Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (4 page)

“That’s
me.”

“Fuck.”

“Thanks
for that. Look, I can’t leave you alone because I’m a total sap. Tell me who to
call.” She’d taken his phone when she got his wallet in the cab. She waggled it
in his direction while putting his wallet on the cabinet that housed the games
console.

“No one.”

“Someone.”

“Too
much trouble. Go.”

“I’m
not leaving you alone, you could, I don’t know, die.” Could you die from food poisoning?
It would be just her thing that from Lucky’s brand you could.

“Dying is
too good for me.”

She
clapped her hands on her legs. “At last, something we can agree on.”

“Get
out.”

“Wow. Neither
furnishing nor manners maketh the man.”

He got himself
back to the seat of the sofa. “I’m offensive.”

“No
argument from me.”

“I’m a
jerk.”

“I’d
have said asshole, but who cares what I think, right?”

“Why
are you still here?”

She
forced a hard breath out. “I have no idea.”

“Your
dress was all,” he waved a hand in front of his torso, “slashed.”

“Yep.”

“Different
tonight.”

“The
new Lux.” She knelt and got him to lift his foot. Pulled his boot off, then his
sock.

“What
are you doing?”

She
started on the other foot. “Having my way with you.”

He
stood so fast he almost kneed her in the face.

“Slow
down, bucko, you’re not that steady and you stink and while I’m putting you to
bed I have no desire to touch you more than I absolutely have to.”

He
groaned and virtually slithered back onto the sofa. “Room spinning.”

She
finished taking his boot and sock off then stood and took his hands and hauled
him upright, inserting herself under his arm. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“No.”

Yes. She
got him that far and he refused further help, closing her out. She heard
nothing and then the choking, gagging sound of him upchucking followed by the
flush of the toilet, then the shower water running.

“I’m
staying right here and if you don’t answer when I call you, I’m coming in. You
could drown. Do you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Reid.”

A
masculine rumble. He was still alive at least.

She thumped
on the door for emphasis. “Five minutes.”

She
waited two and called. “Reid,” and got no answer. But the shower had stopped. “Reid.
Answer me or I’m coming in.” Jesus, was she going to have to see him naked? She
opened the door.
Whoa
, look at the size of that tub. You could have a
party in there.

There
was a second entrance, this was an en suite. She could see Reid in the bedroom
beyond, flaked out face down on the bed wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t
bothered to dry himself so the clothing stuck to him in places, including that
nice ass and his very broad back.

She
could leave him now, he was safe and clean and if she left his phone in reach
he could call for help.

She
bent down to place his phone on the floor on the side of the bed where his alarm
clock sat and nearly left the planet when he spoke.

“Thank
you.”

His
voice was clogged up. “You’re welcome.” He was also shivering. “You need to get
under the covers.” He saw the wisdom of that and shifted and she managed to get
him under the quilt. “Your phone is here.” She pointed to the floor. A bedside
table would’ve been an asset. “You can call someone to check in on you.”

“I let
them all down.”

He
still shivered. She put her knee on the bed, reached over and felt his forehead.
“You’re burning up.”

He
grunted a response and then sat abruptly, shoved her back and vomited on the
floor.

He
flopped back on the bed with a choked groan, his arm draped over his eyes. “You’re
still here.”

He’d
only missed her boots because she jumped away. It smelled vile. “Don’t worry,
I’ll fix it.”

“No,
fuck, just go.”

“Yeah,
make me,” she shot back, on her way to look for cleanup gear.

By the
time she found what she needed and returned, bringing a glass and a bottle of
water he was asleep, snoring lightly. He was deathly pale and he had to be
dehydrated and that could make you sick all by itself. What was she supposed to
do with him? If she got sick she had Cara, and worst case she’d call home.

She
cleaned up, coming and going from the room, and he didn’t wake. Did he have a
girlfriend, parents? Should she worry that much, or was this just a hideous forty-eight
hour thing?

She sat
on the bedroom floor and fiddled with his phone trying to get past the lock
screen. He certainly didn’t use password as his code. She couldn’t get either
of his computers to wake, but was amused to notice that all of his computer
cables were meticulously tidy and clipped with Darth Vader and Storm Trooper
Lego figures.

