“Whose ass?” he asked, sure he hadn’t heard her right.
“Thor!” she exclaimed. “You’re an Indian Thor. Or Superman. Take your pick.”
He snorted. “Please, no. I don’t think I can carry the underwear-over-my-pants look.”
All that did was give Aditi images of Rian in his underwear. Did he wear tighty whities or boxers? She gulped, unable to stop picturing him in both.
Definitely boxers.
“That would be better for hischota bheem,” she muttered under her breath. She recalled the feel of his arousal pressed against her the times they’d kissed.
Okay, maybe not chota, she corrected herself right then. There was nothing small about him from what she could tell. Her attention shifted, only to find that he had a gobsmacked look on his face. His lips quivered for a moment before he bit down on it.
“Ch-chota Bheem?” he finally asked, his voice oddly choked.
She blinked, trying to control her internal panic. How had he heard that? She racked her brain for a response that wouldn’t involve her having to admit that she’d inadvertently nicknamed his dick after a cartoon with superhuman strength.
“Umm, you didn't like Superman's dressing sense so I figured Chota Bheem is a better option.”
Goddamnit, her voice was too shrill. Did he believe her?
“Ah, a dhoti?” He pursed his lips like he was giving it real thought.
She let out a relieved breath.
“Wouldn’t it be too airy?” he wondered out loud.
“You can pull it off.”
A mischievous glint shined in his eyes. “Are you asking me to strip for you? At least buy me dinner first.”
Aditi’s jaw dropped open, recognizing those words as hers!
“Rian Bugs Shetty!” she gasped, sounding like a scandalised matron. “Put a lid on that confidence for a minute. Just because you look like you were carved by Michaelangelo is no reason to forget humility.”
He leaned a shoulder against the metal edge of the workout machine next to him, crossing his hands across his wide chest in an unreasonably sexy pose. “Are you trying to say that I have a good body?”
Body, face, hair, eyes, mind. The man was a twelve-course meal and she was starving.
“I plead the fifth.”
The look of amusement on his face grew.
“That only works in the US, Doc. We live in India.”
“The sentiment is the same,” she sniffed, refusing to give him any quarter. It really was his own fault for being so inhumanly gorgeous that her brains melted into her knees every time she looked at him.
He leaned in, taunting her in a quiet voice. “Coward.”
“I love myself with all my flaws,” she piously stated, glancing past him. “You just did a salmon ladder.”
The speed with which she changed subjects gave him whiplash.
“Umm, yes. I did. How do you know that?”
“I’m an Oliver Queen fangirl.” She threw her palms open with a look that told him he should have guessed at the reason.
“The Green Arrow? Really?”