But even now, self-conscious awareness hummed at the back of her mind like the low murmur of students before a lecture began. That awareness reminded her, completely unprovoked, that if she had someone waiting for her in the bedroom down the hall, they’d feel annoyed or neglected right now. They’d lose their patience and their temper. They’d try to persuade Dani away from her tried and tested process, as if they knew what was best for her, and if she refused, they’d ask snide questions about whether her degrees would marry her and love her in her old age.
Unless they were sweet like Zaf. If they were sweet like Zaf, they’d probably talk her into bed with gentle, teasing comments. And if they were heavy like Zaf, they’d pin her down in a big soft hug, and she wouldn’t even be able to sneak off once they fell asleep, and then she’d have to rest . . .
Which sounded awful and was one of the many reasons she preferred to keep potential fuck buddies on the other end of the phone, instead of nestling them into her life. Speaking of, she must conscript Zaf to the cause soon. Preparing for the symposium was proving extremely stressful, and as she’d learned today, his mouth was a magical tool of distraction.
When he picked up, his voice was deep and sleep-roughened, and it shot straight to her clit. Of course, everything about him shot straight to Dani’s clit, just like champagne shot to her head.
“Hey,” he said, all raspy and gorgeous and ugh. “Let me guess. You’re working.” There was a smile in his voice—no scolding exasperation or heavy disappointment to be found. Almost as if he was amused, rather than annoyed, by her unsociable hours.
“Yep,” she confirmed. “Working.” But now that she had Zaf on the phone, work didn’t seem half as interesting as getting on his nerves. Hmm. Unfulfilled lust was a funny thing.
“Studying in the middle of the night,” he groused, fondness lacing each word. “I don’t know how you look so pretty all the time. I come to work every morning looking like I’ve got two black eyes.”
The word pretty sent a childish thrill of pleasure through her, which was mortifying, because Dani wasn’t in the habit of caring about who called her pretty. If she did, she might also have to care about who called her ugly, and when you were a woman—especially a black woman on the chubbier side—that was never a good idea. The only opinions she valued on that score were her own.
But there seemed no harm in murmuring, “Pretty, am I?”
“Don’t start. You know you’re a knockout.” He paused, clearly considering. “Unless you don’t, and you’d like me to tell you. As a friend.”
“No, no,” she said quickly—because he would tell her if she asked. He would tell her in that quiet, rumbling voice, calm and steady and unembarrassed, just to make her feel good about herself. And this weird melting feeling in her middle, as if her insides were spilling out and leaking everywhere, might get even worse. God forbid. As an extra layer of protection, she added, “For future reference, there’s never any need to emphasize my attractiveness. As you say, it’s already an established fact.”
He laughed, the sound sinking into her skin, spilling over tight, tense muscles.
“As for my lack of dark shadows,” she went on, trying to sound casual, “it’s concealer. Google it.”
“Hmm. Maybe my niece will lend me some.”
She exhaled, smiled. It was kind of adorable how often he mentioned his niece. “Good luck. But you know, there is an alternative to makeup.”
“Yeah?”
“Indeed. It’s called sleep, and at this time of night, most people are doing it. Why are you up so late?” Maybe he was busy, too. Maybe he valued his work in the same way Dani did, and maybe, because of that, he’d understand certain things and—
He grunted. “No reason. I don’t always sleep that great.”
Ah. She dragged her teeth over her lower lip, that softly delivered news making her chest ache. “Something on your mind?”
“Something on yours,” he asked, “since you called?”
If Dani bothered to observe things about people, she might note that Zaf had a singular talent for steering subject changes. “I try to take a five-minute rest break every thirty minutes,” she told him. “Although time occasionally gets away from me. I thought, since you’re up, and we have things to talk about—”
“You’re bestowing your five minutes on little old me? I’ve never been so flattered.”
