My eyes flickered to his face and found him watching me with a confounded smile, obviously enjoying my discomfort. He cleared his throat, “Janie, just say it.”

I sighed and suddenly wanted to hold his hand, likely because I was pretty sure it would be the last time.

I entwined my fingers with his and squeezed. “Fine. Quinn-” I looked at him straight in the eye and immediately felt my resolve weaken, “a Wendell is a man who is extremely good looking and who is great in bed. Wendells do not have exclusive relationships- i.e. they do not date- but rather hook up with many women at once. I have no judgment for Wendells- in fact I applaud their stamina and ability to provide excellent service to so many women at once. It seems like a very efficient and generous use of resources. However,” I took a deep breath and swallowed, looking down at our fingers like a coward, “however equitable of an arrangement, I am not interested in non-dating a Wendell. Since you are, in fact, a Wendell I think that I would be more comfortable if you and I could agree to the label of friends, not kissing friends or Wendell-slamp friends… just regular friends.”

Again, silence stretched. I felt his gaze on me, heard him sigh, then ask, “Will you please look at me?”

I lifted my eyes to his. He didn’t look relieved or annoyed or angry like I feared. Rather, he looked contemplative and uneasy. He paused before speaking, what appeared to be a flash of pain passed behind his eyes but was either imagined or hidden instantly. “I’m not used to this… so you’ll have to give me a little bit of time to… adjust.”

“You can take as much time as you need.” I offered bravely, half-heartedly attempting to pull my fingers from his. The attempt was unsuccessful, he tightened his grip.

“I don’t want-” he sighed heavily, closed his eyes briefly, then met mine again with renewed composure, “I appreciate your honesty.”

I waited, chewed on my bottom lip; when he didn’t continue my eyes widened in confusion, “Wait, what- that’s it?”

He nodded, “Yes. That’s it.”

I drew in a breath, looking around the apartment for what I was missing, “I’m confused.”

“What confuses you?”

“Are we- did you- did you just agree to the label of friendship?”

“No.”

I opened my mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, licked my lips. “Then what label are we going to use?”

His gaze lowered to my mouth; he lifted the hand resting on my elbow to my hair and pushed a mass of curls over my shoulder, his long fingers lingering on my neck, “We aren’t going to use a label.”

I took an unsteady breath; at this point not caring about further embarrassing myself. What was one more minus of mortification when my debt reached in the hundreds of thousands?

“I like labels. I like maps with labels. I like figures with labels and footnotes. I don’t do well not knowing intentions or how to calibrate my expectations.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Quinn!”

He fought admirably against the smile pulling at his lips and didn’t meet my eyes, “You are so beautiful. I really want to kiss you right now.”

His words hit me in my stomach and caused a hot tsunami of awareness to spread to my fingertips, toes, and the tips of my ears. I sighed, “That’s not fair. You’re not being very nice.”

“I’ve told you, I’m not nice.” His gaze seemed to intensify, never leaving my lips, as he leaned infinitesimally closer.

I knew in that moment that if he wanted to kiss me I would not stop him but, damn it, I wasn’t going to sleep with him.

Undies on, undies on, undies on, high ho the dairy-o, I’m going to keep my undies on!

His hand gently cupped my cheek, his long fingers wrapped around my neck and pulled me forward. My eyelashes fluttered and, just before his mouth met mine I said, my words breathless, “You are nice. At least, you’re nice to me.”

He paused, lifted his eyes to mine, made a sound like a growl, then pressed his lips to my forehead. I smiled sadly, both relieved and disappointed.

After a long moment he released me and rubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head as though to clear it. “Damn it.” I heard him sigh.

The water on the stove chose that moment to start boiling, its high pitched whistle cutting through the tension thick room. I slowly stood, feeling a little wobbly on my legs, and hitched my thumb over my shoulder, “Do you want any coffee?”

“Do you have anything stronger?” came his muffled reply.

“I, um, let me check.”

