Take a Hint, Dani Brown

by Talia Hibbert

  @SLYTHERINBIH: Oh my god, gross

  @BASICJELLYBABY: She was cute even semi–throwing up on him

  @HOLLY_COOKE: This is why I love them. They really seem real AF

  * * *

  Friday 12:36 P.M.

  ZAF: Noodles again?

  DANIKA: All the yes, but don’t feed me this time. I’m not ready to die.

  ZAF: I told you it was a bad idea!

  DANIKA: And I told you about my gag reflex, so it looks like we’re both terrible listeners.

  ZAF: George asked me yesterday why my crotch smelled like hot sauce. I think he thinks I have some kind of food fetish now.

  DANIKA: Does he think you have a Teflon dick, too? Because a hot-sauce fetish sounds extremely painful and also a high UTI risk.

  ZAF: Should’ve thought of that before you threw up on me.

  DANIKA: IT WASN’T VOMIT. IT WAS JUST FOOD. IT WAS UNDIGESTED FOOD. IT WAS UNSWALLOWED FOOD. HOW MANY TIMES?

  * * *

  Saturday 8:48 P.M.

  DANIKA: Are you free for late-night phone calls, or do you have weekend-type plans?

  ZAF: Weekend-type plans?

  DANIKA: You know what I mean.

  ZAF: Yeah. I just enjoy your nerd phrasing. Have to let it marinate.

  DANIKA: I am strongly considering blocking your number.

  ZAF: But if you did, who would be your five-minute entertainment tonight?

  DANIKA: There’s a sex joke in there somewhere but I’ve been staring at this book for three hours now, so my brain is too blurry to find it

  ZAF: If you’ve been working for three hours that means you owe me six phone calls already. So close the book and ring me now.

  * * *

  Over the weekend, Tackle It hit a milestone: £3,000 in one-off donations had been made since the Dr. Rugbae video went viral. Zaf had posted about it online, received an unholy number of likes and comments, and the total donations had bumped up even higher. He’d made Fatima a bowl of rasgulla roughly the same size as her head, because she was a genius mastermind who deserved to be recognized as his niece again, and he’d gone out with Jamal to a milkshake bar in town that offered a ton of old arcade games. Basically, he’d had a great fucking time. But for some reason, when he remembered the highlights, the first thing that came to mind was Danika sending him an emoji wearing a party hat. Probably because she never used emojis.

  And the fact he’d noticed that, and was now ascribing significance to it, made Zaf want to smother himself.

  It turned out that was physically impossible, though, so he compromised by rereading one of his favorite books on Sunday. A romance, obviously. Happy ending, obviously. That was what he wanted: a happy ending. And yes, he’d learned the hard way that those didn’t always last, but he wasn’t going to shoot himself in the foot by getting attached to a woman who didn’t want one at all.

  The reminder worked.

  During their Sunday-night phone call, he barely mooned over Danika at all. During his post–phone call wank (unavoidable—she had a sexy voice, okay?) he kept things fast and thoughtless. On Monday, when she turned up at his desk to fake flirt before and after class, Zaf remembered through every smile and lingering look that this was all for show. It. Was. All. For. Show.

  And when she texted him later that morning, her messages like little rays of sunshine no one else would ever see?

  That was friendship, obviously. Friendship, full stop.

  DANIKA: I can’t wait for lunch.

  DANIKA: Not the fawning all over you and feeding you grapes part. The food part.

  Huh. Zaf hadn’t realized grape-feeding was on the fake-lunch-date cards at all, but suddenly he couldn’t wait, either.

  DANIKA: My stomach is eating itself. RIP me.

  ZAF: Didn’t you eat your protein bar?

  DANIKA: Yes, I ate my protein bar, you absolute parent. It’s a shame I don’t have a daddy kink, or I might get off on those things.

  Zaf set his jaw and shifted in his seat. She kept . . . saying things like that, these past few days, and it was getting harder and harder not to bite.

  ZAF: Come and get another one.

  DANIKA: You want me to choke down two in one day?!

  He should probably be offended, but he found himself laughing into his hand, disguising the sound with a cough and a glower when a passing group of students stared at him. Once they were gone, he set his tiny smile free and typed out a response.

  ZAF: That’s not very polite.

  DANIKA: I can’t leave my strategic library position to come and get a protein bar. My seat by the window will be stolen. The risk isn’t worth the tasteless but protein-rich reward.

  ZAF: Are you telling me you don’t like my protein bars?

  DANIKA: They taste like cardboard.

  DANIKA: Keep giving them to me, though.

  As if he had any intention of stopping.

  ZAF: For food emergencies?

  DANIKA: You ask so many questions. I’m working now, I have to go.

  And she really did go. There were no more texts during her breaks—not a single one—and she didn’t show up to lunch, either. Zaf leaned against a lamppost by the food court, staring longingly at the noodle van and the library in turn, like a man with a desperate craving for chili bean sprouts and books. Or chili bean sprouts and a bookish woman. Whatever. Clearly, he was delirious with hunger, since he’d finished his store of snacks around 10 A.M. as always. Hours ago now.

  He checked his phone again, but there was no response from Dani to his latest nudge. Since his brain was his brain, his first thought was that she’d died. She’d taken the stairs and fallen, or she’d been crushed between those fancy moving bookshelves—the ones with signs on them saying to shout before you pulled the levers, only no one ever did.

  Lucky for Zaf, he was used to shoving unreasonable worries away, so he drop-kicked those ideas into the sun and moved on.

