mouth.”

He licked his lips and, to my surprise, his neck and cheeks tinted slightly hot. “What were you thinking about my mouth?”

“I like it.”

“What do you like about it?”

Without hesitating I responded, “Everything, the shape of it, how big your lips are, your tubercle, the curve of your philtrum. Did you know that in traditional Chinese medicine, the shape and color of the philtrum, also called the medial cleft, is supposed to be connected to- or, rather- have direct correlation to the health of a person’s reproductive system?”