Motorcycle Man

Chapter Five Fair Enough

It was Saturday night, twenty after six, and I was wondering what to have for dinner at the same time I was clicking through want ads on my laptop.

I’d just returned from yoga class with Lanie. I was still in my black roll top yoga pants and cornflower blue stretchy racerback yoga camisole with the deep gray racerback yoga bra under it. I was also in a mellow mood. Yoga did that to me. It made me feel energized but mellow and after the week I’d had, mellow was a good thing.

I’d only seen Tack once since his ex came to call, he kissed me and then disappeared. It was last night, Friday, when I heard the roar of bikes come into the forecourt of Ride. I was getting used to the roar of bikes but this wasn’t the roar I was used to. This wasn’t one or two bikes. This was a lot of them so I got out of my chair and looked out the window to see Tack leading six other bikes into Ride. Two of those bikes carried Dog and Brick, the two directly behind Tack. The rest of the guys I’d seen around but had not met. They parked beside the two bikes already outside the Compound, got off and entered the Compound. Ten minutes later, three more bikes roared in, two of these carrying the two men I’d seen Tack have the unhappy conversation with, they parked and into the Compound they went. None of them reappeared before I called it quits for the day and I was glad.

I didn’t need more of Tack screwing up my workdays. And I didn’t need thoughts of how cool Tack looked sitting on a Harley. So the minute the clock hit five, I closed up shop and got the hell out of there.

Now, I was perusing want ads on-line. I needed a new job. What I did not need was my body (and heart, I had to admit) to jump every time the door opened and I worried Tack was walking into the office to fuck with my head in his own, unique, scary biker dude way. And I certainly didn’t need to leap off the roller coaster that was my life to leap right back on a different one.

Lanie was all for this plan. Actually, Lanie was all for the plan where I walked into Ride on Monday whereupon I would instantly give notice. But I’d spent Wednesday night paying bills and examining my bank and investment accounts. I’d downsized my living operations when my paychecks quit coming but that didn’t mean the money quit going. My calculator and I deduced I could live frugally for another six months. I could live seriously frugally for seven, maybe pushing it to eight.

But that meant no yoga classes with Lanie and I liked my yoga classes with Lanie. That also meant no Sunday night self-facials where I used the expensive stuff that made my skin feel freaking great. That also meant no Thursday pig outs on takeaway. I could live but I couldn’t live like I liked to live and I’d worked hard to get to a life I liked to live and I didn’t want to let it go.

I bought my house ten years ago when it was a buyer’s market. My house was two blocks from Porter Hospital. It was small but had a big yard and sat amongst a bunch of other small houses with big yards or huge houses that had been built after the old house was scraped off or small houses that were now larger because their tops had been popped.

Because I bought my house ages ago, my mortgage was low. It was a one-story, two-bedroom adobe with a living room, dining area and huge-ass kitchen. I’d fixed it up exactly as I wanted it, even splurging on a fabulous kitchen including top of the line appliances and kickass countertops. There was a two car garage out back and a nice-sized shed. There was also a great deck. I had fantastic furniture in the house and on the deck, fabulous décor and a well-landscaped yard that looked good only because I spent a bunch of time in it.

This was the one downfall of my house and if I had to do it again, I would buy a house with zero yard. I wasn’t a fan of mowing my yard and had quit my job before I’d purchased a riding lawnmower. Even though I had a kickass power mower, it still took me hours to mow my huge yard. This was not my favorite activity. Part of the reason my yard was well-landscaped and I spent so much time in it was because I was incapable of not having my surroundings be the best they could be. It gave me a sense of peace and if I had to work at that peace, so be it.

Still, that didn’t mean I liked it.

I was about to get up, make myself a cup of tea and peruse my cupboards for dinner ideas when the doorbell rang.

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.”

“But –”

His eyes traveled the length of me and as they were doing this, he cut me off again. “Jesus, what the fuck 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 fuck with your head, she’s fuckin’ with mine. She calls every fuckin’ 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 hips 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 fuckin’ 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 fucked 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 fuck 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.

He threw his head against the back of my couch and burst out laughing. He had a great laugh. It was as deep and gravelly as his voice. He also looked great laughing. I’d noted both of these things last Saturday night. I liked them then but I liked them a whole lot better in my living room.

Oh boy.

“So?” I prompted through his laughter.

Tack’s laughter died down to a chuckle and he took a big bite of pizza, chewed, swallowed and looked back at me.

“She married a soldier then found herself tied to a general,” he finally answered.

“Pardon?”

“There are soldier’s wives and there are general’s wives. Naomi ain’t no general’s wife. She liked the flow, she doesn’t like headache. A general needs a wife who can handle headache, do her bit to make ‘em better, not make ‘em worse.”

I wasn’t certain I got this but I thought I did and I leaned forward to grab my beer, bowing my head to hide my face with my hair so he couldn’t see me when I asked, “So it wasn’t that you were cheating on her?”

“According to Naomi it was.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. He saw me do it, lifted his boots off my table and leaned forward too. Putting his elbows on his knees, his head turned to facing me and, surprisingly, he shared.

