I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a robe around my body. I pulled my
hair up in a messy ponytail, then shuffled toward the door. I smiled as I
peered through the peephole. Officer Boscorelli was waiting patiently
outside my door. I opened the door. He smiled at me.
"Another domestic violence call in D-4?" I teased. He wasn't in uniform, he was dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck that had the letters NYPD sewn into the left side, and a black leather jacket. He smiled at me.
"No, but you said to tell you how everything went in D-4," he shrugged.
"Do you wan to come in and give me all the juicy details?" I offered, pointing over my shoulder. "I mean, it's not exactly a home yet, but the couch is there."
"I'd like that," he stated, taking his hands out of his jacket pockets. He offered me his hand. "But, before we do... We didn't get to formally introduce ourselves. I'm Maurice Boscorelli, but everyone calls me Bosco."
"Raeanne Spangler," I introduced myself. Bosco brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. I felt my heart skip a few beats. No, Raeanne. He's a charmer, don't let him get to you, I scolded myself. I slid my hand gently out of his hand, then opened the apartment door wider, ushering him in. He glanced around my apartment, looking for changes I suppose. "Go ahead, grab a seat. Do you want some tea?"
"Do you have any coffee? It's sort of been a long day," Bosco took a seat on my couch, still inspecting my moderate apartment critically.
"You're lucky," I smiled, grabbing two mugs out of the china cabinet. My kitchen and bedroom were the only organized centers of the household.
"How's that?"
"I don't drink coffee,"
"And that makes me lucky how?" Bosco craned his head around to look at me. I smiled at him as I grabbed two bags of coffee out of the pantry.
"I keep two bags around in case of a guest," I stated. "Regular or Decaf French Vanilla?"
"Ooh, French Vanilla," Bosco grinned. "Regular, thanks."
"So how was everything in D-4?" I struck up small conversation, hoping maybe our talk could extend past the flavor of coffee beans. I got busy preparing his Regular French Vanilla, then stuck my own water into the microwave.
"Let's just say when we got there the wife had barricaded herself into the bathroom, and by the time we had left her and hubby dearest were practically on top of each other," he sighed deeply, shaking his head. I made way for my recliner, which sat across from the couch.
"So, they got in an argument?" I questioned.
"He threatened to leave her, so she locked herself up. She was screaming and bitching her ass off, so he called 911 because he thought she was cutting herself up or overdosing or something," Bosco shook his head again. "I don't get why people in this city go all Academy Award whenever they get in arguments. It was over who was supposed to pick up the clothes from the dry cleaners, too."
"That's sad," I started to giggle.
"So are you moving?" Bosco asked. Then he added with somewhat of a hopeful tone, "Or did you just move in?"
"I just moved in today," I answered. "In fact I had just finished bringing in the last box about 10 minutes before you and Officer Yokas showed up."
"That's cool," Bosco smiled. "I can't complain about your choice. Nice apartments, great neighborhood, fairly decent rent for this great of a selection, if you think about it."
"Yea, this complex was definitely a diamond in the rough," I agreed, looking around my apartment. I hugged my knees to my chest. "I only managed to accomplish the kitchen and my bedroom."
"In one day? It'd take me a week just to do that. I'd sleep on my couch and eat out until I got my lazy ass in gear to do that," he stretched out across the couch, keeping his feet off of it. "You must be pretty organized, then."
"Far from it, actually," I pursed my lips in disagreement. "If you come back in two weeks I can almost guarantee that you won't recognize it, because I'm such a slob."
"Is that an invitation?" his eyes twinkled. Before I could answer, the microwave beeped. I got up and fixed my tea. I patiently waited for Bosco's cup to finish brewing. As I turned around to give Bosco his coffee, I saw that he was sitting in front of my small entertainment system, looking at my stereo and collection of CDs. I sat down next to him, handing him his mug. He smiled gratefully. "What good CDs do you have?"
"All my CDs are good," I scoffed, glaring at him. "What kind of music do you listen to?"
"Rock n Roll," he stated matter-of-factly.
"That tells me a lot," I sighed. "Who are your favorite bands?"
"Styx, Nickelback, Limp Bizkit. I like a lot of groups," he shrugged. I scooted myself back to the pile of boxes that sit in the middle of the floor. I dug around, looking for CDs I thought he might like. "Damnit."
"What?" I asked, looking up from my task. Bosco was looking down at his turtleneck helplessly, holding my mug out in front of him. "What'd you do?"
"Hot coffee," he apologetically smiled. "I have a bad habit of spilling coffee if it burns my tongue."
"It's no big deal. Come to the bathroom and we can clean up your shirt," I stood up, setting my hot tea on the floor. Bosco laid his mug down, then followed me to the bathroom. I dug a towel out of the box. I smiled at him as I soaked it in cold water. I dabbed at his shirt until I noticed his pectoral muscles. His wet shirt was acting as if it was a second skin to his chest.