She went
back to the bedroom and stood at the foot of his bed and watched him sleep. Creepy,
even under these circumstances. He was curled on his side, with his knees up as
if his stomach hurt, and the covers pulled up around his neck as if he was
still cold. She should’ve thought to check his hand for gravel, bathe it in antiseptic.
She should’ve called Melinda and asked for advice on what to do with him.

It was
nearly four in the morning and she was tired beyond sense and there was no one
she could reasonably call. She went back to the living room and took her shoes
off, set the alarm on her phone for seven and crashed on his big ugly sofa. If
he was sick again she’d hear him and if he was no better, she’d insist he call
someone.

When
her alarm peeped she woke to a wild sense of where the hell am I? She had a
stiff neck from no pillow and she was starving. He had home-cooked Indian food
in his refrigerator but she couldn’t fathom curried anything for breakfast. She
padded into his room. He slept soundly, but he’d obviously woken at some point
because he’d drunk a good deal of the water she’d left. He wasn’t so pale under
his beard scruff. He’d live. She was done here.

She
hoped she’d seen the last of his god-awful handsome face, his judgmental scowl
that was kind of hot, and his surprisingly muscular body. And if she ever heard
his imperious I know better tone again it would also be too soon.

She let
herself out and wondered if he’d remember she was ever there.

FIVE

Reid woke with a sour taste in his mouth, a churning gut and a vague
suspicion there was someone in the apartment with him. He was burning up, thirsty;
either the whole room had entered another dimension, one that pulsed, or it was
his head. He pushed upright and then he remembered. Lux put him in a cab. She’d
gotten him home.
Holy shit
, he’d just about hurled all over her. He closed
his eyes as the world tilted.

“Lux. Hey,
anyone there?” What day was it? It was day, that much he could tell, through
eyes that didn’t want to open. “Anyone.” He listened. Silence.

He
pushed the bed coverings away and got himself upright. Made it to the bathroom,
where a glance in the mirror confirmed that notion about the other dimension. He
looked like he’d been slammed by a time machine, and pulled backward kicking
and screaming through a black hole.

He was
pale, sweating, smudges under his eyes that didn’t rub off, hair doing its best
electric shock. He smelled foul too, body odor and alcohol and what the heck
happened to his hand? A vague recollection of tripping, going down on his hands
and knees. Yup, knees felt bruised.

A
shower improved things. Toothpaste. Water guzzled. But that was the extent of
it. He made it back to bed and next thing he knew there was definitely someone
in the apartment. In the kitchen to be precise.

Was Lux
still here? He’d told her to go, but she’d flipped him off, was that a memory
or a dream? It was dark again. Had she been asleep all day? He hauled himself
upright and rubbed his hands through his hair, then made the long, knee
trembling, stumbling trek to the kitchen. It wasn’t Lux’s pert, squeezable
backside poked out of his refrigerator.

“Dev.”

Dev
straightened, knocking his head on a shelf and making the condiments in the door
rattle. “Month of Sundays. What are you doing here? You’re not meant to be
here.”

Because
Dev was more comfortable sneaking food into the kitchen when Reid wasn’t home than
he was being acknowledged for doing it. Reid fumbled for the kitchen stool and
sat.

“Cripes,
what happened to your hand? What happened to you?”

“Food
poisoning.”

Dev’s
head tilted hard right. “No way. Unless you messed up with the rice. Did you
cook it like I showed you?”

“Not
from your food.” A good portion of which Reid threw out, because he wasn’t
hungry when he was drunk.

Dev
flashed his perfect teeth. “Well, then, that’s okay.”

“I
could be dying and you’re happy it’s not from your food.”

Dev made
a circular motion around his face, then his smile was replaced by a grimace. “Stop
eating bad food, Reid. Why do you think I cook for you? “

Doing
nice things for people was how Dev lived. It was his thing, alongside being the
kind of software engineer who could smell a bug before it was programmed.

“Because
I’m a philistine who wouldn’t know a well-cooked meal if it tried to eat me,
and you’re trying to hold on to a friendship that only existed through work.” Reid
coughed.

Dev put
a glass of water in front of him. “Look who’s sorry for himself. What did you
eat?”

“Shrimp.”

“Oh,
bad seafood, that could actually kill you.”

“Thanks
for the reassurance, doc.”

“And
you know, binge drinking and fighting. That could kill you too.”

