Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (15 page)

“You
think I’m acting like I’m sixteen all over again and going to make a fool of
myself over you like I did with Dana Masters.”

“I
think it’s hard to separate sex from caring for someone and I’ve had enough sex
without care. I’m not going there again. You’ve thought about sex the whole time
we’ve been together.”

He
closed his eyes—he couldn’t deny it. Zarley’s mouth on him, writhing under him
and dancing over him.

“I’m
good with that, I’m even good with getting together for more of it, but I want
to be clear about what’s between us and you can’t be till you get some head
space.”

She
stepped into him, stood on his feet and wrapped her arms around his neck,
dragging his face down. He brought his hands to her waist, under her robe and
thought of her lips and hair and the sounds she made when she was close to
coming.

“Give
it a week and let’s see how we feel.”

Seven
days. He’d done years, a week was nothing. “Only the week days. You’re mine
again by the weekend.”

“Seven
full days, but I’ll throw in phone sex.”

“Five
days, phone sex, with vision, and I’ll get some furniture.”

She
laughed. “Six days, phone sex with vision, furniture and a dick pic.”

“Six
days, phone sex with vision, furniture, a dick pic and something from you to
inspire it.”

“Deal.”
She pulled on his neck and jumped, her legs clamping around his hips. “Now I
think you should apologize for being a bully and do me up against the wall
before you feed me breakfast, lend me your lovely shower and send me on my
way.”

He
backed her into the wall with grunt of relief. He hadn’t lost her yet. He
pushed her robe open and her panties to the side. She shoved at his sweats
while he bent to take her nipple in his mouth. He entered her in one thrust
that made her moan and clutch at him. And then he used his body to tell her she
could trust him not to truly threaten or hurt her.

She
showered while he sorted cereal and coffee, sliding onto the stool in her
jeans, tank and hoodie. He had a million questions.

“What
are you studying?”

“What
does your tattoo mean?”

They
spoke together and she called jinx. “We can talk about it next week.”

“I
wasn’t trying to, I don’t know, prove there’s something other than sex with
that question. I want to know.”

“Told
you I could love you for your bath alone, but that shower is just as
wonderful.”

They
grinned at each other and he felt lighter, easier with himself than he had
since he’d whispered his desire into her skin last night, before the dreams and
the reality of her absence had realized with the sun.

They
agreed he wouldn’t drop her home. They agreed she’d be the one to call. He
kissed her goodbye in the kitchen and in the bedroom where she shouldered her
bag and then again by the door. He wanted each of those kisses to tell her one
thing. Thank you. I’m changed by you. I want you. She kissed him back. You’re
welcome. I enjoyed myself. I’ll think about you.

It wasn’t
enough.

She was
almost out the door when he caught her hand and brought her back into the
shelter of his body. He knew what was missing.

“I
didn’t just think about sex all day, all night, and I’m not thinking about sex now,
I thought about sex with you, Zarley. Only you. There’s a difference.”

She
looked up at him, amusement in her eyes. “You are so getting sexted for that.”

He
fucking couldn’t wait.

FOURTEEN

It was just sex. Good sex. Zarley picked up her pace. She was going
to be late to class. Okay, great sex. She hated being late. She’d rather be
early. But Reid. Oh. Anxious, moody, difficult, wearing his emotions so plainly
in the tension of his body and so extraordinarily willing to take instruction. He
was a confusing mix of alpha male and raw boy and she was intoxicated by him
because he looked at her as if he’d found himself.

And that
was romanticizing the whole thing. It was once in a lifetime sex, that wasn’t
too grand a claim for either of them. And that was worth being late for.

And a
lot to think about.

She
slipped into the last available seat in the back row of the lecture theatre ten
minutes after Financial Management started. She sat there for the next fifty
minutes and Prof Chicanofski’s voice went in one ear, met nothing to stick
against in her brain and threaded straight out the other. There was no room for
any new information between her ears, all she could think about was Reid. She
was going to have to borrow notes.

She had
two more lectures and with coffee she forced herself to pay attention. That’s
what she had to do, quit mooning over the virgin man-boy and get her head
together. He’d no doubt get his together too, realize he had no further need to
be embarrassed and start seeing their time together as exactly what it was.

Cherry-popping,
V-card shredding, all round unexpected fun.

Oh
she’d see him again, she was sure of that, because she’d made it tantalizing
enough for him to hang on to the promise of more Sex 101, but it wouldn’t be
the same. He’d be different, and what he wanted now and knew he could have,
would make things different between them. Temporary.

Exactly
what she needed them to be. Because? Because. Four years of wasting her life
she wasn’t getting back.

When
she made it home, Cara was waiting, although her version of waiting looked like
dressmaking. She had a mouthful of pins, their colored heads held between her
teeth. There was teal silk spread over the kitchen table, handmade pattern pieces
pinned to it.

