Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City)

by Penny Reid

  ***

  The plane took off for our mystery honeymoon destination. We curled together in our seats, holding each other, tired yet replete.

  My eyelids became heavy with a happy sleepiness, and I let my mind wander.

  I didn’t think about snake venom or dorsal fin collapse; nor was I thinking of robots, the origins of idioms, ISO international date standards, or china cabinet and teacup analogies.

  I was thinking about the wedding, but not just the beautiful ceremony, the amazing reception, the food, or the flowers, or the touching moments between me and my friends or me and my new family.

  I was thinking about all of it—the entire day.

  It felt like the wedding had followed a script, one that had been written a long time ago.

  It said that I needed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. So, I’d worn the old Sullivan family Claddagh ring, a new hand-knit lace wedding shawl, a borrowed haute couture wedding dress, and blue suede shoes.

  The script dictated that I dress in something dazzling of my choice, and that Quinn look dashing as well; that the first time we saw each other be just minutes before we spoke our vows; that we be overcome with the sight of each other and the rightness of the moment.

  It required that I walk down the aisle and be given away, given to my husband and that he be given to me, that all our friends and family watch this occur, and by watching give their blessing to our marriage. The fact that I and I alone had been the one to give myself away didn’t diminish the meaning behind the sentiment. If anything, it felt more sacred.

  The script called for a romantic first dance between us, a calm, silly moment within the sea of expectations and well wishes. It also said Quinn must dance with his mother, for her to share that moment with her son and for her family to understand that their relationship had healed. Of course, we went off script when I danced with Desmond instead of my father, but one could argue that a little improv was necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable.

  It told us that toasts were necessary, that a cake needed to be cut, a bouquet to be thrown, and that everyone gathered should pass on their well wishes and love to us, and show us how cherished we were.

  This script that we followed was entitled Tradition.

  I think I finally understood what Bridgett, the wise knitter from London, had been trying to tell me all those months ago about rites of passage and the value of enduring tradition.

  We didn’t need the flowers and decorations, the gorgeous ballroom venue, the party favors, or the general splendor. If I peeled away the layers of accoutrements and fluff, we could have staged this script in a barn or in a field and, as long as traditions had been adhered to, the outcome and feelings would have been the same.

  Leaving for our honeymoon and starting our happily-ever-after was next on the script.

  And I couldn’t wait.

  The End

  What happens in Vegas…the missing scene

  May 31, 3:42 am

  *Quinn*

  Other than the constant groping, the elevator ride and the walk down the hallway was unremarkable. Ashley and Sandra basically passed out on their beds. Marie also went down easily. She fell to one of the couches, fast asleep, as soon as we entered the suite.

  Nico and Elizabeth disappeared, and Dan had his hands full with Kat.

  She seemed to be more awake than she’d been all night. I saw that he was trying to be gentle, but no amount of pushing away and grabbing of hands made a difference. She had him backed into a wall next to the door of her room.

  Kat said, “You want me, I know you do.”

  I then heard Dan’s answering groan. It sounded like despair.

  The back of his head hit the wall behind him and his eyes were shut. Then he cussed and cussed and cussed. I think he might’ve even made up some new curse words.

  I turned away, hearing him growl, but trusting him to do the right thing. I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Watching Dan push off the advances of a beautiful woman was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen, especially since it was obvious that she was right. He wanted her—badly.

  I would have to give him shit about it later.

  I swung Janie in my arms and carried her down the hall to her room. She was still whispering bad things in my ear. They were actually good things—very, very good things—but they made me want to be very, very bad.

  I wouldn’t, though. My judgment was working just fine, and I was not going to touch her while she was obviously drunk and high on hash. I guessed that this was the first time she’d ever touched the stuff.

  She’d never spoken to me this way before. In the bedroom, I was always the initiator, and we rarely talked because were using our mouths for other things. I thought maybe I’d never seen Janie’s dirty side because I was impatient and never gave her a chance.

  My plan, when we’d made that stupid bet after becoming engaged, was to wait her out. I wanted her to make the first move.

  In the end, I couldn’t. I couldn’t wait. Watching her untuck her shirt after I called her Kitten sent me over the edge. I needed to know how affected she’d been. I wanted to touch the evidence with my fingers, so I did.

  With her, I was never patient.

  After tonight, though, I might have to try harder. Because the more I pushed away her hands and her mouth, the more creative she became.

  She’d wrapped herself around me, her mouth on my neck. I was sure that whatever she was currently up to would leave a mark. I kicked the door shut behind me and crossed to the bed, decided I would be taking a cold shower once I got her to sleep. I thought about sleeping in the shower.