So Owen
had been talking. Reid held his hands up. “I tripped. This is gravel rash. Owen
should’ve said it’s not binge drinking. It’s full-time alcoholism.”

Dev
clucked his tongue. “What would your mother think? Mine would whack into you.”

“Owen
tried the sympathy route. I see you’re going with shame.”

Dev
took Reid’s empty glass, washed it, dried it and put it away. Reid didn’t have
the energy to point out Dev should’ve thrown it at his head instead. “Thank you
for the food.”

Dev
stopped wiping the sink, then made a show of sticking his finger in his ear as
if he was having trouble hearing. Reid tried to remember the last time he’d
said thank you for one of Dev’s kindnesses and couldn’t. He got up from the
stool and dragged his feet back along the hall. Dev would let himself out and
Reid intended to sleep until he felt like it made sense to be awake and if it
didn’t, it’s not like anyone other than Mom would miss him and she’d wait till
Christmas to do it.

It was
light again when Reid woke and his head felt like it was normal size and the
walls weren’t closing in on him. He listened to the apartment and was satisfied
he was alone. Dev was the only person with an access override code, so even if
Lux wanted to check up on him she couldn’t.

He
flexed his hand. It’d scabbed up, the skin felt tight and dry enough to crack
open and bleed again. Had she seen him fall? He felt his face heat and it was
either the fever still or embarrassment. He’d watched Lux take down a guy five
times her size in the alley and step around him like he was a mere curiosity
and he’d said obnoxious things to her that implied she’d deserved that trouble.
But that’s not what he’d meant.

She
should be safe leaving her work, same as he was leaving anywhere. He’d meant it
wasn’t safe for her to have to exit Lucky’s by their back entrance, it was dark,
and the perfect place to be ambushed. But he hadn’t explained himself and he’d
been amused enough at her umbrage that he’d laughed when she called him a
dickhead.

He was
a dickhead.

And
that next night, the night he felt sick, she’d blown him a kiss from the stage—a
kiss off more like, and then used her body to show him what he was missing out
on. He’d sat there transfixed while she tossed her hair and spread her legs and
danced in that little ripped to ribbons black dress like she was deliberately trying
to make his lungs seize and his heart expand till it punched out his chest.

He’d
flushed hot and cold and his head spun and eventually he’d realized it wasn’t
lust writhing in his gut and he had more than a headache going on.

He was
an asshole who’d mouthed off at Lux and barfed all over himself, and yet she’d
stopped to help him, gone out of her way to bring him home and stand over him
till he was safely comatose.

His
stomach churned and it wasn’t from hunger. He’d been acting like a spoilt brat
and it was time to get real. This was rock bottom of the pity fest he’d been
on.

There
was nothing he could do about Owen or Dev right away. Too much history between
them and no clue how to set it right, but he could do something about Lux.

Of
course, Lux, couldn’t be her real name, but that’s all he had for her. He sent
flowers care of Lucky’s. It was a start, but since bastards who assumed she was
theirs to take by force probably did slick things like send flowers too, it
wasn’t enough. He wanted Lux to know he was astonishingly grateful for what
she’d done, that he appreciated it, and was sorry for being . . . just being an
asshole who was hopeless with people.

He
needed to apologize face to face. It was the kind of thing he’d had a lot of
practice at. The kind of thing those he was apologizing to usually enjoyed
immensely.

And
once he’d done that, he’d quit obsessing about her, move on, maybe learn to
cook, or travel, or go build houses in Cambodia, ask a woman on a date, anything
that had potential to make him a better person.

It was another
two days before he stopped feeling dizzy and weak and left the apartment. It
was the first time he’d felt motivated by anything other than getting plastered
since his exit from Plus. He went to Lucky’s and when the regular hostess who
served him came over with his usual rotgut he asked her name.

She
laughed and put the glass down. “Absence made the heart grow fonder, did it?”

“What?”
Cinnamon was on stage, which meant he’d missed Lux’s first set.

“We
haven’t seen you in a while.”

He
looked at the woman. “That’s because your chef poisoned me.”

“Holy
shit, you had the surf and turf. I’ll go get Lou.”

“No. I
don’t want to complain.”

She
balanced her tray on one hip and tipped her head in the other direction. “You
don’t?”

“Nope. I
don’t want that bourbon either. Just a Coke.”