“What’s
that going to be?”

“Dress
for Lonnie Parker.”

Cara’s
ability to speak with a mouthful of pins was as legendary as her wish for one
of her creations to have a starring moment, not that Lonnie Parker or any of
the women Cara sewed for were likely to deliver it. “Special event.”

Cara picked
up scissors. “Nope. Family birthday.”

“One
day your red carpet moment will come.”

Cara
put the scissors down and took the pins from her mouth. “One day I’ll have to
get a job to supplement my job. I lost my shift.”

“Oh
no.” Oh no, oh no. There was rent due, and at least two utility bills pinned to
the corkboard in the kitchen.

“I was rationalized
out in an effort to concentrate expertise and provide a more holistically satisfactory
customer call-center service experience.”

Cara
had pulled all the chairs out from the table. Zarley nabbed one, twirled it and
straddled it backward. “You were canned.”

“I was
consciously uncoupled. I got severance. Enough for rent and I’ll get another
job. Don’t worry.”

“I’m
not worried.” She tried to remember what was in her account, how long they
could last on only her salary. It wasn’t totally dire, but it wasn’t sunshine
and lollipops either. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t
want to harsh your bliss. You sounded smitten on the call this morning. But you
might have harshed it yourself by now. Google him yet?”

Zarley
had steadfastly not googled and Reid didn’t seem like the social media type. “No,
but you did.”

“You
get bored after you’ve been rationalized.” Cara shifted her weight, a pained
expression making her squint. But the fact that she was standing still, not
restlessly shifting while they talked, told Zarley she was having a good day. “There
are three Reid McGraths in the greater San Francisco area. But he’s not an old
dude with a biker beard so that leaves two.”

“There
are three of them?”

“Two,
stick with two. Both of them are businessmen. Only one of them recently lost his
job in a fairly spectacular way. Unlike my simple rationalization, he was
booted from the company he started.”

“Yeah,
we already know all that, sugarplum, and I told you he had money.”

Cara
picked up the scissors again. “He’s like famous, Zar. Came from some nothing
cowpoke town and built this big global software business called Plus.”

“He has
a plus sign.” She wrote it on her chest with her finger.

“Big
controversy about him.” Cara put the scissors to the fabric and snipped. “Some
people reckon he’s a genius. But he was canned for, I don’t know,” she waved
the scissors, “it’s all corporate doublespeak, but sounds kinda like he’s a bad
guy. Not steal all the money bad, but,” she shrugged, “bad enough to go out in
a blaze of glory.”

That
sounded like Reid. “He’s not good with people.”

“He
told you all this?”

Zarley
nodded. Cara went back to cutting the silk. “He’s been slumming it at Lucky’s.”

That
was becoming very clear. “I guess.”

“So where
are you at with him?”

“We’re doing
think music.”

Cara
snorted. She rounded the table, to cut the fabric from another angle. “What
does that mean?”

“It
means we’re not seeing each other again until the weekend.”

“Because
the hottest sex of your life doesn’t need to be repeated?”

“Because.”
She hadn’t told Cara about Reid being virgin territory. It felt wrong to, and
there was nothing Cara didn’t know about her life. She was Zarley’s only carry-over
friend from her gymnastic days. Cara knew what it was like to have your body
fail to deliver your dream. She would probably always be in pain from a simple
fall, the kind Zarley had experienced multiple times with no ill effect. “Because
it was all a little too hot, too fast, and you know, cooler heads.”

“You’re
into him.”

Way too
much. “He’s sexy, interesting and he takes instruction well. What’s not to
like? And did I mention loaded?”

Cara
laughed. “Got him saying, yes coach, how high, yet?”

Oh
definitely. “It’s not like that.” But it was all too fast and she did need a
cooler head and now she knew Reid was googleable it occurred that he’d Google
her. Of course he would. What’s the chance he’d done it as soon as she cleared
his foyer? “He’ll cyberstalk me.” He’d get all the sordid details.

“Did
you pretend to be someone you’re not?”

She
shook her head. “Replayed the train crash, pointed out all the bodies.”

Cara
cut a long swath of fabric, the scissors making a screeching sound. “Then what
do you care? He’s a fling, right?”

“Exactly.”
Snick, snick. Tiny cuts. Like the ones Reid made around the walls of her
resistance.

“Zarley,
he’s a fling. Right?”

She
looked up at Cara and grinned. “Depends on how good a dick pic he sends.”

Cara’s
eyes popped. “I want to see that.” Her scissor-free hand went to her forehead. “Do
I? Maybe. Gross, if it’s like hanging there. You actually asked for one?”

“I
don’t think it will be hanging.”

Cara
squealed. “I’m so glad there are no pins in my mouth.”

