Chapter 5 #2
I watched him intently for a minute, about to tell him about sweat glands and ear bones, but then a flash of memory from the previous night penetrated my consciousness.
I suddenly felt sure that he was making fun of me.
I remembered the absurdity of my innate response to him; I remembered the way my brain and body were in complete discord.
I remembered his words to me just before the first time I left the club—that someone like me didn’t belong there.
I was determined to remain in control, detached, invulnerable to his glittering physical perfection and soul-baring blue eyes.
I focused on his teasing. I didn’t especially enjoy being teased when I couldn’t be certain of the person’s intentions, so I shrugged.
His eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments as he studied me, his mouth curving into a frown; he looked displeased. Then he said, “What do you remember about last night?”
I lifted my chin, gritting my teeth. “I remember you making me leave the club.”
“Can you remember anything after that?” His tone was guarded.
My attention drifted to the left, and I blinked, trying to figure out precisely what I did remember from the previous night.
I had been so preoccupied with my hangover and my escape that I hadn’t stopped to think about how I’d ended up in his apartment, in his bed, in my underwear.
I was talking as I was thinking, and before I realized it, I said, “Not much. You were there, and I remember leaving the club.”
“Which time?” he interjected.
“With Elizabeth—I left with Elizabeth, and she put me in a taxi. I asked the driver to take me back. When I got back, sunglasses man waved me in; then I…” My eyes lost focus as I tried to pull the memories forward.
“When I walked in, I bumped into a man; he said he was looking for me. He…” I cleared my throat and squinted.
I felt sure that I had bumped into someone I knew, a man I recognized, but I couldn’t remember his face.
“I think someone took me up some stairs; it actually looked like a tree at first, with a tree house in it, but it was a room.”
“The Canopy Room.” Quinn’s voice was matter-of-fact, but a veiled sharpness in his tone brought my attention back to him. He moved his hands to his hips, his blue eyes dark with some unreadable thought. “What else do you remember?”
I studied him for a moment, and my own thoughts, before I continued.
“Not much.” I licked my lips. It was the truth; I didn’t remember much.
I remembered being offered and then drinking a shot of something that burned, but I couldn’t really make out the size or shape of the room or any of its tangible, physical characteristics.
I knew that several people had been present because I remembered hearing them laughing, but I couldn’t remember what they looked like.
It was like I walked into the tree-house room and was swallowed up by a black fog.
A sudden thought occurred to me, and I quickly wrapped my arms around my center. “Does that happen a lot? After drinking?”
“What? Losing your memory?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“No, not after drinking. When I found you upstairs in the Canopy Room, not long after I thought you’d already left, you were still awake, but you weren’t making any sense, so I carried you out.”
“Wait, you carried me?” My body responded strangely to that information.
He nodded. “Yeah, one of our…” He seemed to struggle for the right words.
“One of the club patrons was dancing with you, but you weren’t exactly cooperating so much as critiquing his dance moves.
I think someone must have slipped you something.
” He surveyed me as though he were carefully studying my reaction, or bracing for a freak-out.
“You mean someone gave me bendothi… bethnzodiath… benzodiazepid…” I huffed, gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and sounded out the word slowly. “Ben-zo-dia-ze-pines?”
“Yes, I think someone slipped benzodiazepines into whatever you drank up in the Canopy.”
“Oh.” I twisted my mouth to the side and thought about someone giving me a date-rape drug. It seemed far-fetched but not out of the realm of possibility, especially considering my lack of memory. I felt it would be best to be certain. “Do you have any pharmacies nearby?”
Quinn nodded his head. “I imagine you could use some aspirin. There is some in the bathroom.”
“Oh, thanks, but I was thinking I’d pick up a test. Did you know that pharmacies will sell you over-the-counter tests to detect whether you have benzodiazepines in your system?
” He lifted his eyebrows in what I interpreted as confusion, so I felt the need to clarify.
“It’s a urine test, not a venipuncture.”
He frowned deeply, his tone incredulous. “How do you know this? Has this happened to you before?”
“No, no, I’ve never lost my memory before, and I’m not much of a party/club/bar person. One time my sister spiked my orange juice before the SATs, but that was just vodka; the other time I got drunk was also an accident.”
“The other time? You’ve been drunk two times?” His frown eased, and he blinked at me. I noted again that his eyes were very blue, and his chest was very naked.
I didn’t respond immediately, as I was not really sure what to say, especially because I was feeling mounting discomfort under his bared-chested scrutiny.
At last, I shrugged, using a tactic introduced to me by Sandra, the psychiatry intern in my knitting group, and I answered his question with a question. “How many times have you been drunk?”
He smiled faintly. “More than two.” His gaze was inscrutable.
I wondered how he could be so comfortable in nothing but a towel in front of a complete stranger.
“Do you remember how you got here?” Quinn tilted his head to the side; the movement reminded me of our bar conversation and the way he’d tilted his head last night.
I searched my memory, my head starting to hurt with the effort, before I slowly shook my head. “No, I don’t remember coming here or,” I said, and then swallowed before adding, “or anything else.”
He shifted closer to me, his voice low. “Nothing happened.” My eyes widened, not immediately understanding his meaning. “Nothing happened last night.”
I blinked at him again, opened my mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
Nothing happened.
My eyes moved to his chin then lowered to his chest.
Nothing happened.
Of course, nothing happened.
I licked my lips involuntarily and nodded. “I know.” My voice sounded like a croak.
“Really?” he asked.
I nodded again; my heart twisted in my chest, and I shifted on my feet.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t understand my reaction to his statement.
Nothing happened. Why did I feel suddenly disappointed when I should have felt nothing but relief?
I didn’t understand myself. I should have known that nothing had happened between us as soon as I saw him coming out of the bathroom door.
Of course, nothing happened. Of course, he wouldn’t be interested in me. Of course, he is ten thousand leagues out of my league.
Just as swiftly as these horribly unhealthy thoughts swelled within my mind, a more rational notion clamored over them: Or—and consider this, you weirdo—thank God he’s not a creep who takes advantage of drugged women. If he’d touched you, he’d be an A-hole of the first order.
“How do you know nothing happened?” he countered, sounding defensive.
I took a step back and tried to run a hand through my hair, but my fingers encountered stubborn tangles again, “I get it, ok? I, uh, I need to get out of here. What time is it?” I turned from him and started walking toward the couch, looking for the front door.
“You don’t look like you believe me. This is my sister’s apartment. I promise; nothing happened between us.” I heard his voice close behind me, and knew he was following me.
Nothing happened because you’re out of my le— GAH! Stop it, Janie. For the love of Thor, stop it.
In order to silence my inner crazy, I decided both were true. Nothing happened because he was a decent guy who didn’t touch drugged women and nothing happened because he was out of my league.
I turned to face him, not quite meeting his gaze. “No, I really believe you. I know with certainty that nothing happened.” I added under my breath. “Of course nothing happened.”
He didn’t seem to hear the last part. Quinn came to a stop in front of me again, standing at least several feet away this time. “Good.” He nodded, his hands gripping the towel at his waist.
“Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“You want to go get breakfast?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my tone as I finally met his eyes. He nodded again, and I stammered. “Like—like this?”
He gave me a small sardonic smile. “No, obviously I’ll get some clothes on.”
“But—” I blinked again in confusion. I needed to stop blinking so much. “But, why?”
He shrugged, and before he walked back to the bathroom, he said, “I’m hungry. You need eggs and bacon for that hangover. And, I’m hoping you’ll tell me more about the defining characteristics of mammals. I’m pretty sure you know more than you’ve let on.”