Motorcycle Man
Page 13

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?”
“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.