Just as suddenly as it had begun it was over; he ended by nipping at my bottom lip and waiting for me to open my eyes so he could stare into them. I felt him slide something into my pocket.
He smiled almost imperceptibly, “I had Jamal pick up your cell from the office. I’ll call you tomorrow so we can make arrangements for dinner.” I opened my mouth to respond but he stopped me with another quick kiss. Quinn took my keys out of my hand and opened the door at my back; he pushed it open and guided me inside, placing my keys back in my palm.
I complied mechanically, pausing at the steps to glance back at him hovering just outside the door. He was still grinning in that secret, quiet way of his. Then, he turned and was gone.
~*~
I walked into the Elizabeth’s apartment feeling like a zombie. I needed brains. The Quinn Sullivan rollercoaster left me completely exhausted. Nevertheless, instead of sleeping, all I wanted to do was sit, stare into space, and obsess about everything that had occurred. I embraced this desire to obsess because I knew it was what normal people did.
Elizabeth was lying on the carpeted floor; her legs were up, legs against the wall, all in all an excellent Viparita Karani. She had on oversized headphones which were connected to her stereo system via a remarkably long cord.
Elizabeth had an impressively strange record collection and would frequently relax by sprawling on the floor, contorting into yoga poses, knitting or reading medical journals, and listening to records. She loved boy bands and had vinyl records for most, starting with New Kids on the Block, since her birth. She must have noticed the movement of my entrance because she turned just her head and gave me a quizzical smile. She sat up straight, set her knitting aside, and pulled off the headphones; her eyes moved over me in open assessment.
Elizabeth frowned, “Were you just with Jon?”
I shook my head, dazedly sitting on the couch. I picked up a decorative pillow and clutched it to my stomach, “No, I was with Quinn.”
She shot up and claimed the seat next to me on the couch; I could hear the faint sounds of boy band One Direction coming through the small speakers; “Oh my God.” She said, “What happened? Was this for work? Where were you guys?”
My face fell to my hands and I shook my head, “Elizabeth, you are not allowed to take concurrent shifts at the hospital ever again.”
I started by telling her about bumping into him on Wednesday at Smith’s and included the ambiguous arrest details Quinn had given me about the alleged girl-drugger from club Outrageous.
I covered our somewhat unpleasant exchange on Thursday and the fact that I was now forced into the bondage of carrying a cell phone.
I ended with a short, short version of our day, training, and then the after part where everything went from calm to a cavalcade of crazy.
When I told her about the sex conversation she hit my shoulder and said, “You didn’t!”
When I told her about the kiss she gasped, her eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth.
When I told her that he’d asked me on a sorta date she started bouncing up and down on the couch and sang, “Who called it? I called it! That’s right, uh huh!”
I skipped over most of the concert and when I told her about Vincent and what I learned regarding Quinn’s part in arranging the car she frowned, blinked, and said, “I guess that was nice of him… in an overreaching kind of way.”
Then, I told her about his, basically, last comment of the evening that he ‘doesn’t date.’
Her frown grew more pronounced and she leaned back in the couch, crossing her arms. She was silent for a moment then sighed, “You know, I kind of guessed that about him.”
It was my turn to frown, “What do you mean?”
“Some guys just aren’t boyfriend material.”
“Well, then, what kind of material are they? Suede?”
The corner of her mouth hitched as one of her eyebrows lifted; she gave me a knowing look. The problem was I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I shook my head at her, “What? What’s that look for? What don’t I know?”
“He’s a Wendell.”
A Wendell.
“What is a Wendell?”
Elizabeth quickly added, “He’s a hottie player; a Wendell. Someone you don’t date.”
“What am I supposed to do with a Wendell?”
She pushed me on my shoulder, “Janie! You have mind blowing sex with a Wendell! You have your way with him and spend hours in orgasmic paradise taking advantage of his hard body and each fantastic orifice and pleasure causing appendage until you get tired of him.”
I blushed, glanced at my hands, “I don’t- I mean, I don’t think-”