Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1)

by Ainslie Paton

  “I’m not a total control freak.” Not where Zarley was concerned. He said that softly, more to himself but Sarina was the most perceptive person he knew and he should’ve known better.

  “What’s changed?”

  He’d told her quite enough. “I’m unemployed.”

  “Something else.”

  “Nothing else. I wanted to see if you had any advice.”

  “Go slow is my advice. These are new wings, don’t get them bent out of shape too soon.”

  “I’m not the one with wings.” Although with Zarley he felt like he might learn to fly.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Are you well?”

  “I’m well.”

  “Happy?”

  “Doing fine.”

  “Owen and Dev. Kuch?”

  “You could ask them yourself.”

  “They’d think I was sick, dying or something. I’m not ready to speak to Kuch yet.”

  “I get that. Owen isn’t you. He’s finding it tough, but he won’t let on. Dev is Dev. Also, you should know, we’re having an anniversary party for the ten years.”

  “Fucking without me.” Jesus.

  “Would you want to be there?”

  “Yes.” God that stung. “Have a fucking great time.”

  “Reid.”

  “What?” He knew what.

  “Don’t do that. Bitterness is going to eat you alive.”

  “What’s going to eat me alive is when Ziggurat fails and the whole Plus business is—”

  “I’m not listening. Not listening.”

  “When is it?”

  She told him about the event, the date and venue. “Formal. You always hated black tie.” But it was his company and he could’ve gone wearing any damn thing he wanted no matter what the invitation said.

  He grunted. “You should get back to work.”

  “Because the new boss is a bastard.” Owen didn’t have bastard in his repertoire. “Hope she loves your—”

  “Okay, okay. This is one of those conversations I’ll trust you to keep to yourself and forget.”

  “Already done, but before I go I want you to know I’m happy you’re exploring other facets of life.”

  “Furniture.” He knew she meant fucking.

  “Yes. You were always a damn pain in the neck. Furniture.”

  He hung up none the wiser and looked at his fucking waste of time and money furniture and then his cell beeped. Zarley. A text.

  If you want me, I’m all yours, Sunday.

  He dropped the phone in his fumbling haste to respond. It bounced on the rug and he went to his knees to snatch it up, grateful for the thick pile. I’ll pick you up.

  I’ll need sleep.

  I need you in my bed.

  No response. Because it was too much. Like the dick pic. His pacing was all off. There must be rules for romance by text; reply times and message length, all context he had no idea about and no patience to learn. He started on another reply and hers came through.

  Anyone else been there while I was busy?

  Fuck no. It’s only you I want.

  See you Sunday. Save some of that lovely dick for me.

  He dropped his head to the rug and breathed the wool and silk fibers. He lived to fight another day, to make extra kitchen stools useful and the promise of fucking Zarley over the glass dining table come true.

  He made it through the hours in between the dick pic and Zarley’s quitting time at 2 a.m. Sunday morning by working. It wasn’t anything yet, but it was a strategy. If he wanted Plus back, he had to be clever about it. He had to get the investors on side, make them fear for Ziggurat without him being around and put back-channel pressure on Kuch.

  He took the bike. It was insurance. If he had to ride, if he had Zarley on the back he’d need to keep his head together. The one part of Sarina’s advice that did make sense was to give Zarley space, not to crowd her. It was enough that she wanted to come to him again and sleep in his bed for a few hours. They had the rest of Sunday to test out the furniture. But try telling his dick that.

  He was outside Lucky’s ten minutes before closing time. He parked in a no fly zone directly in front of the alleyway in case she didn’t use the front door. He didn’t like to think of her using the alley, any of the girls. He didn’t like to think of her dancing in there without him watching, but he’d promised, and hard as it had been to stay away, it was easier than risking her favor. He was more in awe of her after reading up on her than he had been last weekend. She was a champion athlete, the real deal, and she’d been so young when it all unraveled around her. She knew more about success and failure and trying again than he’d ever considered when he’d fallen for her pole act. She knew more about rebuilding herself from nothing than he could’ve imagined, and she made him ashamed that he’d wasted himself for a month when he should’ve been fighting back.

