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“Please, Rach, you’re the most beautiful woman. This is something I thought I’d only see in my dreams.” I pretend to wipe away a tear. “I think I’m going to cry because this is the most beautiful pizza in the world.”
She laughs at me. “Don’t cry yet, big guy, because we still need to taste it. Who knows? It could be gross.” She takes a spatula out from one of the drawers, and carefully eases the pizza onto a cutting board. Then, she takes a knife and cuts it into eight squares with a flourish.
“You know,” I say, watching her lift one of the cheesy squares onto a plate, “my mom isn’t much of a cook. She’s really good at making a few things, like pot roast and chicken noodle soup, but that’s where her skill ends.”
“Really? Did your dad do most of the cooking then?”
“No.” I shake my head with a chuckle. “The only time he ever cooked was during grilling season. Meanwhile, Mom just cycled through the same few dishes all the time, but it was okay. I didn’t mind. Anyways, I always thought I had no talent in the kitchen.”
Rachel places her hand on top of mine. “But you are a good cook,” she says gently. “I loved making this with you.”
“It’s because you’re the talented one, bunny.” I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles. Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and I smile. “Come on, let’s watch a movie while we eat. Didn’t you say you wanted to re-watch The Bodyguard?”
My girlfriend nods happily in agreement, and together we take our pizza and beers to the couch. The Bodyguard is an oldie, but goodie. It’s unmanly to say so, but I quite like the film, even if it’s a romance. It’s about a pop star (Whitney Houston) who falls in love with the bodyguard hired to protect her (Kevin Costner), and my girlfriend adores the film.
“Oh my God, this is so romantic,” she swoons when the main characters kiss for the first time. I squeeze her shoulders, and soon the movie gets to the scene I’ve been waiting for where the bodyguard gives the pop star princess a cross pendant for protection. As he explains how it works, I turn to Rachel and take her hand, opening her palm. Then, I put a pen there. She looks up at me with curiosity.
“Damon?” she asks.
“This is a gift,” I say in a serious tone. “But it’s not an ordinary pen.” She stares at it, confused. The body of the pen is a plain dark blue, and it has a gold cap. She curls her fingers around it, looking from me, to the pen, and back again.
“It’s not a pen?” she asks.
I smile. “It’s more than a pen,” I explain. “It works the same way as the cross pendant in the movie. If you press the button on the side like so,” I show her where it is, “I’ll get an alert on my phone. Anytime you’re in trouble, bunny, just press on the side of this thing and I’ll be there.”
Her eyes sparkle.
“Just like in the movie?” she asks playfully. But I’m serious.
“I want you to keep it on you all the time, okay? Never, ever leave it in a place you can’t easily reach it, understand?”
Rachel nods. “Sure, I can do that. But you know, Damon, I’m just a student. A regular person. I‘m not a celebrity like the woman in the movie.”
“I know, but I want you to have it,” I reply. “I’m in security, remember? It would give me a lot of peace of mind to know that you’ve always got it close by.”
She hesitates, but then nods. “Alright. I’ll keep it around just in case.”
“That’s all I ask.”
I watch her put it into her purse, and feel my shoulders relax. I hope she’ll never have to use it, but even so, I’m glad she’ll keep it with her at all times. Then, Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston kiss on screen, and I take that opportunity to kiss my girl as well. Soon, Rachel’s arms are winding around my neck and I’m sliding into her slippery wetness as she moans with pleasure. Maybe Rachel thinks of herself as a “regular person,” but she’ll never be regular to me. My girlfriend is unique, beautiful, special, and absolutely perfect the way she is, and I absolutely adore every inch of her curvy body.
9
Rachel
* * *
Two months after we make our first Detroit-style pizza, we go on our thirteenth date, on a Friday night no less. I tease Damon relentlessly about this being an unlucky number, but he just rolls his eyes at my superstition.
“It’s not real, baby girl,” he teases while squeezing my bottom. “Friday the thirteenth isn’t anything. Besides, i’s not even the thirteenth of the month,” he adds with a quirk of his brow. “Today’s the twenty-fifth.”