"Um, maybe it'd be better if we took my shirt off," he laughed embarrassingly. I glanced up at him, then started to giggle uncontrollably. He started to laugh himself, then started to peel his turtleneck off.
"Do you, um, want me to go outside?" I edged toward the door. I shut the door before he could say anything, then leaned against the hallway wall. I sighed softly. A few moments later Bosco emerged from the bathroom, shirtless. I didn't mean to let me eyes linger on his great physique, but he caught me, then grinned boyishly.
"Something wrong?" he teased.
"I'd uh, offer you some of my clothes but I have a feeling I might be a little smaller than you," I managed to sputter. Bosco started to laugh. He rubbed his arms up and down.
"I am kind of cold. You don't have an ex-boyfriend's shirt or anything do you? I'd wear my jacket, but I'm afraid the shirtless look with a jacket isn't my thing," I bit my lip in thought.
"I have an incredibly large Cleveland Browns jersey,"
"Well, I guess I can't say much about your taste in football teams,"
"Hey, Tim Couch is a very good player, thank you!" I whacked him on his bare arm, then headed for my bedroom. I was acutely aware that he was following me as I entered the room, considering I could see his shadow casting over me and he wasn't light on his feet. I flipped on the light switch, then headed for my set of drawers. I found the over-sized Tim Couch jersey at the bottom of a drawer. When I turned back around Bosco was staring out my window, holding his arms against his abs. He looked almost vulnerable.
"You have the best view in the entire city. Not that it's a view I'd want to wake up and see everyday," he stated, pointing. I walked over to where he was standing. Bosco was staring at Ground Zero, which was a mere two blocks away. I had a clear view of the site, thanks to gaps between buildings. We could see people and machines working feverishly to find people.
"I didn't even notice that," I said somberly. "They didn't say anything about it. I feel really bad, now. I didn't even notice what happened. I guess I kind of blocked everything out and forgot it."
"Well, I can't exactly forget it," Bosco snapped, walking away from the window. I hesitantly started after him, then thought better of it. His accent told me he was a native New Yorker, and I knew the September 11th tragedies had hit him hard.
"I'm sorry, Bosco. It just seemed so far away from me," I apologized after a few quite moments. He was sitting on my bed, staring off into space. I approached him, then sat next to him. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's not your fault," he smiled meekly. I suddenly found myself wrapping my arms around his body, hugging him tightly my body. Bosco, who seemed somewhat surprised, trembled slightly for a moment. Then, he warmly embraced me, too.
"Another domestic violence call in D-4?" I teased. He wasn't in uniform, he was dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck that had the letters NYPD sewn into the left side, and a black leather jacket. He smiled at me.
"No, but you said to tell you how everything went in D-4," he shrugged.
"Do you wan to come in and give me all the juicy details?" I offered, pointing over my shoulder. "I mean, it's not exactly a home yet, but the couch is there."
"I'd like that," he stated, taking his hands out of his jacket pockets. He offered me his hand. "But, before we do... We didn't get to formally introduce ourselves. I'm Maurice Boscorelli, but everyone calls me Bosco."
"Raeanne Spangler," I introduced myself. Bosco brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. I felt my heart skip a few beats. No, Raeanne. He's a charmer, don't let him get to you, I scolded myself. I slid my hand gently out of his hand, then opened the apartment door wider, ushering him in. He glanced around my apartment, looking for changes I suppose. "Go ahead, grab a seat. Do you want some tea?"
"Do you have any coffee? It's sort of been a long day," Bosco took a seat on my couch, still inspecting my moderate apartment critically.
"You're lucky," I smiled, grabbing two mugs out of the china cabinet. My kitchen and bedroom were the only organized centers of the household.
"How's that?"
"I don't drink coffee,"
"And that makes me lucky how?" Bosco craned his head around to look at me. I smiled at him as I grabbed two bags of coffee out of the pantry.
"I keep two bags around in case of a guest," I stated. "Regular or Decaf French Vanilla?"
"Ooh, French Vanilla," Bosco grinned. "Regular, thanks."
"So how was everything in D-4?" I struck up small conversation, hoping maybe our talk could extend past the flavor of coffee beans. I got busy preparing his Regular French Vanilla, then stuck my own water into the microwave.
"Let's just say when we got there the wife had barricaded herself into the bathroom, and by the time we had left her and hubby dearest were practically on top of each other," he sighed deeply, shaking his head. I made way for my recliner, which sat across from the couch.
"So, they got in an argument?" I questioned.
"He threatened to leave her, so she locked herself up. She was screaming and bitching her ass off, so he called 911 because he thought she was cutting herself up or overdosing or something," Bosco shook his head again. "I don't get why people in this city go all Academy Award whenever they get in arguments. It was over who was supposed to pick up the clothes from the dry cleaners, too."
