Orange Juice?

I pulled into the garage, and shut the door behind me.
I paused after the door finished closing. What was I going to say to this girl? "Hey, sorry for shooting your boyfriend; I don't normally like doing that"?
I thought for a moment more, then spat it out:
"I'm sorry it had to go that way; normally I don't like shooting people's boyfriends."

Wow. That went better than I thought it would, but it still sounded pretty bad. I wonder whether she took it as some kind of morbid humor or straight insanity.
Eager to get out of that situation and slightly embarrassed at my prior choice of words, I simply said "c'mon," and stepped out of the car. I figured she'd had enough of me pulling her around, so I let her get the door for herself. Not exactly the most gentlemanly thing to do, but I don't think she noticed. Checking over my shoulder to make sure she followed me into my workshop, I put down my shotgun on the table to my left and continued to the stairway.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we reached the main floor of the house, where things looked mostly normal--except for the two irrationally large bookcases in the living room and the piles of books in the office down the hall.
She noticed the books. Slag it. I'd hoped to be able to explain that before she noticed. Now I'd probably get the "oh my god you're a nerd" speech. I hate that speech.
Moving to the kitchen, I looked through the fridge to try and find something to offer her--if only to distract her from my piles of books. Then again, I thought, the books are probably better than the shotgun. I quickly realized that I had virtually nothing in the fridge. Having nothing else in the form of small talk, I turned to her and offered her the only drink I had.
"Orange juice?"