She laughed. “That’s not the reaction I usually get.” Most people wanted more from her, hungry for bites she didn’t have to spare. Dani wasn’t good at this sort of thing—at making people feel like they mattered. But according to the universe, Zaf was her perfect fuck buddy—so of course he wouldn’t mind. He probably didn’t care enough to mind.
He sounded like he cared, though. “Is that right?” he murmured, the smile in his voice replaced by something cautious and concerned. “What reaction do you usually get, Danika?”
Dani decided that changing the subject had just become a matter of urgency. “Oh, you know,” she managed, and wiped the question away with an airy laugh. “Never mind all that. How goes the publicity thing? What does a fake relationship involve, anyway?”
There was a slight pause. She bit her lip and hoped for the best. Zaf gave it to her. “Er . . . I sent a few lines to the Nottingham Post, since you’re okay with it. And I guess those kids took a picture of us—talking in the car park,” he said, because he was adorable, “which got the hashtag trending again. One-time donations are through the roof, so all the attention really is working.” She detected a faint note of wonder in his voice that made her want to squish his cheeks and kiss his forehead. Fortunately, he wasn’t in the room, so she was saved from the horror of actually following that impulse. “I got an email from BuzzFeed Sports, too,” he said, sounding pleased. “They sent me some questions to answer. Everything’s amazing, Dan. And it’s because of you, obviously.”
She made a gagging sound. “Don’t start getting emotional.”
“Piss off. Let me say thank you.”
“Zaf, don’t, I’ll be sick. You don’t want me to be sick.”
“Fuck you, then,” he said, but there was laughter in his voice. “As for the fake relationship—we don’t have to kiss in any more car parks.”
She was going to say, What if we want to?, but that sort of thing should probably be saved for face-to-face communication. Wouldn’t want him to misunderstand her intentions.
“I was thinking we should just have lunch together,” he went on, “and try to . . . you know. Flirt.”
“Try to flirt? Because we’re so out of practice.”
She could almost hear his blush through the phone. “We don’t flirt.”
“If that’s what you think, I really need to brush up on my skills.”
Judging by the strangled sound he made, Zaf appeared to be having some sort of mental crisis. “You mean . . . we . . . do flirt?”
“Well, I try my best. You can be difficult, sometimes.” Dani stood up as he spluttered through a response, wandering around her flat’s living room to stretch her legs.
“I thought—I thought you were joking,” he said finally.
She wouldn’t want his head to explode, so she said, “Yes, of course I was joking.”
He exhaled.
I was jokingly expressing the fact that you’re mind-blowingly hot. “So, lunch. Flirting. Anything else? Adorable selfies, et cetera?”
“Fuck, no. You sound like my niece. Fatima told me social media crazes are a flash in the pan, and if we want to make the most of it we should consider starting a YouTube channel.” His disgust practically dripped from the words.
“And you said?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
Dani’s lips had been twitching as she asked the question; now she laughed outright. “Of course you did.” If the words sounded a little too fond and familiar, oh, well. It was the middle of the night and he was being unforgivably cute. “Your niece is clearly a smart girl.” And the eucalyptus
by Dani’s window, for freedom and prosperity, was looking a little parched. She headed to the kitchenette to get it some water, her feet padding against the floorboards.
“Yeah, Fatima’s smart. You teach her, you know.”
“I do?” Dani frowned as she filled her little watering can, then remembered a new student with huge, dark eyes. “Oh. Fatima Ansari. Of course you’re related. She looks just like you.”
A slight silence as Dani went to water the plant. Then, a moment before it got awkward, Zaf said quietly, “Nah. She looks like her dad.”
“Your brother, is he?”
“Mm-hmm.” Zaf’s tone went from distant and distracted to light and teasing so fast Dani felt slightly whiplashed. “She thinks you’re sophisticated. That’s what she said to me. Everything Dani does is so sophisticated.”
“Poor, deluded girl.”
“Ain’t she just.” Sweet exasperation crept into his tone, a gleaming thread that said, I know what a chaos demon you are, and I think it’s great.
