“Fuck, they don’t mess around at Famous. That pizza burned the shit outta my arm,” he muttered.

I stared at him.

Then I asked, “Are you saying the minor injury you were mentioning was a pizza box burn?”

“Yep,” he answered casually, rounded the coffee table, planted his ass on my couch, put the six pack on my coffee table (my wood coffee table which required coasters or some other protective accoutrement) and flipped open the pizza box. Then he ordered, “Come eat.”

I stared at him again.

Then I repeated his words in a question, “Come eat?”

His eyes lifted to me still standing in the open door. “Yeah, come eat.” Then he tugged one of the beers off the plastic and snapped it open.

I resumed staring and while doing this watched Tack take an enormous swig of beer.

As he was swallowing, I started, “Tack –”

He dropped his beer and interrupted me. “Red, close the door and come eat.”

“I –”

“It’ll get cold.”

“But –”

His eyes traveled the length of me and as they were doing this, he cut me off again. “Jesus, what the fuck you got on?”

I looked down at my yoga clothes then back at him. “I just got back from yoga.”

His eyes took their time sliding back up my body before they locked on mine. “You finish that Employee Handbook, you make that,” he tipped his head to me, “the dress code.”

“I’m not wearing yoga clothes to work, Tack.”

He held my eyes, his lips turned up slightly then he looked down at the coffee table, put his beer on it and reached for a slice of pizza saying, “Probably a good call. Every guy who works there is takin’ their break in the bathroom, jackin’ off, thinkin’ of you in your tight skirts and sex kitten shoes. You wear that to work, no one’d get any work done.”

Um… gross!

“They do not,” I snapped.

His eyes lifted to me as his hands lifted a slice of pizza and he said only, “Darlin’,” before he guided the pizza to his mouth and bit off a huge chunk.

I decided I was done.

Therefore, I informed him, “You need to leave.”

Tack swallowed then informed me, “I’m eatin’, babe.”

“No, you’re leaving.”

“You’re eatin’ too,” he replied. “Get your ass over here and grab a slice.”

I crossed my arms on my chest and asked, “Are you nuts?”

“Nope,” he answered and took another bite of pizza.

Gah!

All right, new tactic.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to have dinner with you,” he answered, grabbed his beer while balancing the slice in his other hand and took another swig.

“Did it occur to you to ask if I wanted to have dinner with you?”

He put his beer down, grinned his sexy grin then stated, “No, since I know you wanna have dinner with me.”

“I don’t.”

“Babe, you do.”

“I don’t,”

“Red, you don’t get over here, there won’t be any left,” he returned then took another huge bite of pizza.

“I’d like you to leave.”

“I ain’t leavin’.”

“Why?” My voice was rising as well as the pitch going higher.

“’Cause Naomi has decided not to fuck with your head, she’s fuckin’ with mine. She calls every fuckin’ five minutes, my cell, my house, the Compound, the store. I go home, she’s waitin’ for my ass out on my deck. I don’t answer her calls on my cell, she calls every one of the boys until she gets to one who’s with me and gives them so much shit, they hand her over to me because they don’t wanna put up with her shit. She’s on a tear about your job and she’s on a tear about you. Two days ‘a that, I’m done ‘cause I had fourteen years ‘a that and I was done before so I’m definitely done now. I know she’s at my house so I ain’t goin’ to my house ‘cause I see her face again, honest to God, I won’t be responsible for what I do. So I’m here, having dinner with you.”

That sounded like it sucked.

It also was not my problem.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to go?” I asked.

“Not anywhere I wanna be.”

That, unfortunately, sounded nice.

Damn.

I studied him. He was clearly in for the long haul and it was doubtful I could take him on, best him and get him out my door.

Damn again.

I slammed the door, stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of placemats, some paper towels and a plate then stomped back out to the living room. I approached the coffee table opposite him and then rearranged the beer and food so they were on placemats, dropped the paper towels on the table then I jerked a plate toward Tack.

“Eat your pizza, drink your beer and then go,” I demanded.

He took the plate, set it on the coffee table and continued to eat with his hands and no plate. He did this with his eyes on me. I stood across from him, put my hands to my hips and watched him watching me.

“Babe,” he said quietly after he finished his first slice, “sit and eat.”

