I nodded, absentmindedly stroking the cover; my mouth feeling dry as I responded, “Yes, I do.”
“Hm.” He said again. We watched each other for a moment and, like clockwork, I could feel the warm awareness that always accompanied his presence start spreading from my lower belly to my neck, toes, and fingertips.
Suddenly he said, “Scoot over.” Then he abruptly picked up my bag, which had been resting on the bench next to me, and placed it on the bench opposite. Setting down his food next to my empty sandwich wrapper he took off his suit jacket, folded it with care, and draped it over my bag.
“I- uh-” Flustered, I could only push myself further into the corner of the booth as he slid in but my efforts did little good. The booth wasn’t really meant for two people. It was maybe meant for one and three quarters which meant, even with my back pressed to the wall behind me, a big guy like Quinn and a big-bottomed girl such as myself barely fit. When he finally settled his leg pressed against mine from upper thigh to ankle.
I chewed on my bottom lip and set the book on my lap. It must have been the effect of the graphic novel paired with Quinn’s sudden closeness and being quite trapped by his large form; I felt like swooning.
“Kind of a tight fit.” He remarked with a small smile, turning toward me, his face inches from mine as he unwrapped a sandwich.
“Yeah, well, I can go if-”
“No, no. Stay. How do you like the job?” He bit into his sandwich and turned the whole of his attention to me.
“I like it. I-” I had focus on breathing normally, being so close to him was maddening. I couldn’t seem to look anywhere without seeing some part of him so I settled for looking at his hands- one held the roast beef sandwich, the other gripped a napkin. “I like it a lot. I just started to, uh...” I frowned, then huffed. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to talk to Quinn about work. I hadn’t seen him at work and, to my knowledge, he didn’t seem to have an office on my floor.
I must have debated the issue a little too long because Quinn asked, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just-” I met his searching gaze, “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you.”
His eyes narrowed at me, “What do you mean?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about what I do with anyone.”
He blinked at me, “What?”
“I signed the non-disclosure agreement last week.” I gave him an apologetic grimace.
He set his sandwich down and looked at me with something resembling disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it and half laughed, “Janie, trust me. You can talk to me. It’s my company.”
My shoulders sagged a little, “I know you work there too. I’m sorry- I’ve never had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before and I don’t want to make a mistake.”
His smile subtly widened as his gaze moved over me, his eyes brightened with what looked like laughter, then he pulled his phone from his pocket, “I’ll call Carlos. If he tells you it’s ok to speak to me freely will you-”
Unthinkingly I put my hand over his to still his movements, “No, don’t do that. You’re right, I’m being silly. I really don’t want to mess up and everyone seems so nice- like too good to be true nice- and the office is too good to be true and how I got the job is too good to be true and, when you add all that together, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop so-” I sighed, “No, the first shoe hasn’t dropped so that’s not the right idiom to use, even though it originated in cities like Chicago.” I slid my hand away from his and to my book, nervously picking at the cover.
Quinn shook his head, his usually detached hawk-like gaze seemed softer, unguarded, “Janie, what are we talking about?”
“About the idiom: waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you know it originated in cities like Chicago and New York?”
“No. I did not” He tilted his head, his mouth hooking upward to one side as though he were trying not to laugh. “Tell me about it.”
He was teasing me again. “Well, it did. So…”
He lifted his eyebrows, “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me the specific origin of the idiom ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know it.”
He mimicked me and shook his head in response, “You’re lying. You do know.”
“Nope. I don’t.”
“This is just like the mammals.” He sighed and placed his phone on the table. Before he took a bite from his sandwich he said, “You’re stingy with information.”