I abruptly turned and escaped to the kitchen, the screeching whistle from the tea kettle sounded like an alarm bell and I was relieved when I took it off the stove. I knew for a fact the only hard liquor we had in the apartment was tequila and I had no intention of drinking tequila with Quinn.

Quinn plus tequila equaled Quinquelia and that sounded like something that happens in Mexican jails.

I allowed myself a few moments to linger, to compose my thoughts, before I returned to the living room. Quinn was hovering in the entrance way, glancing at pictures, and I noticed, with a little twinge of disappointment, that his jacket was on. He moved to the door as I approached; unlocking and opening it he took a step into the hall then turned to face me.

His gaze finally met mine as he straightened the collar of his coat. “I-” he hesitated, his features growing soft as his hands fell to his sides; his eyes gently moved over my face, “I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Oh yeah? About what?” I leaned against the door frame, looking up at him.

“About kissing you.”

I self-consciously licked my lips and hugged myself, turning beet red. It seemed I was doomed to turn various and sundry shades of scarlet whenever he chose to regale me with even moderately suggestive remarks. I tried to speak but my voice was strained and off pitch, “Well, ok, thanks for the heads up. I feel dually warned.”

His signature slow sexy grin spread deliciously over his features causing my heart to flip-flop. I secretly hated him for it. That smile drove me crazy but I suspected he knew that.

He shifted on his feet and rested a hand against the door frame above my head, still smiling down at me, “So, are we still on for tomorrow?”

I shrugged, “Sure, friend. Where do you want to go to dinner?”

His eyes narrowed at my choice of friendship-label but he spoke as though unfazed. “I thought, instead of just dinner, we could have lunch and dinner.”

“Um, sure. What time?”

He pushed away from the wall and withdrew his phone, “I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty. Dress for a picnic.”

My eyes widened with surprise, “Oh- ok. What can I bring?”

“Nothing. Just yourself.” He started to back away, pressing the touchscreen of his phone, no longer looking at me.

I took a step into the hall, “Let me bring something. Or at least let me buy dinner. It’s not fair for you-”

He held up his free hand as he turned towards the stairs, giving me a devastating smile, “No keeping score.”

I grumbled but could only listen to him laugh and the sound of his feet on the steps as he departed. Sighing I turned back to the apartment, shut and locked the door, then let my head fall heavily against the thick wooden partition.

A chiming noise I now recognized as the blasted cell phone interrupted my thoughts. I turned to the living room and found the contraption on the coffee table. I glanced at the message. It was a text message. It was from Quinn.

Quote of the day: “Friendship is like peeing your pants; everyone can see it but only you can feel it.”

True to his word Quinn called me at precisely eleven-twenty-nine to let me know he was downstairs. I suppressed a surge of nerves, fiddling with my glasses, reminding myself that I frequently spent half days hanging out with other friends. I could spend a half day hanging out with my newest friend. There was nothing worrisome about that. Nothing at all. Nothing in the least.

I chewed on my thumbnail as I hazarded one last look in the mirror, catching Elizabeth’s worried look over my shoulder. She didn’t say anything but I could feel her concern on my behalf.

I admitted that I looked nice, pretty even. She’d helped me wrangle my hair into a braided bun. I was wearing a white silk slip and a gauzy, white summery dress with three-quarter length sleeves and simple cotton lace that gathered just under my ribcage, forearms, and around the square neckline; it ended just below the knee and white flip flops completed the look.

I’d never worn the dress before because it was quite see-through on its own. Elizabeth suggested the addition of the slip. The simple summer dress highlighted my best features- boobs, waist, legs- but was subdued, even a little conservative, and was friend-picnic appropriate.

I pushed my glasses further up my nose, purposefully wearing them instead of contacts, and turned to gather my sweater and my bag; the bag contained two fresh apples and the last of the summer peaches I could find at the market. Elizabeth fretted and twisted her hands, stopping me on my way to the door, “Oh, you should wear something else. You’re so beautiful; I want to have sex with you. He’s going to jump you in the car!”

I laughed as she pulled me in for a hug, “Oh pa-shaw!”