Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 7

"That's all right." His voice moves closer, until he appears in the bathroom doorway. "I like a confident woman," he grins. 

Rather than play along with him, I allow myself to stare silently. His soft, brown hair isn’t held in place by a thin band, but is still pushed back in front. He is wearing dark jeans that fit well and a soft looking, white button down shirt. The look is simple, but incredible. 

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” He says, failing to hide his smile as he leans against the door frame.

"'Suppose I'm not the only one who's confident," I respond, standing from the bed.  

He smiles freely now.

“You don’t have to cover your arms when you’re around me, you know. I don't know if you normally cover them on purpose, but I quite like them.”

He looks at his sleeves, his literal ones, and begins to roll them to his elbows.

“Do you really not mind them?”

“I think they're interesting,” I answer, watching as the ink is exposed.

“I’m glad,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “Are you hungry yet? We could make dinner."

I assume that I’ll have to cook, but Charlie offers that he isn’t bad in the kitchen. I tell him that my skills are only sub-par, and that I will feed Cooper instead.

Charlie makes us fettuccine pasta with chicken and salads. We sit, eating together at bar stools in the kitchen. Charlie was definitely downplaying his cooking abilities, and he acts shy when I compliment him on dinner. He notes that he should probably have a dining table, but I tell him that dining tables are way too traditional, and that dining bars are cooler and more innovative places to eat.

During dinner, I ask Charlie how he found this house. He tells me that he's lived here for about six months. Before that, he lived in an apartment, saving as much money as he could for a place of his own. He said that he had driven through the neighborhood one day and spotted the place. He loved that it came with a nice yard, lots of trees, and he liked the layout – small, but open.

I wonder to myself if Charlie keeps his house so clean and comfortable because of his mother’s neglect when he was a child. He said that he'd never had clean clothes, and their house was filthy. Maybe this is why he likes to dress nicely, too, even at home.

After dinner, I insist on helping him with the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen.

"No cleaning. You are a guest," he says definitely.

"Charlie, one who expects the host to cook and clean without help is not a guest, but a pest." 

He laughs, shaking his head at me, and finally welcomes my assistance. 

By the time we finish, it is fairly late in the evening, and we decide to find something to watch on television. We both admit that we aren’t very keen on TV, both usually just watching it to pass the time or to distract us, so we don’t really come across anything to watch.

“Could we just play some of your records?” I ask.

"Of course. The choice is yours," he says, gesturing towards the shelf of albums.

I stand from the couch and make my way to the collection. I have always wanted a record player, and I can’t remember the last time I heard the sound of a vinyl playing. I select an album – Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. – and I walk to the turntable.

I stop when I finally see the record that is on: Aloha From Hawaii: Via Satellite, an Elvis Presley album. The two albums next to the turntable are also Elvis'.