"That's sad," I started to giggle.
"So are you moving?" Bosco asked. Then he added with somewhat of a hopeful tone, "Or did you just move in?"
"I just moved in today," I answered. "In fact I had just finished bringing in the last box about 10 minutes before you and Officer Yokas showed up."
"That's cool," Bosco smiled. "I can't complain about your choice. Nice apartments, great neighborhood, fairly decent rent for this great of a selection, if you think about it."
"Yea, this complex was definitely a diamond in the rough," I agreed, looking around my apartment. I hugged my knees to my chest. "I only managed to accomplish the kitchen and my bedroom."
"In one day? It'd take me a week just to do that. I'd sleep on my couch and eat out until I got my lazy ass in gear to do that," he stretched out across the couch, keeping his feet off of it. "You must be pretty organized, then."
"Far from it, actually," I pursed my lips in disagreement. "If you come back in two weeks I can almost guarantee that you won't recognize it, because I'm such a slob."
"Is that an invitation?" his eyes twinkled. Before I could answer, the microwave beeped. I got up and fixed my tea. I patiently waited for Bosco's cup to finish brewing. As I turned around to give Bosco his coffee, I saw that he was sitting in front of my small entertainment system, looking at my stereo and collection of CDs. I sat down next to him, handing him his mug. He smiled gratefully. "What good CDs do you have?"
"All my CDs are good," I scoffed, glaring at him. "What kind of music do you listen to?"
"Rock n Roll," he stated matter-of-factly.
"That tells me a lot," I sighed. "Who are your favorite bands?"
"Styx, Nickelback, Limp Bizkit. I like a lot of groups," he shrugged. I scooted myself back to the pile of boxes that sit in the middle of the floor. I dug around, looking for CDs I thought he might like. "Damnit."
"What?" I asked, looking up from my task. Bosco was looking down at his turtleneck helplessly, holding my mug out in front of him. "What'd you do?"
"Hot coffee," he apologetically smiled. "I have a bad habit of spilling coffee if it burns my tongue."
"It's no big deal. Come to the bathroom and we can clean up your shirt," I stood up, setting my hot tea on the floor. Bosco laid his mug down, then followed me to the bathroom. I dug a towel out of the box. I smiled at him as I soaked it in cold water. I dabbed at his shirt until I noticed his pectoral muscles. His wet shirt was acting as if it was a second skin to his chest.
"Um, maybe it'd be better if we took my shirt off," he laughed embarrassingly. I glanced up at him, then started to giggle uncontrollably. He started to laugh himself, then started to peel his turtleneck off.
"Do you, um, want me to go outside?" I edged toward the door. I shut the door before he could say anything, then leaned against the hallway wall. I sighed softly. A few moments later Bosco emerged from the bathroom, shirtless. I didn't mean to let me eyes linger on his great physique, but he caught me, then grinned boyishly.
"Something wrong?" he teased.
"I'd uh, offer you some of my clothes but I have a feeling I might be a little smaller than you," I managed to sputter. Bosco started to laugh. He rubbed his arms up and down.
"I am kind of cold. You don't have an ex-boyfriend's shirt or anything do you? I'd wear my jacket, but I'm afraid the shirtless look with a jacket isn't my thing," I bit my lip in thought.
"I have an incredibly large Cleveland Browns jersey,"
"Well, I guess I can't say much about your taste in football teams,"
"Hey, Tim Couch is a very good player, thank you!" I whacked him on his bare arm, then headed for my bedroom. I was acutely aware that he was following me as I entered the room, considering I could see his shadow casting over me and he wasn't light on his feet. I flipped on the light switch, then headed for my set of drawers. I found the over-sized Tim Couch jersey at the bottom of a drawer. When I turned back around Bosco was staring out my window, holding his arms against his abs. He looked almost vulnerable.
"You have the best view in the entire city. Not that it's a view I'd want to wake up and see everyday," he stated, pointing. I walked over to where he was standing. Bosco was staring at Ground Zero, which was a mere two blocks away. I had a clear view of the site, thanks to gaps between buildings. We could see people and machines working feverishly to find people.
"I didn't even notice that," I said somberly. "They didn't say anything about it. I feel really bad, now. I didn't even notice what happened. I guess I kind of blocked everything out and forgot it."
"Well, I can't exactly forget it," Bosco snapped, walking away from the window. I hesitantly started after him, then thought better of it. His accent told me he was a native New Yorker, and I knew the September 11th tragedies had hit him hard.
"I'm sorry, Bosco. It just seemed so far away from me," I apologized after a few quite moments. He was sitting on my bed, staring off into space. I approached him, then sat next to him. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's not your fault," he smiled meekly. I suddenly found myself wrapping my arms around his body, hugging him tightly my body. Bosco, who seemed somewhat surprised, trembled slightly for a moment. Then, he warmly embraced me, too.