“As in pop?”

“Yep.”

She
shook her head. “Honey, you can’t sit here and not drink alcohol?”

He
looked directly into her heavily made-up eyes and didn’t blink. “Why not?”

She blinked,
but held his stare. Impressive. “Because that’s how we make money. No cover
charge.”

“Do I
look like I want a lesson in dive bar economics?” That didn’t come out the way
he’d thought it would, she wasn’t smiling.

“You
look like a bear crawled up your rear.”

He
almost laughed. Why hadn’t he flirted with her, she was fun. Because he didn’t
have the first idea how to flirt, that’s why. “What’s your name?”

“Violet.”

“Your
real name.”

She
leaned forward, still holding eye contact. “That is my stupid, useless mother-given,
goddamn real name.” She gestured to the glass. That’s on the house since we
mighta killed you. I’ll get your Coke.”

Hmm. That
hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. He’d hoped he might get to Lux through Violet. He
didn’t want to ambush Lux outside the bar, that was a terrible option, but he
didn’t want to sit at the edge of the stage and throw money at her either. He
watched Violet on her way back to him. When she drew level with the table he
held up a fifty. She looked at him like he’d slapped her.

“What’s
wrong now?”

“A
fifty. I bring you a kid’s drink and you tip me a fifty. That’s not how this
works.”

“How
does it work then?”

“With
you, I don’t know. With most normal men, they stare at my tits, call me Vi,
tell me I’m gorgeous even though we all know I passed gorgeous two decades ago.
I bring them overpriced drinks, we flirt, they tip, we all have a good time. But
you.” She shook her head, her red lips pursed. “You sit there with storm clouds
rumbling above your head, and you don’t speak, and no one wants to serve you
even though you tip well, and you barely acknowledge my existence.”

It
wasn’t news to be told he could inspire bad weather. “I noticed you.”

“Like
you’d notice if your dick fell off. Look, I get it, you’ve got a thing for Lux,
but she’s never going to talk to you.”

“Did
she say something?” Fricking hell, did he sound like a wet behind the ears
schoolboy? Hell yes, he did.

“She’s
not like that and she has a boyfriend. Sent a whole florist shop this week, so
she doesn’t need no loser barfly.”

What’s
the bet there was no flower sending boyfriend. “If I wanted to get a message to
her?”

“You
know there are plenty of bars where you can get up close and personal with the
girls. This ain’t one of them. This the cleanest damn strip club in the US of A,
unless you count the kitchen, and you don’t want to have anything more to do
with what goes on in there.”

“How do
I get a message to Lux?”

Violet
shifted her weight hip to hip. “I just told you, you don’t.”

He
pulled a hundred from his wallet and held it in front of her. “How do I get a
message to Lux?”

She
shook her head. “I’ll bring you kid’s drinks, but I won’t sell out one of our
girls.”

“So if
I held up another two hundred bucks and all I wanted was for you to deliver a
message to Lux, you wouldn’t take it?”

“Make
that three hundred and you’ve got a deal.”

He
whistled. “You drive a hard bargain, Vi.” He’d have paid twice that. Just for
the game of it. “Tell Lux, Reid would like to speak to her in person.”

“I’ll
tell her, but I’m not guaranteeing she’ll agree and I get to keep the money
whatever happens.”

He
nodded and handed her the cash and an envelope. “And give her that.”

Violet
took the cash and tucked it into her waistband. She tapped the envelope against
her lip. “This better not be drugs. She does drugs, Lou will can her.”

“It’s
not drugs.”

“What
is it then?”

“Private.”

She
sighed. “You ever stop hanging around here you’ve got a career as a lawman, I
reckon. Bossy enough.”

“That
cash self-destructs in fifteen minutes.”

“All
right, all right. I’m going.”

Vi
backed away, using his envelope to fan her face. He watched her go to the bar,
take out another tray of drinks and then disappear off the floor. A dancer Reid
had never seen before was on stage, so nervous she’d stumbled twice and looked
like she was ready to burst into tears.

He
watched for Vi to come back, figured she’d bring a message, because Lux never
came down from the stage. None of the girls did. He pulled his cell out and sat
it on the table, because once Lux read his note she might call instead. He wanted
this to be painless, for her to choose how they interacted again instead of
having the hassle of him foisted on her.