  As soon as I set her on the mattress, she climbed to her knees and reached for me. I held out my hand, both to keep her away and to keep her from falling.

  “Janie, no. You need to sleep.”

  She hiked up her skirt, showing me the tops of her stockings and the garter straps holding them.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Sleep.”

  My eyes flew open at the sound of a zipper, just in time to see her whip off her sad excuse for a dress. The white lace bra followed next. I told myself to close my eyes again.

  I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  Damn.

  “Linge means linen in French.” She bent over and was now on all fours, stalking toward me. Her ass was in the air. Her movements were clumsy and unpracticed, which made her sexier.

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets and cleared my face of all expression. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “The word lingerie comes from linge. In French the word lingerie is used to describe the underclothes of both men and women.”

  I ground my teeth.

  She reached out and grabbed the front of my shirt and used it as leverage to climb upright. “Victoria’s Secret should really be called Lucile’s Secret because Lady Duff-Gordon, AKA Lucile, was the major force behind the idea of visually appealing undergarments.” She took off my shirt, pressed her bare chest to mine.

  “Remind me to send her a thank you card.” I held completely still. If I moved or if she moved against me, I was going to lose my mind.

  Janie frowned, and I saw that she was distracted by my last statement. “You can’t. She’d dead. She died in 1935. She also was one of the survivors of the Titanic; did you know that?”

  I saw my chance so I went for it. “She survived the Titanic? How many people survived the Titanic?”

  Janie blinked at me. “No one knows for sure. There were approximately two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-five people onboard. They think fifteen hundred died, or thereabouts.”

  “Freezing to death,” I said. Thoughts of death and cold water helped me regain some of my control.

  “That’s right, freezing to death, or drowning.” She nodded, her eyes wide. “If you think about it, hypothermia seems like the preferred method of premature death.”

  With that sobering thoug
ht, I finally trusted myself to move. I raised my hands to her arms. “Why do you say that?” I lifted her then pulled back the covers, setting her against the sheets. I fastened my eyes to hers and did not look anywhere else, like her fantastic breasts, or her stomach, or her legs, or her hips, or the curve of her shoulder, or…fucking everywhere.

  She was busy talking about premature death. “You know that hypothermia is when the body’s temperature drops below what is required for normal metabolism. Before you die you become confused, lose sense of your surroundings. You’ll eventually go by heart attack and overall organ failure, but by then you won’t even feel it.”

  I nodded, covered her with the comforter. Her body finally hidden, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you know what paradoxical undressing is?” she asked, her eyes blinking tiredly.

  I moved to switch off the light, saw her yawn, and thanked God.

  “Will you tell me in the morning?” I began to back away.

  She reached out faster than I thought she could in her current state and clasped her fingers around my wrist. “No-no-no. You’re staying with me.”

  I covered her hand with mine and whispered, “It’s almost four in the morning. You need sleep.”

  She whispered back, “So do you.”

  “Janie.”

  “Quinn.”

  “I need to clean up.”

  “We’ll shower together.”

  I suppressed a growl then conceded. “Fine. I’ll lay with you.”

  She shifted backward and lifted the covers for me to climb in. I turned, sat, and unlaced my boots. I felt her eyes on my back.

  I took my time taking them off. I needed every second.

  She broke the silence just as I was removing the second boot.

  “Do you think we’re going to be okay?”

  I stopped. She sounded worried. I glanced over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  Janie’s big eyes stared at me. The curtain in the room was still open. Flashing lights from the strip below made the room dim, not dark.

  “You have money.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at this. “Yes….”

  “It’s not a little bit of money. It’s a lot of money. Based on my estimate—and I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am—you’re in the top point zero five percent. I looked up your percentile on the distribution wealth curve.”

  I twisted and lay next to her, studied her face. She looked as anxious as she sounded. “Does it still bother you?”

  “No…and yes.”

  “Why yes?”

  “Because…you work all the time, and I know you love to work. It’s your passion….”

  “You’re my passion,” I contradicted without thinking.

  Her lashes fluttered, and she gave me a little smile, but continued. “I know you love your work. I don’t think you work just because of the money. I think you work because it’s something you’re good at and you feel like you’re making a difference. So what is the money for?”

  Power. Security. Safety. Spoiling you.

  I didn’t say any of those, even though they were the truth. The money was how I’d been able to bribe Janie’s father into coming to the ceremony. The money paid for her guards—both the ones she saw and the ones she didn’t. I wished I’d assigned more than just Stan to her tonight.

  Instead, I asked, “What would you do with the money?”

