Loverboy (9 page)

“No uniform?” I say, realizing the few times we’d been out was later at night and all the time we’d spent here was in normal clothes as well. “That means no gun.” I feel my stomach drop a bit as the thought of going out and having been out without any form of protection, aside from Nick, bothers me.

He shakes his head and lifts up part of the polo. There, tucked safely into a hidden holster, is his firearm. I let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s a good idea to blend in with you during the day,” he says. “A young woman with a cop while grocery shopping may draw attention.”

I smile, and for some reason feel my cheeks warming up again. “You look nice cleaned up.” I now take in account that his face is freshly shaved as well, and how the green polo brings out the green in his eyes. I look down and then up at him from underneath my eyelashes. I can’t help but to notice how handsome he really is. Now that I’m taking the time to really look at him.

“Thanks,” he says as he heads toward me. “Just about ready to go.”

I take a moment to come back to reality and I hold up the two long pages. “I really hope I am. I just need to throw on some shoes, and grab a jacket or sweater.”

He nods, and I run to my bedroom, grabbing a pair of below the ankle socks and my favorite low profile Chuck Taylor’s. I wiggle the socks and shoes onto my feet, and stuff my grocery list into my pocket for safe keeping. I reach into my closet and pull out another favorite my Victoria’s Secret PINK zip-up hooded jacket and throw it over my arm. “Well,” I say, heading toward the kitchen for my purse. “If we don’t leave now I may change my mind.”

He laughs. “You’re doing great. I swear.”

“Yeah, but last time I was in my sloppiest clothes,” I say. “Now, I just feel all exposed.”             

“You’re not exposed; you look great,” he reassures me. “I’m right here with you.”

I smile and feel relief, knowing he is with me. For some reason, I have a feeling Nick would never let anything harm me. That alone makes me feel good. I take one deep breath as we head out the door of my apartment and lock it tightly behind us. This time, it does feel a little easier getting down my apartment steps and to the main, secure door, but getting outside is still challenging. I feel Nick’s comforting hand on my back as he urges me forward. I glance over at him and let out a breath that I was holding.

“It’s okay, Charlie; I’m right here,” I hear him tell me as he reaches for the door.
             

“Just don’t let me go, Nick,” I tell him as I feel my voice shake.

He smiles. “I won’t.”

I somehow manage to smile back. I trust him.

* * * * * *

Well, I’ve managed one small feat. My first outing in the day in a busy super
market in nearly two weeks. Nick made it quite pleasurable as he helped me find things on my list, eased my mind when he sensed my uneasiness. He even pushed the cart around for me, and was patient with me while pondered over which cereal to get for a good five minutes. Of course, by the time we leave the grocery and my purse is minus one hundred and fifty dollars, getting back outside was a little difficult. Nick immediately found a way to push the cart with one hand while keeping one hand on my lower back.  By the time we make it back to my apartment, I’ve made it clear to Nick that I want to get everything in just one trip. He seems skeptical of the idea, but agrees none-the-less to ease my fears. He’s told me he’d be more than happy to take me up to my apartment and then go back for the rest, but for some reason, that thought doesn’t sit well with me. But as we’re lugging twenty separate grocery bags up the stairs to my apartment I am truly regretting living on the second floor. By the time we reach my kitchen, I happily dump the bags on the counter. Nick places his just behind mine.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” I say, “Having to buy all this crap, lugging it all up the stairs, or having to put it away.”

He laughs. “Putting it away?”

I shrug. “I guess I’d rather put it away than lug it up those steps again,” I say as I begin digging things from the various reusable bags.

“How do you feel?” He asks, as he begins to help me take things out and sit them on the counter.

I think for a moment. “Honestly, not too bad. Better than I thought I would feel. I mean, I had some uneasiness, but I’m not a complete wreck.”

“See? Baby steps can help,” he says, softly.

I nod. “They seem to be helping me anyway. I actually feel like I’m somewhat normal again.”

He smiles and hands me a few odds and ends to store in my pantry.

“Are we still on for steaks and baked potatoes tonight?” He asks.

“Of course, I just need to get this stuff all put away,” I say. “Since we missed lunch I’m starved, and I will start cooking right after.”

He smiles. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Actually, you can pick out two bigger potatoes, get them washed and wrapped up in some tin foil,” I say. “That’ll be a nice start, and it’ll take them longer to cook than the steaks.”              

He obeys as I hurry to put every stitch of groceries away, making sure to leave out the fresh steaks I picked up from the butcher. I glance over at him as he carefully washes the potatoes and wraps them in aluminum foil. I have to admit, as strange as it is having him here, he’s not
a bad little helper, even if he couldn’t cook to save his own life.

I smile. “You doing okay?”

He laughs. “I’ve never done this before in my life.”

“Well, there is a first for everything,” I tell him, preheating my oven to 350 degrees. “You have to learn some time or another. A man can’t live off Chinese food alone, you know?”

“Hey, I don’t just eat Chinese food,” he tells me. “I throw in the occasional frozen dinner.”

I make a sickened face. “I won’t even eat those. Do you realize how much MSG and other yucky things they put in those? I mean, they could be frozen for ten years, and you’d still be okay to eat them.”

He laughs. “Well, what else am I supposed to eat?”

“Real food,” I say. “You’re going to start paying attention to me and learn how to cook. The least I can do when you leave here, is send you out on your own with the ability to fend for yourself in the kitchen.”

He gives his head a shake. “I might very well blow up your kitchen.”

I laugh as I begin prepping the steaks to be cooked and slide the potatoes into the oven on the bare oven rack. “Well, it’s not my kitchen; it’s my landlord’s.”