  He leaned against the bike and watched the bar. He willed her to come through the front door so he could start breathing without tension again. But when she did he almost choked. She wore jeans and a plain white t-shirt, sneakers on her feet, her glossy raisin-brown hair tumbling all over her shoulders and across one eye as she hoisted that big bag of hers onto her shoulder. Her cheeks were pink and her lips were shiny. He’d seen more glamorous women; women who worked their assets harder had thrown themselves in his path. He’d never seen anyone he liked watching more than Zarley.

  She cleared the door and came to a dead stop when she saw him. Then she licked her lips and the tension spread from his lungs to all regions below the belt.

  “You do have a bike.”

  “You didn’t believe me.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Yeah, you do. Better than most, Zarley.” He’d been different with her, because of her. He’d been less the man who lost his way and more a man who’d found a new way of being.

  “I’d like to know you.”

  His skin got hot. It was the way she looked at him. Her eyes traveling from his face, down his chest to his cock.

  “I went too far with the.” He made a rough gesture down his body.

  She closed the distance between them, dumping her bag on the sidewalk, walking her legs around his outstretched ones, till she stood across his thighs. “I liked how far you went.” She put both hands on his shoulders. “I liked it a lot.”

  He kept his hands on the bike. “You need to get on.”

  “Don’t I get a kiss?”

  “You need to get on, or it won’t be the kind of kiss you’re looking for.”

  She titled her head. “How do you know what kind of kiss I’m looking for?”

  “I don’t think it’s one where I have you up against the wall in the alley, my dick buried so far into you we both see stars.”

  She laughed. She didn’t object. He groaned. “You need to get on the bike.”

  “We could walk to your place from here.”

  “Do you know how many dark places I could drag you into along the way? Hundreds, there are literally hundreds. You said you needed sleep. This is the only way you’re going to get it. On the bike, Zarley.”

  He put his hands to her arms and moved her back, coming to stand and bending to pick up her bag. He lifted the helmet off the handlebars, bought for her, the smallest size he could get, and put it in her hands.

  He straddled the bike and kicked it into life, gave her his hand and helped her mount behind him. They took off with her bag at his back, her arms around his chest. With no traffic they’d be at his place in five minutes instead of the fifteen it would’ve taken to walk. He heard the siren and pulled over to let the cop car through. On the cross street he saw the flashing lights of two fire engines and Zarley pounded on his shoulder.

  He raised his visor and turned his head to hear her.

  “Go back.”

  Her visor was up too and she was twisting around, making it hard to steer. He pulled over. “What’s wrong?”

  “Go back, back there. T
hat’s my street.”

  Shit. He pulled out and turned, went back to the cross and drove down it, slowing as they reached a barricade. Zarley was off the bike, helmet in her hand, running toward the engines before he had a chance to pull over again. He watched her avoid an inattentive policewoman, duck under the barrier and keep running. Another cop caught her and he abandoned the bike and his helmet, but hefted her bag and went after her. By the time he reached the barrier, Zarley had been escorted back to it. She was gesticulating wildly trying to bargain with the cop.

  “My roommate, she’s inside. Cara, Cara Douglas. First floor, you have to check.”

  Fuck. Her apartment above the Korean restaurant. He could smell the fire, but not see flames.

  The cop held his arms wide to stop Zarley darting past her. “Everyone’s out. Your roommate is out. She’s safe. But you can’t go close, it’s not safe.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m here, Zar, I’m here.”

  They all turned as another girl limped across the road. She was laden with bags, her arms full of clothing. Reid and the cop both moved to relieve her of her bundles and she fell into Zarley’s arms.

