“Why not?”

I sighed again, “Because she was inconsistent and unreliable and was the female version of a Wendell.”

He openly considered me, his beautiful lips twisting to the side, “A Wendette?”

My mouth curved into a reluctant half smile and I nodded, “She was-” I looked around the room, beyond him, to the window, “She was really beautiful and my dad was just a complete doormat. She would leave for weeks, months with some guy and then return and my dad would forgive her and we would be expected to pretend like everything was ok.”

His hands moved to his hips, “She cheated on your dad?”

I nodded, “Yes. A lot. In fact, it was ridiculous. Toward the end she was gone more than she was at home.”

“Toward the end?”

My eyes moved back to his, “The end being just before she died.” I shifted, suddenly feeling restless, “So, you see, being someone’s slamp holds no appeal for me, nor do I wish to be a doormat. I like things being defined, I dislike surprises, I dislike lack of clear expectations and…” my hands moved to my h*ps and I straightened my spine, “And if that makes me a little closed minded then I think I’m ok with that.”

We watched each other for a long moment then, abruptly, he moved.

I felt a foreboding sense of vulnerability as he closed the distance between us, literally closed it as in there was no space between our bodies, and I silently contemplated the way my own melted against his without my consent.

He slid his hands up my arms then around my waist, resting them on my h*ps just above my bottom. Much to my surprise and somewhat embarrassed appreciation, I felt every hard plane of his body including a hard length pressing into my abdomen.

Again I blushed.

Quinn’s head dipped and his mouth captured mine for a devastatingly soft kiss. My anxiety didn’t dissipate; rather, a new emotion wrapped around the burning ball of trepidation and constricted in my chest. I didn’t recognize the feeling; all I knew was it made me want to rip his clothes off.

He lifted his head just slightly, his eyes hooded, “Are you ready for our date?”

I cleared my throat, suppressing the desire to rub myself against him, suddenly desperate for friction. I cleared my throat again, “I thought you didn’t date.”

Quinn’s cheek moved against mine so that his whispered words were hot against my ear, “I’d like to date you.”

“I-” I shivered and my eyes drifted shut. My voice was tight as I asked, “Does that mean you’re taking the slamps out of rotation?”

I felt him smile against my neck as he placed a lingering kiss on my shoulder, “They’re already out of rotation.”

He placed another kiss on my shoulder right next to where the lace met my skin. My body, disloyal body, pressed against him more firmly, and my words came out on a sigh, “When did this happen?”

I felt him shrug, the simple movement caused his chest to rub against mine and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

“Awhile ago.” He pulled away, one set of fingers lifting from my hip and slowly tracing the edge of my dress from my shoulder, where he kissed me, to my collar bone, to my chest, then up again. It sent goosebumps racing over my skin. My scalp felt tight.

Awhile ago.

My lashes fluttered open and I met his gaze; I was confused, fuzzy headed, wanting to know more about the disappearing slamps but instead lost my locomotive of thought as he slowly smiled at me. The aforementioned fingers playing with the edge of my dress slipped over my shoulder and down my arm, entwining with mine.

He tugged on my hand, “Come on. Let’s go have our picnic.”

CHAPTER 14

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, what many group together with Grant Park; and, after our picnic and Frisbee and walking and talking we decided to stay for the music. We positioned ourselves at the edge of the lawn giving us plenty of space between the other park inhabitants.

Quinn reclined on the blanket, his head resting on my lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and I stroked my fingers through his hair. I would have stopped to pinch myself to ensure I wasn’t dreaming or sucked into ‘The Matrix’ type alternate reality but I didn’t want to know. 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, by 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. His eyes, their color and immediate intensity upon 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 fancy 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 and finding I had difficulty breathing. 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 just 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 when I spoke.

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, then it looks like Medusa snakes.”

Quinn’s trademark slow easy smile eclipsed his features, “It doesn’t look like Medusa 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- as well as a sword wielding giant sprang from her body.”

Quinn twisted his mouth to the side and he gently took off my glasses then lay 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 magical, of the horse and giant variety instead of carrying an x or y chromosome.”

I reached for my discarded 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 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 looking 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.”

He croaked out, “Thanks.” and watched me wearily 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 tight, and prompted, “You were saying something about how I could use you?”

“Oh yes. In this hypothetical situation, you have magic sperm which 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 br**sts, “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?”