Offensive Behavior

“Are you religious?” Was that part of the reason he’d stayed a virgin?

“Hell, no. My mom is. The town I came from is God-fearing. Never knew my father. There’s no trust fund. There was no money. I went to college on a scholarship and a church fundraiser paid my first year’s living expenses. After that I worked as a laborer in the summers, bricklaying, roofing, doing odd jobs on building sites.”

Hah, that accounted for the ease with which he’d picked her up and tossed her around and why he didn’t have a soft office body.

The microwave pinged. He began plating food, his back to her. “I started a software company in college and it took off. I hired friends, Owen, Dev and Sarina, and we worked our asses off and got proper funding and started to make money.” He put a plate in front of her. Rice and vegetable dhal. It smelled delicious. “It paid for this apartment and a new house for Mom and, you know,” he didn’t break eye contact where a more modest man might’ve. “I’m comfortably well-off.”

“But you’re unemployed.” She picked up her fork.

“I’m loaded.”

And froze with it halfway to her mouth. “But you took your pity party to Lucky’s.”

He picked up his own plate and fork. “Your point?”

“You could’ve been somewhere high-end. You were slumming it with us. No, wait. Are you loaded enough not to need another job sometime soon?”

“Yep. Eat.” He took a forkful of food.

“Holy shit.” Some of the kids she’d trained with came from exceptionally well-off families, but Reid was young. “You’re not even thirty. Are you some freaky techno whiz kid?”

“Yes. Eat, Zarley.”

“Holy shit.” She picked up her fork and shoveled food into her mouth because a fucking millionaire had microwaved it for her.

“But I need to work. I don’t know what to do when I’m not working. It never occurred to me I could go furniture shopping or get a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend.” He needed a girl who’d love him for his honesty and not take advantage of him for his wealth. “This food is awesome. When I’m done with your sex education, you’ll be able to snap your fingers and potential girlfriends will knock themselves out trying to get to you, especially when they know you can nuke food like a boss.”

“What if I’ve got a certain girlfriend already picked out?”

“Reid.”

Laser-focus eyes. No confusion in them. None. “Zarley.” And damn her foolish heart, she liked it. The dhal was mild but her temperature spiked anyway.

“How did you lose your job?”

He poured water for them both. “I was crap with people.”

“How do you lose your job for that?” Crap with people seemed to be a prerequisite for some jobs.

“My turn.”

“How can what I already know about you be worse than knowing how you lost your job? I’ve seen you paralytic drunk and vomiting.” She’d seen him so strung out on desire he was barely functioning and that was an incredible turn-on.

He groaned and put his empty plate down. “It’s my turn. A gymnast. That explains a lot.”

“What exactly does it explain? Apart from the fact you can be damn pushy.”

He straight up ignored that. “Your phenomenal body. Muscle tone, strength, the way you move, graceful, sensual, powerful. You’re the total athlete. Retiring must have been difficult. What happened to you?”

She smoothed a hand over her chest. “I grew tits and hips. I had to get used to a whole new body after being a plank for so long.”

“I love your hips and your tits.”

“And yet they’re not big enough for the exotic dance world. Not that I’m doing anything about it, so there’s that standing in the way of me being a proper stripper.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m an asshole for riding you—all of you, about that.”