  “What happened?” Reid asked the cop as a stream of other refugees from the building came around the barricade. They were all in various states of dress and carrying bundles of hastily snatched possessions. He saw a young guy wearing only pajama pants with a goldfish bowl in his arms.

  “Explosion in the restaurant, started a fire, we’re not sure what the chief cause was, but the building has been evacuated. No one is allowed back in until the fire brigade give the all clear.”

  “When?” said Zarley.”

  “Not tonight,” said the cop. “From the damage, probably for a week and even then, you said first floor, above the restaurant, there’ll be water damage. You’d be best to find somewhere to stay for a few weeks.”

  “That’s what the fireman said,” said Zarley’s Cara. She was tiny like Zarley, but a rusty blonde with milky skin and freckles that stood out. Wearing a coat over a nightgown with slippers, she stood awkwardly, as if in pain.

  “Are you hurt?” he said.

  Her eyes swung to him. “No.” Then back to Zarley.

  “That’s Reid. Cara, Reid. Reid, my roomie, Cara.”

  He’d have shaken her hand but his arms were full of her stuff. “You’re limping.”

  Cara waved a hand. “It’s old.” She focused on Zarley again. “I got all your costumes out. Whatever clothes I could find. The laptop, I don’t know, I grabbed stuff, they were yelling at us to get out. It was so loud, the explosion.” She touched the side of her head. “My ears are still funny.”

  Zarley patted Cara down. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m fine, bit of a headache. We can go to my brother’s. I’ll call him. I need to put some clothes on.”

  “You’re welcome to stay at my place tonight, for however long you need,” Reid said. He could put them both up, there was a bed in the spare bedroom now.

  “You’re Reid. Lost your job, sent Zarley a dick pic, Reid.”

  “It was a dick pic. I’m not an axe murderer and I have an apartment five minutes away.”

  Cara shook her head. “I’m going to Gavin’s. I just want to be away from here. I can use Jessie’s sewing machine. I can wait it out there. You can come with me, Zar.”

  Zarley sighed. “Gavin and Jess are an hour out of the city.” She glanced at Reid. Was he going to lose her? “The traveling will kill me and with the new baby, it’s too much to ask.”

  “I can’t think of anything else. Will they make us pay rent still? They said we might be allowed in Monday to collect more stuff, but what if—”

  “I’ll stay with Reid like I was going to, and on Monday I’ll be here to see what we do next.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Zarley glanced at him again and he nodded. “I’m sure. Worry about the long term when we know what we’re in for.”

  “Let me get you a cab.”

  Cara’s big eyes flashed at him. “To San Ramon, are you kidding?”

  “You’re in PJs, you have,” he shook the stuff in his arms, “luggage. It’s some ungodly time in the morning and you just got made homeless. If you won’t stay with Zarley and me tonight, let me help you get to your brother’s. I’d drive you but I only have a bike.”

  “Oh my God, my bag.” Zarley exclaimed, head snapping around in the direction of the bike.

  He pivoted to show Zarley her bag slung over his back and she put her hand over her chest and breathed out in relief then said. “Let him help, Cara. It’s not going to break him.”

  That got him reluctant agreement from Cara. The two of them got sorted while he called the car service. They argued over the laptop. They shared it apparently, but Cara could borrow her brother’s. Cara who was bright-eyed, but very pale and moving stiffly.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was in the backseat of a town car surrounded by the stuff she’d pulled from the apartment that Zarley wasn’t keeping. It was precious little in the scheme of things.

  Ten minutes later, he had Zarley inside the apartment and he’d shown her the spare bedroom where they dumped all her gear.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For letting me stay, for helping Cara.”

  Was she going to cry, it seemed like a reasonable thing. Normally when a woman cried he left the room, because that was the only thing he could think she’d want him to do. He’d made a lot of women he’d worked with cry. He’d left a lot of rooms because of it. Zarley stood by the bed looking at her feet. He was in the hallway outside. A halfway left the room position, which seemed sensible.

