“So.” I stopped abruptly in front of the door, turned to face him, and gave him a tight lipped smile. He leisurely leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms in front of his chest as his eyes blazed an unhurried trail over my face.
“So.” He repeated. He looked calm and confident and confoundingly sexy.
“So…” I sighed, pulling my gaze away from his and glancing at the keys in my hands, “Listen, I- I had fun tonight. You- you’re good to talk to and I had a nice time but I would like to pay you back for my dinner.”
His hands came up between us, “Janie- no keeping score, remember?”
“Yes, but- it wasn’t a date and I know it wasn’t a date and I understand that you don’t date and I’d like to be friends with you and I-”
“You want to be friends with me?” His voice sounded a little dark, perplexed.
“Yes.” I lifted my eyes to his briefly. His expression matched his tone. I sighed, “Listen- you should…um, you should come in so we can talk about-” I swallowed, turning to the door and unlocking it with slightly shaking hands. The earlier scarlet heat turned into an inferno as I struggled with the lock. “-so we can talk about labels and Wendell and dinner and slamps and- oh thank God.” The door opened and I launched myself inside calling behind me, “Come in- come in, I’ll make some coffee.”
I flipped on the light in the hall then proceeded to turn on every light on my way to the kitchen. I heard hesitant footsteps behind me and the closing of the door. I rushed through the process of boiling water and scooping the already ground beans into the French press. When everything was prepared I walked to the couch, my bed, and noticed that Quinn’s jacket was laying on it. The sight did strange things to my stomach and, I’m not going to lie, my lady bits. They may have clenched.
I hurriedly took my jacket off, almost sweating by this point, and tossed it on top of his. He was walking slowly around the small space, glancing at the bookshelves which contained my comic books and Elizabeth’s record collection. He took out a Backstreet Boys LP and turned to me with a questioning frown.
I laughed lightly, “Oh, that’s Elizabeth’s. I live with my friend Elizabeth, you met her at that bar the night you… um, well this is her place and I’m just crashing here- actually on the couch- until we find a new place big enough for both of us.”
His eyes drifted to the couch as he replaced the record. I tucked my hair behind my ears and cleared my throat. It was strange having him in the apartment.
Admittedly, I was just a transient visitor and the décor and style represented nothing of me; even so, I felt like he didn’t belong here, in my life. It was like he was surrounded by an otherworldly glow which filled the diminutive space and cast everything, but him, in shadow. Including me. He was too big, too handsome, too graceful. He didn’t fit in our small inadequate world.
The thought made me sad and I firmed my bottom lip with resolve. His eyes met mine just at that moment and he frowned at my expression. Holding my gaze he crossed to me and I crossed my arms over my chest. He seemed to hesitate at the movement but, nevertheless, continued his approach stopping just two feet from me.
Silence stretched as his gaze moved over my face; at length he spoke, “Who is Wendell?”
I blinked, startled. “Wendell?”
“You said you wanted to talk about labels, dinner, and Wendell.”
“Oh, yes. Wendell.” I turned, picked up our jackets and placed them on the arm of the futon; then I sat with my legs tucked under me and my arm along the back of the couch, “Please- have a seat.”
He sat, one of his legs under him so that our knees touched and his arm covered mine, his large hand rested on my elbow and I focused on my breathing.
“So, Wendell?”
I nodded, biting my lip, not really sure how to have this conversation without putting all my oddities on display. But, as usual, the mouth started moving before the brain send up a warning flare,
“You are Wendell. Or, rather, you are a Wendell and I can’t be a slamp so, what I’d like to do talk to you about dinner and labels.”
One of his eyebrows rose and I felt him stiffen; his mouth opened as though he were going to interrupt me but I, having said this much, gathered my courage and continued with loud urgency,
“The thing is, I like you. I like you a lot and I’ve really only known you for a few short weeks- less than a month- but you are very likeable. I’d like to be your friend because I appreciate your honesty about being a Wendell and, therefore, I would like to have dinner with you- not a date- but think the label applied should be friendship and not Wendell-slash-slamp because I don’t think I’m up for that but understand if you aren’t interested in being my friend especially since you’re already juggling a heavy load of slamps… then, I’d be disappointed but would understand.”