Loverboy (4 page)

I smile. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with me. That’s a good thing.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” she starts. “I thought the police were crazy for having a man be my body
guard. But, now, I’m glad they picked you. It’s not so bad having you here. And, I’m glad we’re not in some hotel somewhere. Being home is nice, too.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t mind being here,” I say. “It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to
be. I just wish you could sleep.”

Her cheeks flush with color. “Sorry, it’s just, every time I close my eyes I feel like I’m on the cold, cement floor. I don’t even know who the guy is or everything that he did to me. But, when I try to sleep, I’m there, and he’s with me. Except, in my dream I don’t get away.”

“How did you get away?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I know I was bound, with something tight.” She looks down at her wrists, which both have remnants of red cut marks that are beginning to heal. “The most I can figure is that maybe my hands were so bloody I was able to slide my hands out and just run.”

“You ran alright,” I say. “Straight to an officer on horseback.”

She makes a strange face. “I really can’t remember.”

“Do you remember how you got all the marks?” I ask.

She gives her head a shake. “Not really. But, I do remember something about a medical kit. Things you would have in an operating room.” She shivers for a moment and finally looks up at me. “You don’t think he’s
a doctor, do you?”

“Well, we certainly can’t rule out any possibility,” I say. “You just never know.” She scrunches up her button nose and gives me a look I’ve never seen before. “Are you hungry?”

I haven’t ordered any take out today, which means I haven’t eaten since the day before, at the least. I give her a nod; though I feel bad having her feed me.

“Do you like pasta?” She says. “I enjoy cooking, and I really haven’t gotten a chance to do it in a long time.”

“I’m always up for pasta,” I say. “Well, I’m always up for food. And, pie. I love pie, too.”

She lets out a light laugh, and pulls herself off the couch and heads for the kitchen. “You’ll probably love my ma’s recipe,” She tells me as she begins to dig in various cabinets and the refrigerator.

“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” I ask.

She gives me a nod as she begins digging through her cabinets. “When I was about ten or eleven. She wanted to know that I could fend for myself, I guess.”

“Are you close with her?” I ask.

When she turns to look at me, I can tell I’ve accidentally stumbled onto a soft spot; one that I probably should have left alone. I lick my lips and look down a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You didn’t know. My mom and I,” she says, grabbing for a large black pot, “we just have a really rocky relationship. Ever since I didn’t get into the school she wanted, and I still moved here.”

I’m clearly treading where I don’t belong, and begin to feel bad. “I’m sorry,” I mumble again. “I hope you and your mom work things out.”

She nods as she begins filling a large black pot with hot water. “What about yours? Were you taught to cook?”

I suddenly feel a little relief that she’s not upset with me for asking about her mother. She’s already been through enough, I feel horrible upsetting her with petty questions.
“Cooking, to me, is usually what comes from the freezer or the Chinese place down the street.” I laugh, finally.             

She makes a sickened face. “How can you put that in your body?”

“Easy,” I say. “When you burn popcorn, you find other ways to eat.”

She laughs. “Come in here. You’re going to help.” She pulls another pot out, and begins working on a bright red concoction that I can only assume is the sauce. She hands me a large wooden spoon and smiles. “Stir slowly.”

I give her a funny look, but obey and begin twisting the spoon in a circular motion. “I’m telling you, this could go very bad.”

“Just listen to me, and you’ll be fine,” she says as she tosses in a mixture of various spices. She looks up at me as she tosses in another brown powder.
,
“I’m curious now; if you’re not good at cooking, what are you good at?” She gives me another smile that this time I fully take in. Her smile is wide, bright, and beautiful. Her blue-green eyes crinkle just at the corners as she stares at me, and I realize that I’m supposed to answer her question.

Finally, I shrug, coming to my senses. “I don’t know. Not much of anything, I guess.”

“Oh, come on,” she says, taking the spoon from me and adjusting the burner temperature. “Everyone is good at something.”

“Well, what are you good at?” I ask.

“Cooking.” She laughs. “Now, your turn.”

“Damn.” I laugh. “I feel like I was trapped into that one.”

“Well, you should have seen it coming,” she admits.

“Fine,” I say. “I can play piano; pretty well in fact.”

“Really?” She asks as her bright eyes seem to grow large and curious.

I nod. “Not to toot my own horn or anything, but,” I lift my arm as if to pull an imaginary air horn, “Toot toot; I’m really good at it.”

She laughs. “I never could get the hang of it. I tried, don’t get me wrong. I tried for about three years.” Her cheeks flush. “Just never worked out.” She passes me the spoon again, silently ordering me to stir the sauce. “I will say, you don’t strike me as the piano type of guy.”

“Well, you don’t strike me as the cooking type of girl.” I laugh.

“Well, I just couldn’t imagine having to order in Chinese every day of the week,” she shoots, teasingly.

“Can you do anything else?” I ask.

She shrugs. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” She begins pulling the pot of pasta slowly off the stove and working the noodles down into the colander.

“Well, I will give you one thing,” I say, bending forward to put my nose over the pot of sauce, “This stuff smells
fricken awesome.” 

She laughs, and runs scalding hot water over the noodles. “Just one of my many talents.”

“Many talents, huh?” I ask. “Like what?”

“You tell me something else, and I’ll tell you,” she says. “It’s called having a conversation.”

“Okay,” I say. “I can doodle.”

“Doodle?” She asks, giving me a blank stare as she places piles of noodles onto crisp white China.

“Yeah,” I say. “Like, cartoon. You know, the Sunday comics.”