  “You can stay as long as you like.”

  Her head shot up. “No, I can’t. But I’ll stay tonight. She looked at the bed. “This is everything I own. If we don’t get back inside, this is all of it. I have to start again. It’s worse for Cara, she already lost her job this week.”

  “I can help you.”

  “This is not cab fare. You can’t help. I don’t need your help.”

  He took a step back.

  “What I need is a hug. What I need is something to drink, a hot shower and your arms around me in bed.”

  “What would you like to drink?” It was leaving the room still, but with purpose.

  “A glass of milk like when I was a kid. But I want the hug first.”

  She stepped up on the bed and faced him. He moved into the room and she leapt at him. He caught her around the waist but he needn’t have. She latched on with her arms and legs and he buried his face in her neck. She smelled of smoke but she wasn’t going to cry and come Monday when they knew more, he’d find a way to help her and Cara that she’d accept. They’d be wise enough together.

  He carried her to the kitchen and they sat side by side on stools and drank their milk. She was amused by the stools but she was exhausted as well. He left her to shower in the en suite and used the other bathroom himself, meeting her in bed. She came tumbling into his arms, searching for his lips, pulling at his t-shirt till he doffed it, stripping out of her own until they were skin to skin, just his boxer briefs and her panties between them.

  She was draped across his chest and had her hands in his hair. “I want you, but I need to sleep.” She shook his head about as if to shake the notion of sex out of her own head.

  “So sleep. I’m not the one who started this.”

  “You started it when you arrived on that big sexy chromed-up machine, looking all hungry. When you didn’t forget my bag, when you called the car service. You started it when you didn’t try to manage me. You bought furniture.”

  “I sent you an embarrassing picture.”

  “Two seconds before I was going to send you a full frontal.”

  He pushed hair away from her face to check her expression. “For real?”

  “I’ve still got the photo.”

  “I get to see that.”

  “If you’re good. If you can let me
lie here like a dead fish while you do rude things to me.”

  He could so do that.

  He rolled them so she was beneath him. “Is there an art to this doing it with a dead fish thing you want?”

  She smiled up at him. “No sudden movements. Make me feel good.”

  He kissed her neck, smiling into her clean skin when she rolled her head on the pillow to expose it further to him. “Do I get to come?”

  “Only if I do.”

  “And you’re going to do nothing.”

  She let go his shoulders and her arms flopped out to her sides on the bed. “If I fall asleep don’t wake me.”

  She didn’t get to fall asleep. She got slow tender kisses, and a languorous exploration of her body with his hands and his tongue that made her moan. She got wet before he tried to make her that way with his fingers. She trembled when he moved inside her and arched her back and her hands clawed in the sheet.

  He liked this lesson, because he had the controls totally to himself and she trusted him to make her feel good. He like it because he’d spent all week thinking about her and what he wanted to do with her and he hadn’t come up with this, an achingly slow delivery of pleasure so quietly passionate he thought he might shake apart before she wrapped her legs around him and tightened up from inside out. They went over together and she was asleep in minutes, rolling on her side, pulling on his arm so he spooned up behind her.

  She’d lost her home tonight, but he’d share everything he owned and everything he planned on winning back with her, if she’d let him. He’d spent all week thinking about her and he’d never thought of that, but he did now and he went to sleep with new dreams.

  SIXTEEN

  Zarley woke in Reid’s big bed in his darkened bedroom. No Reid and no sign of him having been beside her recently. She rolled to get a look at his clock and got a surprise to see it was eye level to the bed. He had bedside tables and reading lamps.

  She flopped back down. She had a bad feeling about the fire. Even if they could get back inside and found everything they owned wasn’t smoke or water damaged, there’s no way they could move back in again. Short term, Cara could stay with Gavin. But Zarley was homeless. She had tonight with Reid and then she’d have to couch surf with Kathryn or Lizabeth, probably both of them in turn.