His expression could only be described as incredulous even as his eyes moved over the mass of my hair with dark intensity. “What did you put in this water?”
“It’s just water. What? Why?”
Quinn sighed. It sounded ragged. He pulled his gaze away from me as though it were painful or strenuous to do so. He stood and offered his hand to me stiffly, pulling me up with ease. “We should go get dinner.”
I tilted my head to the side, considering him, “You’re not going to answer my question?”
He shook his head, not looking at me, gathering up the basket and bottles and blanket; he tucked my glasses in the pocket of his shirt. I chewed on my lip and watched him and I couldn’t help feel like I’d said something wrong. I twisted my fingers nervously, tucking my hair behind my ears and started to help clean up.
As we pulled everything together and he still hadn’t looked at me I began to feel anxious and, therefore, my mind started to wander. I picked up the trash and walked to the waste basket, wondering whether the trash was picked up daily or whether it was every other day, wondering how much trash was generated by the park, wondering if anyone had thought about starting a recycling program in the city parks, wondering how much that would cost the city, wondering-
“Oh!”
I ran smack dab into a someone and immediately tried to take a step back but the someone grabbed my shoulders, not gently, and kept me from moving away. I looked into a rather unpleasant face. It wasn’t an ugly face; in fact it was a rather handsome face, but it was making an unpleasant expression and his eyes were hard and cold.
The stranger was maybe one or two inches taller than me and extremely muscular; his head was shaved bald, his eyes were olive green, his rather angular jaw was flexed, black tattoos wound up from the collar of his shirt around his neck, and his full mouth was curved into a rigid frown.
I managed a small, what I hoped was a, polite smile but he merely stared at me with all the flexibility of steel. I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Furthermore I had the distinct impression he wanted to do me harm.
I swallowed, again tried to move away. “Sorry, sorry- I wasn’t looking where I was going-”
Instead of releasing me his grip tightened painfully and he inclined his head forward, whispering, “If you think you’re going to talk yourself out of this-”
“Hey!” Quinn’s voice sounded from my left and I turned to watch him sprint over. His expression was thunderous; in fact, he also looked unpleasant. He looked like he was intent on doing someone a great deal of harm.
Before Quinn reached us the man released my arms, shoved me away, and held his hands up, palms out, as though he surrendered. He shuffled his feet backward. “Hey man, there’s nothing going on here.”
Quinn immediately stepped in front of me but continued to advance on the stranger, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The tone of his voice moved me to intercede, “Quinn- listen- it was nothing. I wasn’t looking where I was going and he-”
“Listen to your girlfriend-”
Quinn crowded the stockier man and leaned over him menacingly; his tone was eerily quiet, “You don’t touch her, you don’t look at her. If I ever see you again it will be the last time anyone sees you.”
I flinched. I didn’t get the impression that Quinn’s words were meant to be metaphorical or contained an ounce of dramatic license. Instinctively I felt the truth in them and I would be lying if I said, at that moment, he didn’t scare me.
The staring contest lasted another few seconds until the bald man shifted uncomfortably and lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. Seemingly satisfied, Quinn walked backwards a few steps then turned and, without looking at me, grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our abandoned picnic basket. My heart was galloping in my chest and I was shaking just a little. Without wanting to or meaning to I glanced over my shoulder.
The bald man was still watching me.
Not us.
He was watching me.
He looked at me like he knew me, like he still wanted to do me harm, like the only thing keeping him from ripping me apart was the very large, angry man at my side. I pulled my eyes away and moved closer to Quinn.
For the third time in as many weeks I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. Only, this time, I knew I was right.
~*~
We didn’t talk as we walked. Quinn held my hand firmly in his, gripping it almost to the point of painful. I carried the basket and the blanket and he held his phone, touching the screen every few minutes then glancing watchfully around the park. Instead of walking back to the garage Quinn took us to South Michigan Avenue next to the Face Fountain. We stood there for less than thirty seconds before a black SUV slowed then stopped in front of us.