“I filed for divorce, Red. She fought it. She didn’t want to be quit of me. I don’t know why. She was miserable, she made me miserable and she was makin’ my kids miserable. Life’s too short for that shit. After she figured out that she was in a fight she wasn’t gonna win, she started bitchin’ about me steppin’ out on her, spreadin’ that shit far and wide and workin’ so hard at it, she convinced herself. Honestly?”

He stopped speaking and I realized he wanted me to answer the unspoken question of if I wanted the truth.

I held his gaze, held my breath and nodded.

He leaned slightly into me, his leg shifting so his knee touched mine and went on, “She turned into a bitch and I was pissed at her. What we had starting out was good. So good, I thought it would be that good for a lifetime. Not long after we made it legal, she started changing, it started goin’ bad and that’s all on her. She knew who I was and she knew what I wanted outta my life, it wasn’t me who changed. And it pissed me off that she made it turn bad. And it pissed me off more she made it turn as bad as it got which, darlin’, was seriously fuckin’ bad. What you saw was the tip of the iceberg with Naomi. She gets on a tear, she’s hell on wheels. So, I gotta tell you, I thought about it. I found myself not wantin’ to go home to that and wantin’ someone in my bed who wasn’t bustin’ my balls. So, I can’t say I didn’t look but before I found anything, I cut her loose. She was once a good woman but good woman or bad, no woman deserves that shit.”

Oh hell, that was a really good answer.

I let out my breath, nodded, grabbed my beer, took a sip then snatched another slice and sat back, lifting my legs to sit cross-legged on the couch.

I felt him lean back as I was flicking more sausage off my pizza, my eyes slid to him and I felt something should be said. He was a scary biker dude but he laid it out for me, honest and straight.

So I said softly, “That sucks, Tack. I’m sorry that happened and I’m sorry she’s still messing with your life.”

“Better mine than yours,” he muttered and that was a good response too.

“It still sucks,” I stated and his eyes caught mine.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “What sucks worse is in her mission to make me miserable she drags my kids into it. No hesitation. Now that sucks.”

I tipped my head to the side to communicate my agreement then I looked down at my plate and took a bite of pizza.

Then I heard him order, “Fire up the TV, Red,” and my eyes swiftly moved back to his.

“Pardon?”

“Turn on the TV,” he semi-repeated.

I stared at him then turned my head to look at my TV then I looked back at him.

“I don’t have TV.”

His brows knitted, his eyes went to the TV then came back to me.

Then he asked, “So what’s in the corner? A piece of modern art?”

I smiled at him because he was being kind of funny and answered, “No, I mean, I don’t have cable and I only get one channel, PBS, and it comes in fuzzy.”

He studied me then slowly asked, “You don’t have cable?”

“I don’t watch TV,” I told him.

“You don’t watch TV,” he repeated.

“No. I only use the TV to watch movies.”

“You don’t watch TV,” he said again.

“No, I don’t watch TV.”

“You drink tea, do yoga and don’t watch TV,” he stated.

“Yep,” I answered.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head, a small smile playing at his mouth then he ordered, “Then fire up a movie.”

“Pardon?”

“You got movies?”

“Yes.”

“Fire one up.”

This was not good and the reason it was not good was because this was good. I didn’t want to admit it but I was enjoying this. The beer tasted good, the pizza tasted great and Tack being funny, honest and forthcoming was even better.

I was in trouble.

“Tack –” I started.

“Fire up a movie, Red.”

“I –”

He leaned into me and I leaned back but his torso was longer so his face got in mine. “Fire up a movie.”

I looked into his eyes. They were really, really blue.

Oh hell.

Then without my permission my mouth formed the words, “What do you want to watch?”

Tack leaned slightly back. “Your choice. Put in your favorite movie.”

I stared into his eyes. Then I informed him, “I don’t think you’ll like my favorite movie.”

“Do they speak English in it?”

I couldn’t help it, I smiled again. Then I answered, “Yes.”

“Then fire it up.”

I sighed, made my stupid, stupid, stupid decision and murmured, “Oh, all right,” then uncrossed my legs, put my plate down on the table and went to my TV. I opened the cabinet under it and sorted through my DVDs, found what I was looking for and “fired it up”.

I unearthed my remote that I hid in a drawer in an end table, resumed my seat next to Tack, grabbed my plate and sat back, eyes pinned to the TV and started the movie.

Fifteen minutes later, Tack muttered, “Jesus, Red, what is this?”

“The Color Purple,” I answered, not looking at him.

He said no more and I didn’t either. I finished my pizza, finished my beer and started another one and, as usual, got lost in one of the most devastating, most beautiful movies of all time. That was, I got lost in the movie until I started crying. When I started crying, I became acutely aware of Tack’s presence. I didn’t want Tack to see or hear me crying so I pressed my lips together and tried to breathe steady in an effort to control my tears as I kept my eyes glued to the screen.

