“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 f**kin’ 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 f**ked 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 f**k 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.

I leaned back against the cushions with my plate and chewed.

Tack sat back too, asking, “Pepperoni?”

I nodded. “And olive,” I added then finished, “And mushroom.”

“So noted,” he muttered, lifted his legs and rested his booted feet next to the pizza box.

I tamped down a rant at him putting his boots on my table and took another bite of my pizza, holding it over my plate at my chest. Then I made a note to self that Famous Pizza worked wonders in helping you tamp down a rant.

Then, because I was an idiot, I asked, “Naomi’s on a tear about me?”

“Yep,” Tack answered, mouth full.

“Why?”

“She don’t need a reason why, Red. She’ll get on a tear because the sun rose, then she’ll get on another one when it sets. She’s just a bitch.”

“Why did you marry her?” I asked before taking another bite, his head turned and his eyes came to mine.

“You been married?”

I shook my head and his brows went up.

“No shit?”

I chewed, swallowed and affirmed, “No shit.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged and took another bite.

“Babe, seriously, why not?”

My eyes met his and my voice changed, it got soft when I said, “That’s really none of your business.”

He held my eyes and he did this a long time.

Then he replied quietly, “Fair enough.”

I was surprised he gave in. So surprised, I was shocked. I was also somehow touched. It was a nice thing to do, letting it alone because I wanted him to and I didn’t know Tack had that in him.

“So, why did you marry her? She doesn’t seem your type,” I brought the subject back in hand.

“What’s my type?” he asked.

“Not a woman who shouts at you and essentially stalks you,” I answered.