“Darlin’, you don’t open the door, a minor injury might turn into a major one,” he stated.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m hurtin’ out here.”
Ohmigod! He was injured!
I threw the wooden baby door closed, unlocked the front door and pulled it open to see Tack wearing his uniform of tight tee (this one black), faded jeans and motorcycle boots. He was also carrying an enormous pizza box and a six pack of beer. What he wasn’t was visibly injured.
I blinked.
Tack pushed in.
“What…?” I started and trailed off as Tack sauntered into my living room like he’d done it a million times before, dumped the pizza box on my coffee table then rested the six pack on the inside of his forearm.
“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 f**k 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 f**k with your head, she’s f**kin’ with mine. She calls every f**kin’ 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 h*ps 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?”