“Even more reason for me not to cook,” he says. “I’ll just watch and eat the finished product.”

“Uh huh, sounds like a typical man,” I say, tossing some spices onto the steaks.

“Well, being your average, ordinary guy isn’t such a bad thing.”

I smile as I begin to cook the steaks on the lowest heat possible. “Don’t you want to be a not-so-average, extraordinary guy.”

“Point made, smarty pants.” He laughs. “You know, I will say I’m surprised.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

“I really expected you to be a vegetarian.”

“Please, I needed the protein to keep up with my
brothers, and besides that, I need it for my job,” I admit. “No one can live off rabbit food alone.”

He laughs. “One of my sisters used to be a vegetarian, swore to us all that it was so much better for you. Which, okay, I get. But after a while she said she wanted to try a burger. So, she did.”

“And? What happened?” I ask.

“She eats meat every day and hasn’t looked back since.” He laughs.

“I do admit that I kind of hate the idea that I’m eating some poor helpless animal.” I say. “I mean, I love every, and all animals. But, I just can’t live off rabbit food.”

“And, just how do you live with yourself for eating some poor helpless animal?” He teases.

“I just tell myself they came from the freezer section.” I laugh.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says, watching me contently as I pay close attention to the steaks.

“How do you like yours cooked?” I asked.

“Very well done,” he says. “I’m a big baby. Not one speck of pink.”

I smile. “I can do that.”

“You know, I’m really proud of you for the progress you’re making,” he says to me. “You’re doing extremely well, and I think your counselor will be able to say the same the next time you talk on the phone.”

“Thank you. With how you put things, you know, about letting him take my life away just lets him win. That really sank in.”

He smiles wide. “It’s what helped my sister.”

“Really?” I ask.

He nods. “For some reason, it just made her bounce right back on her feet.”

“Well, it seems to be having the same affect on me,” I say. “Maybe that’s what I needed to hear all along, and my counselor was going about things all wrong.” I smile. “Are you sure you didn’t pick the wrong profession?”

He laughs. “One hundred percent sure.”

“Are you an A-1 steak sauce kind of guy, or just plain Jane?” I ask.

“Depends on how good your steak is.” He smiles.

“Ouch. That’s a lot of pressure to put on me there,” I say. “I don’t make steaks that much,” I tell him as I pull butter, sour cream, cheese, and real bacon pieces out for the potatoes.

“No pressure,” he tells me. “I’ll still eat it; I promise you that.”

“That hungry are you?” I laugh, now beginning to pull two plates from my China cabinet.             

“Well, I am starving,” he says. “We did skip lunch, remember?”

I nod. “Pepsi, Coke, or something else?”

“Coke,” he says as he’s up and out of his chair and reaching for two glasses to fill with ice for the drinks.

I tenderly pull our potatoes from the oven, placing them both on the plates; I pull back the tin foil to reveal two perfectly baked potatoes. Next, I turn to the steaks, both have been cooked very well done and to a perfect temperature on the inside.

“Geez, now I’m nervous,” I say. “It’s like you’re some food critic.”

He laughs. “If it’s anything like your pasta, you have nothing to worry about.”

Nick doesn’t waste a second; he happily cuts into the steak and forks a bite into his mouth as I begin to slather my potato in sour cream, cheese, and pieces of crumbled up bacon.

“I’m definitely not putting any A-1 on this,” he says. “Are you a chef or something?”

I shake my head. “I’m a dancer.”

He reaches for his soda and gives me an odd look.

“Oh God, no!” I say. “Not that kind of a dancer. Ballet, Hip Hop, Jazz, I’m a real dancer. I’m an instructor for a small group of girls at a private dance studio.”

He laughs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have thought that.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I can only imagine what some people do think when I tell them that.”

“So, a dancer, huh?” He smiles.

“Yeah, I actually wanted to go to Juilliard, but,” I pause. “It just didn’t work out. I guess my audition wasn’t up to par for them.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know that had to have been hard.”

I nod. “I was crushed; my mom more so. She begged me not to come to New York. But, I didn’t listen. I was, however, accepted into NYU. Luckily, I found a private dance studio that was more blown away by my audition than Juilliard.”

“It’s Juilliard’s loss.”

“Thank you,” I say, having a bite of baked potato. “That was a dark day in the Murphy home, let me tell you that.”

“But, NYU,” he says. “Geez, you must have one amazing head on your shoulders.”

“I do okay, I guess,” I say. “I graduated from high school with a four-point-oh, and at the top of my class.”

“Well, you certainly know how to make a guy feel inferior.” He laughs, having a drink of soda.

I shovel another bite into my mouth, this time steak, and I chew happily. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was letting myself get in between meals until I had gone to the grocery store, and I wanted everything in sight. “I’m not trying to make you feel inferior,” I say, finally. “Besides, you have a tough job. I just dance and write papers all day.”

He laughs. “There’s one way to look at it.” He has another drink and his eyes meet mine. “So, how did your mom feel about NYU?”

“Well,” I pause. “She wasn’t the happiest. She had her heart set on Juilliard for me.”

“But, the question is,” he starts, “are you happy?”

“With school and my job?” I ask. “Yes. Of course, I am; it’s NYU.”

“Then, that’s all that should matter,” he says, cutting
another chunk of steak to eat.

“My mom and I have such a rocky relationship anyway,” I admit. “One minute we’re talking, and the next we’re not. We get mad at one another over the most ridiculous things.”
             

“And, what’s your current status with your mom now?” He asks. “Talking or not talking?”

I sigh. “Still not talking.”

He makes a face. “Does anyone in your family know what’s happened to you?”