When I woke up it was eerily warm on my backside and overly cold on
my front. I tried to roll over, assuming I had thrown my blanket off in the
middle of the night, but a human body stopped me. I nearly fell off of the
bed in surprise, but stopped when I saw that Bosco and I were both fully
clothed. Bosco yawned in his sleep, stretching out in his bed. I smiled to
myself as he remained asleep. He somewhat resembled an angel in his sleep
with his brown hair sticking up in all different directions. His face was
slightly shadowed with facial hair and his jaw was dropped half an inch or
so. I watched the steady rise and fall of his stomach for a few moments
until I rolled out of his bed.
I had trekked to his kitchen, grabbing an NYPD ball cap from his hat rack, and noticed his refrigerator was pretty well-stocked. I found all the ingredients I needed, then started to make pancakes and bacon. It wasn't very long before the aroma of the food wafted to the bedroom and woke him up, or it could have quite possibly been all the noise I made when I opened a cabinet and pans toppled onto my unsuspecting body.
"Hi," I said softly, stretching my arms above my head. I waggled the spatula at an attempt of a wave. Bosco squinted around the room, trying to adjust to the harsh sunlight that filtered through the closed windows. His black wifebeater was pushed up and bunched around his upper abdomen, leaving his belly button bare. His boxers were white with the celebrated "I Love NY" logo printed across them repeatedly. They were too big for him however, and nearly fell off of his well-defined pelvic bone.
I glanced down at my own attire, discovering that Bosco had evidently loaned me a pair of his flannel pajama bottoms, and an over-sized NYPD shirt.
"Morning," he mumbled. He pulled his boxers up and his wifebeater down. He snapped to attention suddenly. "We didn't ah, do anything last night that I should know about did we?"
"Not that I can recall," I shrugged. "Want some breakfast?"
"You don't have to do that. It's my apartment," he announced with a small smile. He trudged over to the kitchen nook. He glanced at the food, nodded approvingly, then propped his arm onto my shoulder. He buried his eyes into the crook of his elbow. He muttered, "That smells really good."
"Why thank you," I smiled proudly. I tried to flip a pancake, but with Bosco bobbing along with my shoulder, the pancake slipped out of the pan and onto the stove. "Damnit."
"What?"
"This whole thing with you on my shoulder isn't going to work. You made me drop a pancake," I scolded. Bosco lifted his head from my shoulder.
"Maybe you're not talented enough to flip pancakes," he grinned.
"Ooh, you know?" I threatened emptily. "I don't have to give you this food."
"Oh, yes you do," he smirked. "It's my food, my pan, and my," he trailed off. He took the spatula from my hand and looked at it critically. "What is this thing anyway? A spatzle?"
"A spatzle?" I burst into a fit of giggles. I grabbed the "spatzle" from his hands. "It's a spatula, you moron."
"What, you think I spend all my time cooking in the kitchen? It's a miracle my refrigerator had food in it. It's usually bagels and coffee for breakfast and mac n'cheese for dinner," he scoffed.
"You should still know what a spatula is. I mean, you're Italian for God's sake," I laughed, flipping the pancake. "Don't you people live for food?"
"'You people?'," he mimicked me. "I happen to make some very good Velveeta shells and cheese, thank you very much. I bet they could knock the socks off your pancakes and bacon any day."
"Are you dissing my breakfast?" I gently flipped the spatula against his chest. He grinned and nodded.
"What are you gonna do about it? Huh? Beat me to death with your spatula?" he taunted me. In a split second I was tackling his ribs, succeeding in pressing him into the corner of two walls.
"Oh, my God!" he laughed hysterically. He pushed me away with his arms and feet. This only provoked me more, as he found out after I started to go after the soles of his feet. "Holy shit, stop it!"
"You talked smack about my pancakes and bacon!" I cried, refusing to give in. Bosco started to laugh tears. He shriveled up into the fetal position, giving me a good angle at his ribs. His shoulders heaved with laughter.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he managed to gasp.