“An artist,” she says. “I’m impressed. I said it once, and I will say it again; you really do not strike me as that type of guy.”

“What kind of guy do I strike you as?” I laugh as she takes the spoon from me and works on ladling sauce onto the pasta.

She shrugs. “I don’t know; the big tough type of guy. You know; the quarterback of the football team who dates the head cheerleader.”

I immediately laugh. “Please, more like band geek.”

She rolls her eyes as she grates fresh cheese on top of the sauce. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Why do you doubt that?” I ask, taking the plates to sit them at her table.

“Because, well, look at you,” she says. “The pretty boy. I mean, come on, you’re not fooling me. Did you play football?”

I nod. “I did for a while; football and basketball.”

“See, I told you!” She says, pulling a can of Pepsi from her refrigerator and a bottle of wine from her cabinet. She holds them up, silently asking me to choose.

“What the hell,” I say. “I’ll try some wine.” I suddenly give her a funny look. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

She laughs. “Are you serious right now?”

I laugh. “Dead serious; are you old enough to drink?”

“Oh. My. God.” She laughs, reaching for her wallet on the counter. “I’m being carded in my own home, by a cop, who I’m feeding.” She politely passes me the ID. “Twenty-one, I swear.”

Though it’s an adorable look, she does look quite disgusted with me right now. I fight a little round of laughter as I look down and search for the year she was born. She is, in fact, old enough. I can’t help but smile. “Not a bad picture,” I say, handing it back to her.

She rolls her eyes, tucking it back in her over stuffed, pink wallet. “Please, I was exhausted. Of course my license expired during finals. That’s just how that works.”
She laughs as she pours two glasses of a dark red wine. She carries the wine goblets over, and slowly takes a seat next to me. “So, you’ve now seen my horrible license, so tell me, did you date the head cheerleader?”

I smile. “Hate to burst your bubble, but no.”

“Damn, I thought for sure I had that one pegged,” she says, taking a small sip of wine before having a bite of pasta.

“Okay,” I say, shoveling another bite into my mouth. “Your turn. Tell me something.”

“How did I know that was coming?” She asks, having a small bite. “Hmm. Well, I’m kind of a felon.”

I can feel my eyes grow wide as I stare blankly at her. “You’re a what?” I have a small drink of wine, which to my surprise really does bring out a different flavor to the pasta.

“My last boyfriend back home,” she pauses. “He cheated on me after two years. I caught him in the act none-the-less.” She took a long breath and sip of wine before looking up and off into the distance. “So, I slashed his tires, put hay bales in all his seats, and covered his car in bologna, mustard, and saran wrap.”

My eyes widen as I cough on the wine I’ve just taken a sip of. I feel her hand come down and pat me hard on the back.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, wiping my eyes that have begun to water. “You did that?”

She nods. “Yeah, not exactly proud of it, but, I was young, dumb, and pissed.”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have just told a cop what you’d done.” I wink.

She laughs. “Been there, done that. I was caught and punished once.”

I laugh. “Serves you right.”

She takes a swallow of wine. “Serves him right.”

“Point made,” I say, having another bite of pasta. “Sounds like he was more than deserving of what he got.”

“I think he was anyway,” she says. “So, tell me, your turn; what else are you hiding?” She asks, having a petite bite.

“Well,” I say, taking a gulp of wine. “Remember that ex of yours that cheated on you?”

She nods. “Wish I didn’t, but yeah.”

“My last girlfriend did the same to me,” I say. “I caught him and her in my apartment and on my couch.” I look at her, almost dumbfounded by what I’ve just said. My business is my business, and I usually do an alright job of keeping my personal life to myself. But, for some reason tonight, I don’t mind opening up to her.

“Oh Nick,” she sighs. “I’m sorry. I really know how it feels.” She gives me such a sad look; one that makes me want to hug her.

I lick the wine off my lips. “It’s okay. It’s her loss. Or so I was told.”

She shoots me a little smile. “I really am sorry. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve had an array of horrible dates since then. Like Jason, the ass who stole my savings. Tom, the personal trainer who insisted on going everywhere with an open shirt. Or how about Chris, who I walked in on licking my bathroom mirror?”

That was as much as I could take. I burst into such a fit of laughter I nearly spilled the red wine. I’ve heard of bad dates, but licking the bathroom mirror has to shoot to the top of the list.

“Wow,” she says softly. “Good thing I don’t have a complex about it or anything.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t help myself. Licking the bathroom mirror?”

Before long, she’s laughing too. Finally, her eyes return to mine. “I really am sorry. Is that part of the reason why you keep things to yourself?”

I nod. “Part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” She asks.

“Well, that and I generally like keeping to myself,” I tell her.

“Hmm, that’s funny, I do remember a guy telling me that it’s always better to open up and talk about your feelings.”

I laugh. “You got me, and I did say that. I guess I need to take my own advice, huh?”

She nods. “You do.”

I smile and have another sip of wine. As I stare at her, I can tell she’s more relaxed; her body completely loose as she has another drink of wine. Her cheeks are filled with color, and, despite the amount of heavy pasta weighing in on her stomach, I can tell that she’s feeling the effects of the wine.

“So, tell me, why did you become a cop?” She asks.

“Remember my sister that I told you about?” I ask.

She nods and has another bite of pasta.

“She’s my youngest, and she was raped. I kind of knew before then that I wanted to be a cop, since my dad and grandfather were both cops, but after that happened to her, it was a sealed deal. I stopped at nothing to become one.”

“I know I’m not the only one that this has happened to, and I know I won’t be the last. I just wish that no one had to go through this. I am truly sorry about your sister,” she says, softly.