Page 13 of Tackle

She turned to look at him. “Not at all.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, something more bachelor paddy, maybe? Sports memorabilia, game consoles, dirty socks lying around.” She stopped to face him, raising a brow. “The only thing I got right was the eighty-inch TV.”

“The dirty socks are on the bedroom floor, and the TV is only a seventy inch.”

That made her laugh. “Did you hire an interior decorator?”

Oz didn’t take offense to her question. The room did look professionally put together. “Nope. Did it myself.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. On any given day, I’m lucky if my sheets and comforter match.”

She came over and hiked herself up on a bar stool at the island that divided the living space from the kitchen, and he dug into a junk drawer, pulling out a few menus. He set them down on the gold-flecked granite countertop—sadly a feature he couldn’t change—for her perusal. “You’re the expert, so you get to pick.”

Chuckling at him, she read through before settling on one and pushing it toward him with her finger. “This place uses freshly grated mozzarella. The pre-packaged shredded stuff is full of preservatives and cellulose.”

“Cellulose?” Oz asked, impressed by her knowledge.

“It’s used as an anti-clumping agent, so the cheese shreds don’t stick together. Basically, you’re eating plastic.”

He wasn’t sure the face he made, but from the sound of her laughter, it was pretty horrific.

He snatched up the menu for the place she suggested and placed the order. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes,” he said after hanging up.

He went to the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got water, soda,” he popped his head around the opened door, “I don’t drink alcohol much, even off season, but I might have a bottle of wine in one of the cupboards.”

“I’ll take a water.”

He pulled out two bottles and handed one to her.

“Thanks.” She cracked the lid and took a swig.

Captivated, his eyes zeroed in on her lips wrapped around the bottle top. The way her head tipped back, exposing the long line of her throat. Clearing his, he needed to think of a fast subject change. “So, what kind of movies do you like?”

She set the bottle down, recapping the lid. “Oh, I’m not picky. I can watch pretty much any genre as long as the story is interesting.”

“But which is your favorite?” He wanted to watch a movie they both might like.

“Probably action or romantic comedies.”

“There’s a new Ryan Reynolds movie out,” he suggested an action comedy. He’d sit through a romantic movie if he had to, but it wouldn’t be his first choice.

Her voice rose in excitement. “Oh, I saw a preview for that. It looks good. It’ll be hard to top Deadpool though.”

“That was a good one. But then, I like all superhero movies.”

“Really? Who’s your favorite?”

Oz thought a moment. “I guess it would be a toss-up between Iron Man and Dr. Strange.”

“So you’re a Marvel man, not DC?”

He raised a brow. “You know your superheroes.”

“My brother was a huge comic book buff—still is, actually. It kind of rubbed off.”

“You haven’t told me much about your family. Any other siblings?”

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