I felt my brows draw together as I stared at my front door. No one came calling without warning unless it was some religious person wanting to help me find God (just as long as it was their God) or someone wanting to sell something which was both kind of the same thing.
Damn.
I took the laptop off my thighs, put it on the coffee table, pulled my ass out of my couch and wandered to the door. I opened the little, wooden baby door that had a wrought iron cross outside that gave me a view to my stoop and I stared at Tack.
What the hell?
“Hey, babe,” he greeted.
“What are you doing here?”
“Open the door.”
“What are you doing here, Tack?”
“Open the door, Red.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here,” I returned.
“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.”