My partner is a pretty good looking guy.
No, really. I mean it. He is.
I get it. I'm not blind. He's got a great body, really gorgeous, intense blue eyes, a killer smile with dimples like you wouldn't believe, and dark hair that gets the most unruly and adorable curls when it gets a little too long. Hmmmmmm. Well anyway, what I don't get is how he is as popular with the fairer sex as he is. In spite of his looks, he's annoying as hell.
He is, without a doubt, the most obnoxious, arrogant, cocky, opinionated, jackass I've ever met.
Mind you, I don't necessarily have the same perspective on him as the majority of the female population. I am a card carrying member of a very exclusive club: I am a woman Maurice Boscorelli has not put the moves on. I'm his partner, his back, his friend. As such, I've never really been exposed to a full out onslaught of Boscorelli charm. I've seen him in action a few times at Haggarty's - it appears to be impressive. And since Bosco is genetically programmed to flirt with the human female, I have on occasion been privy to low level doses of flirtation from him - a raised eyebrow, a suggestive smile. Mild, really, and harmless, like a minor sunburn - makes you a bit hot and uncomfortable, but you'll survive, with a mental note to be better prepared next time.
At least that's how it is for me. Hasn't always been, though. You see, the first day I met Bosco, I fell for him and I fell hard . There was an audible thud, I'm sure. I mean, I was speechless. I had never been affected by a guy like that in my life -– haven't been since, either including my husband.
Ah, yes my husband. For about 15 seconds, I forgot all about him. But, lucky for me, I have a little helper whose sole mission in life is to keep my husband firmly in place as the only man in my life, a little ""hormonal housekeeper" as I call her. One look at Bos and my housekeeper swung into action. She swooped in, snatching up that image of Bosco that was burning itself into my subconscious, just as if he were a mischievous little puppy (he really he can be at times), tucked him into a corner and barricaded him in, surrounded by barbed wire and landmines marked in flashing red letters, labelled "MARRIED"" and "HEARTBREAKER"".
Over the years the barricades were strengthened with walls of cement labeled ""PARTNER"" and ""FAMILY". Stronger foundations and locks were added, under the markers of ""TRUST"" and "BEST FRIEND". Gradually, these barricades were reinforced and re-reinforced to the point that any thought of Bosco as other than my partner was securely under lock and key. Oh, that little puppy did try to scramble out of its corner on the odd occasion. The first few years, it would be that smile that would make my pulse race a bit and send my little housekeeper into overtime. Then gradually, my immunity improved and it took bigger, more intimate and personal things to bring that puppy scratching at the walls, trying to get out. Confessions of me being the only one he had, letting my husband beat the crap out of him when I was hurt helping him, throwing himself in front of four bullets for me - – yeah, those things got my attention. But my housekeeper was nothing if not diligent and that little puppy would be rapped on the nose with a rolled up paper and tucked back into his corner.
Bosco himself helped her out on many occasions, with his ongoing ability to supremely piss me off. Over the years, he lied to me, let me down, disappointed me, broke our trust. Sleeping with Cruz? That put a two story addition on the fortress, all on its own. But somehow, we'd always put it back together, and while it made our relationship stronger, it added steel beams to those walls.
The fortress that frisky puppy lived in had become so strong, so solid that it didn't even totter when the solid concrete foundation of ""MARRIAGE"" was yanked out from underneath it. The keystone of ""PARTNER"" went next and still it stood. But there were cracks. I could sometimes sense they were there, and I could hear that the puppy barking, trying to get my attention, to let it out. But my efficient little housekeeper was nimbly zipping about, busily patching things up everywhere. She seemed to be winning the battle.
I had no idea that I was about to lose the war.
The ammunition was four little words, launched by one of my own, my daughter.
She brought the whole thing down with four simple words; "You could date Bosco""
I choked on the dust from my fortress crumbling around me.