Dani tried not to beam in response. That would be ridiculous. She watered her eucalyptus, put down her can, heard the beep of her five-minute timer, and realized with a jolt that her break had vanished like smoke.
“Oh,” she said, “I have to—it’s—”
“Five minutes. I know.” But there was no irritation in Zaf’s voice, no resentment. He was probably relieved to know she’d get off the phone now and let him sleep.
She, surprisingly, wasn’t relieved at all. In fact, the thought of putting down the phone made her feel slightly sad and deflated. For a moment, something in her leaned toward him like a cooped-up plant growing desperately toward the sun, and—
And good Lord, she must be exhausted. Dani shook her head, frowned, and considered going to bed earlier than planned.
“My lunch break starts at twelve thirty tomorrow,” Zaf said, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts. “That work for you?”
“I think so. I’ll text you if anything changes. Otherwise . . . meet you at the food court?”
“All right,” he said. “Goodnight, Danika.”
“Go to sleep!”
He grunted and hung up.
Only when he was gone did Dani realize she’d barely tried to seduce him at all.
Chapter Seven
@CAMPBELL2001: Sandwich in his left hand, girl in his right. LOL Zaf Ansari @TACKLEIT LEGEND #DrRugbae
Somehow, in the whirlwind of setting up this fake relationship, Zaf had managed to forget that he was a shitty actor and a truly abysmal liar. That fact came back to him like a concrete boomerang on Thursday afternoon, when he saw Danika walking toward him in the food court and realized he had absolutely no idea how to greet her.
After a second of mental flailing, Zaf cleared his throat, waved awkwardly, and said, “Hi, er, babe.”
Babe? Babe? He was 99 percent sure his lips had never formed that fucking word in his entire fucking life. And was it just him, or was every pair of eyes in this food court suddenly pinned to his blushing face?
Before he could weigh the odds of extreme social media stalkerism versus paranoia, Dani reached him with a laughing smile and dancing eyes. “Hello, handsome.”
He short-circuited, just a little bit.
Then she rose up on her toes, pressed her hands against his chest, and kissed his cheek. Holy fuck, she smelled like honey. He wanted to bite her.
In his ear, she whispered, “Am I wrong, or is everyone watching us?”
“I knew it.”
“Shh. Noodles, conversation, a little light hand-holding. Let’s not make this too difficult.”
“Okay,” he managed, but her hands were still on his chest and he was concentrating on not getting hard, because that would be extremely embarrassing on several thousand levels.
“Zaf?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to look more like yourself and less like seven guilty toddlers standing on each other’s shoulders in a security uniform.”
A few slow blinks, and his brain started processing normally again. “That . . . does not make a lick of sense.”
“Well done for noticing,” she said, and patted him soothingly. “Come on, then. I’m starved.” Apparently, she’d decided to take charge of this whole thing, which he was absolutely okay with. If you had to stumble your way through a fake relationship with a woman you were actually crushing on, that woman being inhumanly calm and scarily smart and a little bit bossy made things a thousand times easier.
But Zaf wasn’t supposed to be listing all of Danika’s excellent qualities. In fact, he was supposed to be ignoring them, and also her smile, and also her arse, which looked excellent in today’s floaty, star-printed dress-robe thingy. Not that he was looking. Behave.
They headed straight toward a Thai food truck, where Dani told the old guy behind the counter, “Good afternoon! Hot tofu box, double veg, please.”
“Size?”
“Large.” To Zaf, she added, “Is there any other size?”
He bit the inside of his cheek to fight a smile. “Not if you’re smart. You like tofu?” Was unnecessary interest in someone’s food preferences a friend thing, or a sneaky crush thing? The lines were already blurring like smudged paint. Zaf was mentally compiling a list of curries he knew how to cook that might work with tofu—not that he’d ever cook for Danika. That would definitely be a crush thing.
“It’s good,” she said. “Try it.” So he ordered the same, because of course he did. Then Dani added, “And some chips, please. Wait, Zaf, do you want chips?”