  “Good. I would do good with it.” She then reached out to me, put her hand on my cheek. “I’m not saying that you need to give it all away. Not at all. You er…you earned it.” When she tripped over the word earned, I guessed it was because she now knew how I’d earned it at first. But then she quickly followed with, “I see how hard you work. You did earn it. You’re flying all over the place, you do good, you take good care of your people. I’m not suggesting that you don’t.” She seemed more lucid than before. Though I doubted she ever would’ve brought this up if it hadn’t been for the hashish.

  “Then what are you suggesting?” I was honestly curious. Janie was an unconventional thinker, but she was usually right. She was great for my business. Her suggestions and improvements increased profits and efficiency.

  “It’s just…flying down here, this hotel room, everything. I know you paid for this entire weekend. And you’re paying for the wedding.”

  I shrugged. “It’s good for the economy.”

  The side of her mouth tilted up. “We should look for ways to help, like scholarships for disadvantaged kids. One could argue that sending ten kids to college who wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity will do more for the economy in the long run than a year of discretionary spending.”

  “Janie….”

  “I’m not being self-righteous about it either. I love my shoes and my comic books, so no judgment. You work hard; you should have nice things. You deserve the nice things you have.”

  “Janie….”

  “I’m just saying that we should talk about whether or not you have the capacity for altruistic giving. But it has to be done right, not like that phantom charity thing we went to in London. That was just weird; no one knew the name of the charity.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s also…wait…yes?”

  “Yes.” Even when she was high on hash, she was thinking about social responsibility. “After we get married, I’ll put you in charge of all charitable spending and outreach.”

  “Who is in charge of it now?”

  “No one. You’ll be starting it from scratch.”

  She grinned. But then she frowned. “Am I pushing you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “After we get married, two point four years from now, do you think you’ll still love me?”

  Whoa....

  I blinked at her and the rapid change of subject. “Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you need to find out. Why would you ask me that?”

  Her eyes darted between mine and she blurted, “I guess I’m happy. I’m not content, because content means that I don’t want anything to change, and content doesn’t necessarily mean happy.” She bit the inside of her lip, shook her head. “I want things to keep changing, I want our feelings to keep changing. Because with you, every time something changes, it gets better. You make everything better.”

  Her words calmed me, but they also put a knot in my throat because I had the same thoughts about her.

  “Yes, Janie.” I covered her hand on my face with mine. “Things will keep changing, and I will still love you.”

  She released a breath then said, “I hope so. I hope you never stop. But I know it might happen, probably will. When it does, I hope you give us a chance to find our way back.”

  I stared at her for a beat then said, “I hope you give us a chance to find our way back.”

  She scowled at me. “Of course I will. You’re my friend.”

  “I’m your friend?”

  “Yes. Friends don’t care how much money you have or what you look like. They don’t care if you’re grumpy or sad. They don’t care if you knit or crochet. They couldn’t care less if you like Superman more than Batman, or don’t recognize the superiority of Wonder Woman. Friends care about each other, down deep, despite faults. Sometimes they care about you more because of your faults. I used the friendship label on you months ago, and I meant it. You’re my friend; that’s forever.”

  I stared at her not knowing what to say.

  Janie suddenly smiled. She leaned forward quickly and kissed me, then turned. She pressed her back against my front, wrapped my arms around her torso as she said, “I think we’ll be fine. Things will change, I’ll start giving away your money to charity, and as long as we’re always friends, we’ll always find our way back.”

  My eyes stared unseeingly in the dark. I listened to her breathing become slow and even until she was silent. I felt the rise and fall of her chest under my
palms.

  To Janie, friendship was bigger than family. More than anything, I wanted to be her friend.

  I knew her body by touch, taste, and smell. I’d memorized the sound of her voice and her laugh. I could interpret her face, her movements, and her expressions by sight. I recognized her brilliance and the beauty of her brain.

  Yet she still surprised me. I didn’t think that would ever stop. But, despite the unknown, I was certain of three things:

  I loved her.

  She was my friend.

  And despite the surprises that would come, I knew Janie by heart.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance is the fourth full-length novel published by Penny Reid. Her days are spent writing federal grant proposals for biomedical research; her evenings are either spent playing dress-up and mad-scientist with her two people-children (boy-7, girl-4) or knitting with her knitting group at her local yarn store. Please feel free to drop her a line. She'd be happy to hijack your thoughts!

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  Read on for:

  Penny Reid Book List

  Sneak Peek: First chapter of Beauty and the Mustache (book #4 in the Knitting in the City Series)

  Sneak Peek: First chapter of Daisy Prescott’s Missionary Position

  Sneak Peek: First chapter of R.S. Grey’s Scoring Wilder