“It was
a dare. I don’t think he’s going to do it. I’m supposed to provide
stimulation.” She said the last word with an all-over shimmy that would’ve made
her tits wobble, if she’d had the kind of tits that did that. Hers were more
like a muscle-bound guy’s pecs, not that Reid seemed to mind.

“You’re
going to sext him. Can you trust this guy?”

“If
he’s such a big shot, he’s got more to lose than I do.”

Cara
hummed. “Not sure about that.”

“Hey,
what’s the worst that can happen? Some gossip website runs a pixelated shot of my
bits. It’s not like I didn’t already let the nation down. I’m already old
news.”

“But
they could out you. Former Olympic has-been now strips for tips.”

“Nice. Maybe
it’s time you had a new career. Gossip columnist.”

“Think
it pays better than, hello, how may I help you with your order?”

“Probably.”
They said it together and Cara added, “Laptop is on, go search your hot and
heavy, before you send him any saucy stuff.”

“He’s
already seen all the saucy stuff, over and over and—”

“Okay,
okay, okay. Hundred-year drought going on over here, limp a mile in my shoes.”

Zarley
left Cara to her pattern cutting and spent the next half hour reading up on
Reid McGrath, Founder and ex-CEO of one of the country’s most promising
software companies. Now she knew exactly how loaded he was, because it was
printed right on the screen, his net wealth. The guy had net wealth, which was
an even wealthier way of saying he was seriously cashed up. She also knew he
came from a nowhere town about the same size as hers, was its most famous son
and was raised by a single mom. And at one time they were both homeless. Though
Reid was quoted as saying he always thought it was just camping. But that was
it for the personal. Reid McGrath was all business. He had no social media
profile, there were no pictures of him squiring women to A-list functions or
playing the handbag. All he’d ever done was work until he was asked to step
down amid rumors that he wasn’t up to the job anymore.

He was
like her, five years ago when all she’d ever done was aim for gold and failed.

Except
for the no father and seriously loaded part. Also boy parts.

She
sent him a text:
Google me yet, Mr. Rich and Famous?
She got a reply
almost instantly.

You
really could fly.
He’d seen video.
You’re
incredible
.

And he’d
chosen to focus on that and not the way her sporting career came to an
ignominious dead stop.
You’re not too slack yourself
. She watched her phone.
She wanted him to text back but she didn’t want this to be something more than
she could handle. She swiped the keyboard.
I’m off to work. Have a good
night
. She looked at the screen again. He’d got the message. Then she hit
the shower to get ready for Lucky’s, irrationally irritated that he’d not tried
harder to keep a conversation going.

For all
she knew he was out picking up.

Lordy,
this is why she didn’t need a man in her life. Screwed with your head.

Things
got stickier at Lucky’s because she simply wasn’t a good enough liar to play
this off as anything but what it was, a very hot one-night stand and a short
but sweet fling.

“How
good is his equipment?”

That
was Lizabeth’s opening question. Zarley pantomimed the innocent, with a finger
to her lips, and downcast eyes. “More than ample.”

“Did he
know how to use it?” said Kathryn.

She
laughed. He did now. “I’m not going to kiss and tell.”

Lizabeth
looked at Kathryn. “We’ll have to torture it out of her.” She brandished a nail
file in Zarley’s direction.

Kathryn
snapped the elastic of her bikini pants in the time-honored tradition of these are
creeping up my ass. “We’ll just oil her pole, that’ll fix her.”

Zarley
laughed and Therese gasped. “You’d do that?”

Lizabeth
transferred her nail file aim to Therese. “Yeah, don’t mess with us.”

Melinda
rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to them, honey. Lou would have anyone who did
something like that out of here so fast their G-string would strangle their
fallopian tubes.”

“Interesting
option,” said Lizabeth.

Therese
still looked freaked out. Zarley leaned back on the edge of the countertop that
served as their dressing table. “It was fun. He’s geeky. You saw that at
breakfast. He has no furniture and he drinks straight out of the bottle from
the fridge. But he’s sweet too.” And intense, so intense thinking about him now
had everything south of her hips twitching. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Lizabeth
paused from fixing her eyelashes and blinked at Zarley with one sparkle-studded
falsie on. “You seeing him again?”

“Yes.” That
got hoots and catcalls. She put up a hand to silence the mirth. “But it’s just
a quick fling. Reid and I are not in the same time zone, so when we’ve worn it
out between the sheets it’s over.”

Because
that’s what happened when you had a thing, it was good till it wasn’t and the
idea was to get out before it went bad.

“And
he’s cool with that?” Kathryn said from the doorway. She was about to go on.

Zarley
hesitated. He’d come on so darkly possessive this morning, which was not okay,
despite the fact it was seriously hot and also confusing. He didn’t get to do
that after one night together and then with what she’d learned by googling him,
it was clearer than ever the two of them wanted different things. The girls
were all looking at her. Kathryn’s music, Blue Foundation’s “Eyes on Fire” had
started.