This didn’t work and I knew it didn’t when I suddenly felt his fingers at my chin and he forced my face in his direction. I tried not to catch his eyes but this was difficult because I liked the way they roamed my face with that warm look in them. Then as suddenly as his fingers took hold of my chin, they let it go, his arm went around my shoulders, he pulled me into his side and again lifted his feet to put on the coffee table. He slouched, taking me into his slouch so I had no choice but to slouch with him. I did actually have a choice but I told myself I didn’t and lifted my legs to rest my heels against the armrest as my side and back settled into his side and my head settled on his shoulder.

I knew I shouldn’t lie like that. I knew it but I liked it. His body was warm and hard, his arm strong and the movie inspired a variety of deep emotions. It was good to have a warm, hard, strong body close when watching it. I’d never done it but I liked it so I did it.

When the credits rolled, I wiped the new tears from my face, twisted in his arm, placed my hand lightly on his chest and tipped my head back to look at him to see he was already looking down at me.

“What did you think?” I whispered.

“She shoulda cut his throat with the razor,” Tack replied and I grinned.

Definitely scary biker dude.

Then I said, “She didn’t have that in her.”

“Right,” he muttered.

“And if she did, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn how to be a better person and find absolution.”

Tack stared at me intently for a few beats. Then he repeated quietly, “Right.”

“So did you like it?” I pressed.

“Not really a movie you like, Red,” he answered.

“I think it’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Not sure you understand the concept of beauty, darlin’.”

“Truth, honesty, perseverance, strength, love of all kinds and forgiveness are all beautiful, Tack. The most beautiful stories ever told are the most difficult to take.”

For a few more beats he again stared at me intently then he said, this time on a whisper, “Right,” and his eyes didn’t release mine.

I liked him looking at me like that. I liked him being like this. I liked pizza, beer and sad movies with an easy-to-be-with Tack. This was what I thought I’d found a week ago and here it was, in my living room.

God, what did I do now?

“You got any movies that don’t make you cry?” Tack asked and I blinked up at him.

“Yeah,” I answered.

He shifted me off him, lifted his legs off the coffee table, got up and went to my TV. He ejected the DVD, crouched in front of the cabinet and then dug through it, pulling out DVDs at random and totally ruining the alphabetical organization of my films. Then he opened a case, slid in another DVD and came back to the couch. He grabbed the remote from the end table and then he settled in again.

And when he settled, he did not slouch. He did not put his feet up on the table. No, he laid down flat on his back, ankles crossed, head on a toss pillow on the armrest. While he did this, he arranged me tucked into his side with my back to the back of the couch and my front plastered down his side.

Oh boy. Maybe it was time for me to start being smart.

I lifted up with a hand in his chest and looked down at him.

His eyes were on the TV and his arm with the remote in his hand was stretched out and aimed at the TV.

“Tack –”

He didn’t even look at me when he muttered, “Relax, Red.”

I started to push up from his chest and his arm around my waist got tight as his head turned my way.

Then he whispered, “Relax.”

I stared down at him. He turned his head back to the TV, hit some buttons and then tossed the remote on the coffee table. His arm curled me deeper into his body as his other hand went behind his head.

Speed started on the TV.

“Tack –”

“Relax.”

“Um –”

Another squeeze and his head turned to me.

“Baby,” he said softly in his gravelly voice, I felt that one word in my belly and it felt nice. “Relax.”

His eyes were warm, his arm was tight and his body against me was hard.

I bit my lip.

Then I made another decision and relaxed.

An hour later, I fell asleep with my cheek to Tack’s chest, my arm curved around his gut and my legs tangled in his.

I woke up confused.

It was dark and I was trapped in some kind of comfy cocoon. I sluggishly surveyed my situation and it hit me that I was sleeping on the couch with Tack. My head was cushioned on his bicep, my cheek pressed to his chest, his forearm was wrapped around my shoulders, his other arm resting on my waist. My arm was draped around his, my leg was hitched over his hip and his leg was cocked and resting between mine.

Okay, damn, this felt nice. Beautiful. Special. Perfect.

Maybe I wasn’t wrong a week ago because this felt right.

Really right.

Dreamy.

I snuggled closer. Tack’s arm around my waist tightened unconsciously before it went loose again and a second later, I fell back to sleep.

I was being lifted and I opened my eyes to see weak light in the room.

It was dawn.

My arm automatically slid around Tack’s neck and I whispered, “Tack.”

“Sh, baby,” he whispered back, walking and carrying me.

I pressed my forehead into his neck and sighed.

Then I felt myself going down and I was in my bed, head on my pillow. I turned to my side and my eyes slid to him to see Tack standing beside the bed pulling the covers over me.

“Are you leaving?” I asked quietly.

“Got things to do,” he answered just as quietly.

“Okay,” I whispered, my eyes drifting closed and, as they did this, I felt the sweet sweep of his thumb across the apple of my cheek.

Then I felt his presence leaving me, my eyes drifted open and I saw he’d almost made it to my bedroom door.

“Tack?” I called, he stopped and turned.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

He grinned and it was no less sexy when I was half asleep.

“You’re welcome darlin’,” he replied and I grinned back as my eyes drifted closed again. Then I heard a muttered, “Pepperoni next time,” before I fell back to sleep.