"You mean it?" I asked over his loud laughter. He nodded, unable to catch air. I retreated from my position above him, then returned to my pancakes. Bosco sat upright, sinking against the wall. He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. I looked down at the pan, where the pancakes were now smoking. I flipped the pancake over to find burnt a burnt black surface. I shot an irritable look at my friend. "Now, look what you did. You made me burn my pancakes."
I had trekked to his kitchen, grabbing an NYPD ball cap from his hat rack, and noticed his refrigerator was pretty well-stocked. I found all the ingredients I needed, then started to make pancakes and bacon. It wasn't very long before the aroma of the food wafted to the bedroom and woke him up, or it could have quite possibly been all the noise I made when I opened a cabinet and pans toppled onto my unsuspecting body.
"Hi," I said softly, stretching my arms above my head. I waggled the spatula at an attempt of a wave. Bosco squinted around the room, trying to adjust to the harsh sunlight that filtered through the closed windows. His black wifebeater was pushed up and bunched around his upper abdomen, leaving his belly button bare. His boxers were white with the celebrated "I Love NY" logo printed across them repeatedly. They were too big for him however, and nearly fell off of his well-defined pelvic bone.
I glanced down at my own attire, discovering that Bosco had evidently loaned me a pair of his flannel pajama bottoms, and an over-sized NYPD shirt.
"Morning," he mumbled. He pulled his boxers up and his wifebeater down. He snapped to attention suddenly. "We didn't ah, do anything last night that I should know about did we?"
"Not that I can recall," I shrugged. "Want some breakfast?"
"You don't have to do that. It's my apartment," he announced with a small smile. He trudged over to the kitchen nook. He glanced at the food, nodded approvingly, then propped his arm onto my shoulder. He buried his eyes into the crook of his elbow. He muttered, "That smells really good."
"Why thank you," I smiled proudly. I tried to flip a pancake, but with Bosco bobbing along with my shoulder, the pancake slipped out of the pan and onto the stove. "Damnit."
"What?"
"This whole thing with you on my shoulder isn't going to work. You made me drop a pancake," I scolded. Bosco lifted his head from my shoulder.
"Maybe you're not talented enough to flip pancakes," he grinned.
"Ooh, you know?" I threatened emptily. "I don't have to give you this food."
"Oh, yes you do," he smirked. "It's my food, my pan, and my," he trailed off. He took the spatula from my hand and looked at it critically. "What is this thing anyway? A spatzle?"
"A spatzle?" I burst into a fit of giggles. I grabbed the "spatzle" from his hands. "It's a spatula, you moron."
"What, you think I spend all my time cooking in the kitchen? It's a miracle my refrigerator had food in it. It's usually bagels and coffee for breakfast and mac n'cheese for dinner," he scoffed.
"You should still know what a spatula is. I mean, you're Italian for God's sake," I laughed, flipping the pancake. "Don't you people live for food?"
"'You people?'," he mimicked me. "I happen to make some very good Velveeta shells and cheese, thank you very much. I bet they could knock the socks off your pancakes and bacon any day."
"Are you dissing my breakfast?" I gently flipped the spatula against his chest. He grinned and nodded.
"What are you gonna do about it? Huh? Beat me to death with your spatula?" he taunted me. In a split second I was tackling his ribs, succeeding in pressing him into the corner of two walls.
"Oh, my God!" he laughed hysterically. He pushed me away with his arms and feet. This only provoked me more, as he found out after I started to go after the soles of his feet. "Holy shit, stop it!"
"You talked smack about my pancakes and bacon!" I cried, refusing to give in. Bosco started to laugh tears. He shriveled up into the fetal position, giving me a good angle at his ribs. His shoulders heaved with laughter.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he managed to gasp.
"You mean it?" I asked over his loud laughter. He nodded, unable to catch air. I retreated from my position above him, then returned to my pancakes. Bosco sat upright, sinking against the wall. He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. I looked down at the pan, where the pancakes were now smoking. I flipped the pancake over to find burnt a burnt black surface. I shot an irritable look at my friend. "Now, look what you did. You made me burn my pancakes."