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.”