Neanderthal Seeks Human(74)

I glanced away and muttered, “Thank you.” and placed them safely on my nose.

His voice was soft as he responded, “You’re welcome.”

Maybe with several tens of thousands of dollars in plastic surgery I can become alluring enough that, in dim light or after several shots, I might spark the interest of a biostatistician… or an actuary.

Quinn didn’t open the door immediately when the car stopped and I could feel his eyes on me. In an effort to avoid his gaze I started searching through my bag for my keys. At length he exited and I bolted past him as soon as he was clear of the door. Launching myself up the steps I felt him close on my heels.

“Are you going to be ok?”

“Yep. Just fine.” I slipped my key into the lock on the first try and felt thankful for the little miracle.

My internal temper tantrum tirade continued: But attracting and holding the interest of someone like Quinn Sullivan will have to go into my box of make believe with the eventual remake of Final Fantasy 7 with PlayStation 3 graphics or finding an original, pristine version of Detective Comics, No. 27- Batman’s debut. All attempts are futile. It is just something I will have to accept as fantasy.

I started through the door and up the steps not waiting for the door to close and not looking back over my shoulder. To my chagrin I heard his steps echoing mine up the stairs. I climbed faster. When I reached my door I fumbled for my keys and again was met with success turning the locks. He stood to the side, a little distance away, watching me.

I glanced over my shoulder briefly to give him a cursory wave, “Well, good night. Thanks for the… the- the picnic.” Just as I was about to escape into the safety of my diminutive shared one bedroom I felt his hand settle briefly on my arm above the elbow.

“I want you and Elizabeth to think about moving into that other apartment.”

I shrugged, pushing the door open just wide enough for me to set my bag down and slip halfway in, “Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to her about it.” I started moving further into my place.

Quinn reached out with his hand and gripped the door as though he were keeping me from closing it, “I’m serious.”

“Ok.” I nodded again, my eyes meeting his briefly. My brain was already several feet away, in my apartment, safe from the lingering feelings of rejection and reading the new biography I’d borrowed from the library on Madame Curie; it was not in the present, in the hall, where I was the pathetic queen of wishful thinking.

We stood at the door for several silent seconds; I could feel his gaze moving over me. I fought the building blush of embarrassment threatening to paint the roses of my cheeks red.

Then he said, “I have to go out of town.”

I nodded, “Yes, I know. You have that trip to New York on Thursday.”

“No. I’m going to leave tonight. I won’t be able to make our scheduled trainings this week and might be hard to reach over the next few days but you should text me if you need something-”

I shrugged my shoulders, again; again, the sound of whooshing blood filled my ears. I backed further into the darkness of my apartment as the blush won and crept steadily up my neck, marching over my features and burning me with mortification like Sherman burned Atlanta.

“-in Boston then New York and I’ll be back on Sunday-”

Wait, what did he say? Was he still speaking?

“- so maybe I can get a rain check on that dinner until next week?”

I sighed distractedly, still unable to meet his eyes, “Yeah, sure. Why don’t you call me when you get back.”

I didn’t expect him to call.

He nodded and started leaning into my apartment; then stopped, paused, and released the door. He shuffled backward into the hall. Quinn stabbed his fingers through his hair in a frustrated movement. “I’m really sorry about tonight.”

I glanced at him. He looked upset. I frowned. Before I could say anything he turned and left me, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went. I waited to close the door until I couldn’t hear the sound of his steps descending the stairs.

I didn’t turn on any lights as I walked to the couch. In the darkness of my apartment my mind began to wander.

I didn’t understand anything about this guy.

One minute he is pretending he wants to date me, the next minute he’s turning down my very obvious advances, and now he’s fabricating a trip in hopes that I won’t bother him. I was so befuddled. If he wanted to give me the brush off he didn’t have to make up some fake business trip.

I heard my heinous cell phone chime somewhere in the apartment. The sound made me growl in frustration but then, suddenly, I was curious. It chimed again before I made it to the kitchen counter where the devil’s device was charging; I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Quinn; actually, there were several: