Neanderthal Seeks Human (Knitting in the City, #1)

by Penny Reid

In a moment of weakness, likely caused by my smelling him, my voice was quiet and laced with a note of resignation when I responded. “Yes. Everyone deserves a chance.” He gave me one of his barely-there smiles, just a hint of a smile, and licked his lips. “Then I want my chance.”

I was careful to take my next breath through my mouth. I didn’t want Quinn-sniff to influence my already wino-impaired brain function. A little voice in the back of my head said, Don’t trust him! You’re not special! You’re weird and awkward and a bigheaded Neanderthal freak with Medusa hair! He’s confused you with someone else! Almost immediately, I told that voice to eat shit and die.

“But what if we were to break up?” “I still wouldn’t fire you.” “How can you be certain of what you would do? What if I kidnap your dog?” “What? Why would you—” He huffed impatiently then shook his head. “I don’t have a dog.” “That’s not the point. What if I turned bat-shit crazy on you but still was a great employee?” “I’m professional enough to keep my work life and personal life separate.” I sighed unhappily. “But you don’t know—” He slid his hands down to mine and held them. “You can’t prepare for every scenario or eventuality in life.”

“But what if getting involved turns out to be a horrible mistake?” “What if it turns out to be the best decision we ever made?”

I felt sorry for myself; for being dealt a shitty hand, and for having a sister whose most recognizable trait was criminality. Some people have annoying relatives who drink too much during the holidays and corner everyone with one-sided conspiracy theories about the government being both heinously incompetent and capable of staging elaborate hoaxes like the moon landing, or Pearl Harbor, or the theory of relativity. I had a sister who didn’t limit her antics to holidays, and she liked to sleep with my boyfriend and/or attempt murder when faced with boredom.

I was crushed and grabbed and stroked and admired and savored and, by God, aroused. I was aroused like it was going out of style and on sale.

I was slightly less drunk on alcohol, but a great deal drunker on the euphoria that apparently accompanies mind-blowing sex.

Since I spent much of my childhood being left behind and ignored, one might think that, as an adult, moments of perceived abandonment would feel old hat. The truth is, as an adult, I am always waiting to be left behind. I’m always ready to be discarded and, therefore, I spend a significant amount of time preparing for this eventuality. I lower my expectations, I don’t seek out meaningful relationships, and I don’t engage in any sort of real intimacy, physical or otherwise.

Tangible memories, not just initial scattered fragments, of what occurred before I fell asleep, of what I’d done and said, of what we did together, flooded into focus, and a faintly familiar small pain originating in my heart made it suddenly difficult to breathe. Impaired judgment. It wasn’t anxiety or fear. It was something like wishing, or longing—or hope.

The longing was back, along with the hope. It spread like a wildfire through my heart and brain and body so fast I nearly lost my breath. Therefore, I did the only thing that made sense. I panicked.

I blurted before my brain could stop the words. “Why are you even interested in me?” I closed my eyes and scrunched my face as mortification (from me) and stillness (from him) greeted my question. My self-recrimination was swift: Don’t ask that question; he might not have an answer. I heard a soft click-click then silence. I opened my eyes and looked at the report on my desk without really seeing it. “Quinn?” There was no answer. I swallowed thickly. “Quinn? Are you still there?” “That’s not a conversation I want to have over the phone.” Quinn’s voice came from my left.

His smile was unhurried, and the warmth in his eyes was doing strange things to me, like making me want to bite him.

“If you’re not interested in me as something permanent, then you need to tell me now.” My short laugh was involuntary and immediate, as were my words. “God, Quinn, you have no idea how permanent I’d like this to be. I’d like us to be Twinkies and cockroaches, death and taxes. But I…”

“Start from the beginning! Leave nothing out, and tell us exactly what happened.” “And make sure to describe everything in inches. I can’t do the metric conversion in my head,” Ashley added, leaning back and sipping her red wine.

“Yes, but it’s scary, you know?” “Oh, Janie.” Fiona smiled at me, her elfish eyes twinkling. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

“We see the strengths and faults in others that we do not or cannot recognize in ourselves.”

“I will say this.” Quinn held me with his eyes, his expression increasing in severity as though hovering on the precipice of a meaningful confession. “You make me want to be less of an asshole.”

“Quinn…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Quinn, you need to be a good guy. I need you to be a good guy.” He nodded, his expression reacting to and echoing my sudden seriousness. “I know. I want to be.” Quinn licked his lips as his eyes moved to my mouth. “I will be for you.”

“Yay!” Elizabeth’s smile was full and immediate; she squeezed my hand. “Although I don’t advocate love as a rule, I can honestly say yay for you and Quinn!” My head tilted to the side in a very Quinn-like gesture before I could stop the movement. “What are you talking about?” “You and Quinn.” Elizabeth sipped at her black coffee. “You are in love, Janie.” “I’m not in love! I’m in lust, I’m in deep infatuation, I’m in—in—in definite a lot of like with Quinn, but I’m not…”

“Come to Mama, baby girl.” Sandra kissed my forehead and held me in a tight embrace; lest I forget her profession as a psychiatrist, she soothed me with a coaxing voice. “Now, you don’t need to talk about it until you’re ready. We are here to support you and love you.” She took a deep breath and then, lest I forget she was Sandra the Texan, she continued. “And when you’re ready to cut his balls off, I will provide the knife.”

The only sound in the small apartment was labored breathing until someone, I guessed Marie, said, “Oh, shit! Sandra! Is that the Madelintosh Aran limited dye lot yarn you just stuffed into that asshole’s mouth? You know I can’t replace that!”

“You know, he is really crazy about you; not crazy like your sister Jem crazy, but trying-to-become-a-better-person crazy.” I pressed my lips together, and my heart, now whole again, skipped wildly in my chest before I replied, “The feeling is mutual.”

“What are you so afraid of?” “I’m afraid that if you get to know me, you’ll think I’m weird.” The words, words I didn’t even know I was going to say, blurted forth like a disobedient hiccup. His gaze refocused and met mine directly. “I do know you, and you’re right; you are weird.” “I’m afraid you’re laughing at me instead of with me.” He shrugged. “There is nothing I can do about that. You’re funny.” “I’m afraid that your money and my lack of money will come between us.” He placed his hands on his hips. “It won’t. I won’t let it.” “I’m afraid that I feel more for you than you feel for me.” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not possible.”

I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe him in, trying to understand this desire to take him within myself and carry him with me always.

“Oh, my God, you have to let me help! I want to help! This is so exciting!” She hopped back and forth on her feet, clapping her hands. I responded through gritted teeth. “No. I don’t need your help. I can do it on my own.” She stopped hopping and abruptly frowned. Her voice was still a whisper although somewhat louder. “See, this is why I don’t like you!” “I thought you did like me.” “No, I do like you, I like you for Janie, but I don’t like that you hide things! Why do you do that?”

“I’m not used to sharing—not information, not resources, and definitely not people.” I heard her sigh before she spoke. “Well, me either. But I love Janie, and what is important is her happiness. I want her to be happy.” “You know I love her.” I growled; the preachy tenor of her words and tone irritated me, and my response and resulting glare were perfunctory.

“Ok, fine; you can help me.” A high-pitched squealing sound met my ears and I winced; then, she hugged me. I patted her on the back, hoping to pacify this bit of overzealous effervescence. “You won’t regret it! Oh, my God, I’m so excited! Have you picked out a ring?” I was already regretting it but decided to keep that to myself.

It was the most ridiculous thing, but my heart constricted then expanded whenever she entered a room. I’d come to expect the uncontrolled response, but I hadn’t yet grown accustomed to it.

I caught her eye as I approached, and again, my heart lurched when she smiled. Warmth radiated from my chest outward, and I automatically returned her smile because I had to. I simply did not have a choice.

I had a sense that I would enjoy her answer. I knew it would be unexpected and unique. Everything about her was unexpected and unique. She was my bright light of eccentricity in a very predictable and ordinary world. She made everything new and interesting or funny.

The color of her eyes was mossy gold, and it made me want to write crap poetry and hire a skywriter.

I looked at this beautiful woman, and all I could think was Want. Mine. Need.

I was undeserving of her brilliance and sweetness, but I would marry her if she’d have me, and I would never let her go.

My voice was a growl. “I love you.” She smiled. “I know.” I released a slow breath and lost myself in her mossy gold eyes. “I don’t deserve you.” She licked her lips, her gaze lowering to my mouth, and her smile widened. “Oh, you deserve me.” She nodded, her eyes moving back to mine. “You’ve made me fearless.”