He shrugged. “I can share yours if you—”
“Nope. Two lots of chips. Thank you.” She smiled up at the man in the van, all white teeth and glossy lips, her doe eyes bright.
“Uh . . . you’re welcome,” the man said faintly, then stared for a second before turning abruptly away.
Zaf sympathized.
They got their food a few minutes later and sat in the middle of the courtyard. Zaf spent a solid ten seconds dithering about where to sit—was opposite her more datelike, or next to her?—before getting a grip and choosing a seat at random. Danika, meanwhile, ignored him completely in favor of devouring her noodles. So, really, she wasn’t that great at this fake-date thing, either. Or maybe she was just super hungry. Whatever the case, the fact that he wouldn’t be the only one letting the side down took the pressure off a bit. Zaf swallowed, picked up a fork, and dug in.
Dani had been right about the tofu: it was good—really good, in fact. The chips, obviously, were chips. He finished all his food before she was even halfway done with hers, then asked, “You need some help?” just to get on her nerves.
She froze and gave him a deadly look. “You need my plastic fork up your arse?”
“Might be worth it for more of those noodles.”
“Zafir, if cutlery-based orgasms are what gets you going, just say.” Out of nowhere, she grinned. The effect was so overwhelming, he actually had to remind his cock that this was all a joke. Relax, mate. We’re not even into anal.
Then she leaned forward and murmured, “If you’re that hard up, I’ll shove a fork in there for free.”
Zaf’s dick looked at him suspiciously and said, We’re not into it? Are you sure?
He cleared his throat.
She smirked and went back to her food. But she also picked up her phone and, somehow, typed out a text as she ate. When his phone beeped a second later, he realized the text was to him.
* * *
DANIKA: Hey. Strategy meeting.
ZAF: . . . Are you really texting me right now? I’m sitting next to you.
The food court was alarmingly bright and filled with a surprising number of avid eyes—Dani would never get over the baffling popularity of this #DrRugbae phenomenon—so, yes, she was indeed texting Zaf from the same table. And he was clearly unimpressed, because his reply was accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a disapproving look. God, he was such a dad. An adorable dad. An adorable, sexy—actually, never mind.
DANIKA: I know, but spies are everywhere. Case in point, that boy to your left is filming us under the table.
And now he looked vaguely horrified.
ZAF: Please tell me you’re joking.
DANIKA: Look for yourself, if you dare.
ZAF: You know I’m too obvious for that.
DANIKA: True. Anyway, since we’re on camera, we should probably look less text-obsessed and more deeply in love. Idea: feed me some noodles.
ZAF: Feed you? Seriously?
DANIKA: Just do it.
Couples fed each other, right? Yes, they most certainly did. Dani had seen it in Lady and the Tramp, plus her parents had done it with cake for their wedding photos. And since she wasn’t confident in her ability to seem happily committed and blissfully in love—hungrily in lust, more like—every little helped.
Zaf shot her a dubious look, put down his phone, and reached for her noodles. “All right. Open up.”
“Just be careful,” she muttered under her breath. “I have an overdeveloped gag reflex.”
“Erm . . . okay,” he said, looking as if he expected to wake up and find this entire situation had been some sort of weird, cheese-fueled dream. When the waking up failed to occur, he shrugged his massive shoulders and held out a forkful of noodles. They both hesitated for an awkward moment before Dani, in a bid to look comfortable and couple-y, opened her mouth and leaned in toward the fork.
At the exact same time, Zaf moved, too. Because of course he did.
He jabbed, she jerked. Their mutual enthusiasm did not, unfortunately, make for a calm, controlled, social-media-friendly feeding experience.
Actually, Dani ended up with a wad of bean sprouts at the back of her throat, all of which she promptly spat out onto his lap.
* * *
@FOZZY99: Did I really just see Zaf Ansari’s girlfriend coughing stir-fry all over him in the campus food court? LOLOLOL
Take a Hint, Dani Brown Page 9