I looked down at the pizza. It looked like sausage and olive. It also looked really good even though I wasn’t a raving fan of sausage.

“I don’t eat pizza after yoga. Pizza defeats the purpose of yoga. I’m going to have a cup of rejuvenating green tea and, probably, a salad.”

Tack stared up at me. Then he asked, “Say again?”

“I’m going to have a cup of rejuvenating green tea and a salad and I’m going to do both when you’re done with your pizza and beer and you’re gone.”

“Green tea?”

“Rejuvenating green tea,” I corrected.

“Christ, that sounds shit.”

It actually kind of was. I wasn’t certain why I drank it because I didn’t like it but I felt it was important to be healthy so, outside of Thursday night takeaway night and a donut indulgence here and there (and a cake indulgence, and the pie ones I sometimes had, as well as the cookie ones that weren’t unknown to occur), I was studiously healthy.

“I thought you liked your donuts,” he noted.

“Donuts are an indulgence,” I explained. “You don’t indulge every day. If you did, it wouldn’t be an indulgence.”

He studied me.

Then he ordered, “Red, sit down, grab a beer, eat a slice and fuckin’ live a little.”

“No, Tack, you drink your beer, eat your pizza and live a little and I’ll make my salad when you leave.”

At that, he suddenly stood and I found myself looking up at him rather than down which was a change of circumstances I wasn’t ready for. Tack sitting on my couch eating pizza and drinking beer seemed harmless. Tack standing, staring down at me and filling my living room with biker guy badassness seemed something else entirely.

“All right, Tyra, I’ll give you a quick lesson seein’ as you drink tea, eat salads, do yoga, live in a fancy-ass house with a fancy-ass yard, you probably don’t get how this is gonna go ‘cause I’m seein’ you probably never fucked a man like me so I’ll help you out and tell you how it’s gonna go,” he began.

Oh boy.

Before I could say word one, he went on, “How it’s gonna go is you’re gonna sit your ass down, eat pizza, drink beer and relax with me or I’ll pick your ass up, plant it in the couch and then you’re gonna eat pizza, drink beer and relax with me.”

“You can’t tell me where to sit or what to eat and drink, Tack, that’s ridicu –”

I didn’t finish because I found myself no longer standing opposite the coffee table. I found myself in the air then I found myself in his lap because he leaned forward, picked me up at my hips, hauled me over the coffee table, sat down and deposited me in his lap. Before I could move, he leaned forward again, yanked a beer off the plastic, leaned back and held it to me.

“Now relax,” he ordered.

I stared into his eyes.

Then I stammered, “I can’t… you didn’t just…” I paused then finished, “Relax?”

“Yeah, relax.”

“I can’t relax in your lap!” I shouted.

“Then relax on the couch but you get off the couch, babe, just sayin’… two seconds you’ll be back in my lap.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I hissed.

“I see why you think that now, drinkin’ fuckin’ tea, Jesus,” he said like no one but me on the entire earth drank tea and the very idea was repugnant.

“Fine,” I snapped. “You win. I’ll eat pizza and drink beer. Just let me off your lap.”

He shook the can of beer at me, I took it then his arm around my waist loosened and I slid off his lap.

“God, this is ridiculous,” I muttered, popping open the beer.

“You didn’t seem this uptight last Saturday night,” Tack muttered back, reaching for more pizza.

“I was drinking tequila last Saturday night.”

His head turned, his eyes captured mine and his voice was soft and low when he said, “Babe, do not bullshit me. Last Saturday night had fuck all to do with tequila.”

He was right and that sucked. He also sounded strangely like that was important to him and that freaked me out. Therefore I glared at him, didn’t respond and took a sip of my beer.

It tasted awesome.

I set the beer down, grabbed the plate and then grabbed a slice. Then I flicked as much sausage off the slice as I could and lifted the pizza to my mouth. As I did this, my eyes hit Tack to see he was watching me.

“Not a big fan of sausage?” he remarked.

“Sausage in the form of brats, affirmative. Sausage in the form of smoky links, again, affirmative. Sausage in the form of a breakfast patty next to pancakes, repeat affirmative. Italian sausage on pizza? Um, not so much.” Then I shoved the pizza in my mouth and took a big bite.

Famous Pizza. The… freaking… best.