Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
We spent all day at the park. Several games of Frisbee may have occurred during which I may have gotten grass stains on my white dress.
To my surprise, there was a free blues concert at the Jay Pritzker Pavilion, and we decided to stay for the music after our day of fun together. We positioned ourselves at the edge of the lawn to allow plenty of space between us and the other park inhabitants.
Quinn reclined on the blanket with his head resting on my lap as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and I stroked my fingers through his hair.
I would have stopped to pinch myself to ensure that I wasn’t dreaming or that I hadn’t been sucked into a Matrix type of alternate reality, but I didn’t want to know. There would be no red pill for me.
Quinn fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him so we stayed until the end of the last set. I watched him, mesmerized by the lines and angles of his face and the shape of his lips. They were parted slightly, and I successfully fought the urge to kiss them.
The applause woke him from his slumber. He frowned, visibly muddled by his surroundings, and blinked into my face. The color and immediate intensity of his eyes recognizing my own made my chest hurt in a really nice way. I smiled at him.
On impulse I leaned down and brushed my lips against his, intending to give my sleepy beauty a small peck. However, before I could withdraw, Quinn’s hands held me in place; his giant palms on my cheeks, his long fingers stroking my neck.
He deepened the kiss even as he sat upright and leaned over me so that I was slightly reclined, the back of my head against his knee; my fingers curled around his forearms to steady myself.
His tongue was warm and soft and worshipful as it gently, maddeningly gently, caressed my own.
I was being tasted and savored like one licks ice cream or a gourmet dessert. The effect was inebriating.
Some passerby whistled, presumably at us, and I dipped my chin to my chest as I straightened, breaking the kiss, finding it difficult to breathe.
His hands fell away. I peeked at him from beneath my lashes and the protection that my black-rimmed glasses afforded.
He was in profile, glaring in the direction of the whistler; his stern expression made him look resolute, which made him look powerful, which made him look sexy.
I licked my lips, tasting him there, and sought to draw his attention back to me. “Did you sleep well?” My voice was slightly breathless.
He met my gaze, and I had the sudden sensation of being paralyzed. My limbs felt heavy and useless. He ignored my question and asked one of his own. “Why do you wear glasses instead of your contacts?”
I must have been kiss-tipsy because I answered with sincerity. “Because they make me feel safe.”
His mouth hooked to the side and he blinked once. “Is that why you wear your hair like that?” He indicated to where my hair rested on the crown of my head in a severe bun. “Do you feel safer if your hair is pulled back?”
“No. I wear my hair in a bun, because if I don’t, it looks like Medusa’s snakes.”
Quinn’s trademark slow, easy smile eclipsed his features. “It doesn’t look like Medusa’s snakes.”
“It does. Did you know Medusa also had two sisters? She was a middle child, like me. But Medusa was the only mortal of the three. Most myths have her killed by Perseus. He used a mirrored shield so he wouldn’t have to look at her directly.
When she died, Pegasus, the winged horse, sprang from her body, as did a sword-wielding giant. ”
Quinn twisted his mouth to the side, and then he gently took off my glasses and set them on the blanket beside us. “That seems unlikely.”
I shrugged, feeling lethargic and somewhat giddy to be sitting on a blanket with him in the park at twilight.
I also felt a bit exposed now that my glasses had been removed.
“Some think she was pregnant by Poseidon at the time. Maybe his sperm was of the magical horse and giant variety instead of carrying the usual X or Y chromosome.”
I reached for my water, took a long swallow, and considered Quinn over the rim of the plastic bottle.
The early evening light was giving way to the darkness of night, but I could tell that he was still smiling.
I was still Quinn-kiss-tipsy enough to feel no mortification when I asked, “If you could have magic sperm, what kind of creatures would you want to create?”
His smile widened; he shook his head as he looked around at the people packing up. “I don’t know how much good magic sperm would do me without a snake-haired girl to put it in.”
Quinn reached for his own water and took a gulp, but he choked when I said, “You could use me!”
He abruptly set his drink down, sat back on his heels, and picked up a napkin; his eyes were wide as he coughed. I reached over and patted his back soothingly.
“You should have more water.”
“Thanks,” he croaked, and he watched me warily as he drank from the bottle.
I sat unabashedly and waited for Quinn to compose himself. At length I asked, “Are you ok? Did it go down the wrong pipe?”
He nodded, his eyes following my movements as he gripped the napkin a little too tightly, and then he said, “You were saying something about how I could use you?”
“Oh yes. In this hypothetical situation, you have magic sperm that can make creatures.” I screwed the lid back on my bottle of water, deposited it to the blanket, and began taking my hair down.
“And it has already been established that I have Medusa-esque hair.” I shook out the crazy curls and let them fall over my shoulders, back, and breasts.
“So, now you have your snake-haired magic sperm repository. What creatures do we create?”
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 as he gathered up the basket, the bottles, and the blanket; he tucked my glasses into the pocket of his shirt.
I chewed on my lip and twisted my fingers as I watched him.
I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d said something wrong.
I tucked my hair behind my ears and helped clean up.
We pulled everything together, and he still hadn’t looked at me.
I felt anxious and, therefore, my mind began 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 someone and immediately tried to take a step back, but he 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, 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 and what I hoped was a polite smile, but he merely stared at me with all the flexibility of steel. I got the distinct impression that he didn’t like me. Furthermore, I had the distinct impression that he wanted to do me harm.
I swallowed and again tried to move away. “Sorry, sorry—I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Instead of releasing me, he tightened his grip painfully and inclined his head forward. He whispered, “If you think you’re going to talk yourself out of this, you’re not.”
“Hey!” Quinn’s voice sounded from my left, and I turned to watch him sprint toward me. 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 to convey an ounce of dramatic license. Instinctively, I felt the truth in them, and I would be lying if I said that in 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 backward 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.