  In reality, he’d probably been stood up by his fake girlfriend. Ouch. Of course, knowing Dani, it was equally likely that she’d just gotten distracted—that she was lost in a book or a journal, her phone at the bottom of her bag, time a distant concept she preferred not to play with. Which would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that they had social media stalkers to manipulate into free publicity.

  And, wow, it all sounded incredibly mercenary when he phrased it like that. But still.

  Zaf needed to be seen with Dani before this flash in the pan . . . un-flashed. He wasn’t about to let a single fake-lunch-date opportunity slip through his hands. So, for the good of Tackle It—obviously—he had no choice but to hunt down his girlfriend.

  His fake girlfriend.

  Obviously.

  * * *

  The low murmur was a familiar fixture in her dreams. “Hey. Danika.”

  Danika, said with those soft, round consonants. Dani smiled, squeezing her eyes tight against the light. If she could fall asleep properly and sink fully into this dream, she might see Zaf as well as hear him. And seeing him was always a thrill.

  Unfortunately, her inner eye remained stubbornly blank. She might have sulked over that, if it weren’t for the feel of a large, warm hand stroking her hair.

  “Dani.” The whisper was quieter and closer, now. She felt the warmth of a body beside hers, caught the scent of coffee beans and spiced citrus—a scent she usually tried not to enjoy, because sniffing people was . . . just . . . odd. But it was okay to sniff people in dreams. Or to fantasize about taking the whole of them, making them yours, popping them into your mouth like a glossy, round grape, seeds and all, and trusting they wouldn’t choke you. For example.

  “Sweetheart. Wake up.”

  She’d really rather not. Even though her position was a little uncomfortable and her pendants were digging into her chest, this dream or half dream or whatever was too heartbreakingly lovely to abandon.

  “You’re drooling on a book.”

  “Shit,” Dani blurted, and jolted upright in her seat. At which
point, a few things became immediately obvious: first, that she had fallen asleep in the library. Second, that she had not drooled on a book, but if the ache in her cheekbone was anything to go by, she had used a book as a pillow. And third, that Zaf was here.

  Why was Zaf here?

  Not that she minded, exactly. He was quite nice to have around, she supposed.

  He was sitting beside her at one of the long library desks, and he appeared to have forgotten the meaning of personal space—again, not that she minded. Zaf was close enough that she could count his sinfully long eyelashes, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the delicious weight at the back of her neck was his hand. A wave of pleasure thrummed through her stomach.

  He was holding her neck. He was holding her neck. His palm cradled the line of her spine and his thumb stroked the side of her throat, and her clit ached in time with every slow sweep. Apparently, she had a thing for being grabbed by large men. Funny how she’d never noticed that until this moment. Of course, she didn’t usually let anyone grab her in public, since it had always seemed disturbingly proprietary, and Dani was not property. So why, exactly, was she allowing Zaf the privilege?

  As if that thought had deactivated some sort of mental firewall, the last of her faculties returned. All at once, she remembered why Zaf was there, why he was holding her as if they’d been married for sixteen years, and why he was staring at her with a slight, sweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Fake relationship. For . . . reasons. Lunch. To be . . . seen. And . . .

  “Oh, crap,” she said. “I’m late, aren’t I?”

  His smile widened into a grin, which was an absolutely shocking turn of events for a man with such epic resting bitch face. “Maybe.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dani blurted, then wondered why she was apologizing. She was a terminally disappointing date, and I’m sorry had never changed that. The phrase was usually just an opportunity for whomever she was with to wrench her flaws wide open and list them all in excruciating detail. Not that Zaf had a right to do that, because they weren’t really in a relationship—she was doing him a favor, for heaven’s sake—and anyway, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep, so really, what was to be done?

  Except . . . well, she supposed something could’ve been done. Something other than accidentally standing him up. She didn’t like the idea of standing him up, not even for a library power nap.

  “It’s okay,” Zaf said, and the ease of his response snapped Dani out of her thoughts like an unexpected static shock. “I brought lunch,” he went on, “since I thought you might be busy in here.”

  For a moment, all she could do was stare. He’d thought she’d forgotten him because she was busy with work, and instead of throwing a righteous fit, he’d . . .

  He’d brought lunch to her.

  A sunrise threatened in Dani’s chest, but she shoved it down, barely wincing when the heat stung her palms. They were coconspirators, after all. They were in the midst of a plot. A plot that required Zaf to be around her, and do nice things for her, and look at her with eyes like fire gleaming off midnight water.

  “You’re very laid back about this,” she whispered, arranging her books into a neat pile. “But I suppose allowances must be made for fake girlfriends, as opposed to real ones.”

  “Yep,” he said cheerfully, and there was no reason for that confirmation to pinch at something behind her breastbone. She already knew she wasn’t quite up to scratch; every relationship since her first, since Mateo, had taught her that, and it didn’t matter. A sensible woman played to her strengths and left immaterial weaknesses behind.

  Which didn’t explain why she kept asking pointless questions, like picking at a scab. “So if this was real, and your girlfriend missed lunch . . .”

  Zaf looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed as he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You didn’t miss lunch, Dani. You fell asleep because you work too hard, and if you were really mine, I’d be less worried about lunch dates and more worried about ways to trick you into slowing down.” His thumb swept over her neck again, a slow, soothing stroke that tugged at something sweet and lazy in her. If you were really mine, he’d said, and the words seemed to beat a tattoo against her skull, as fast and firm as the pulse pounding scandalously between her thighs.

  “Oh,” she said, so quiet she barely heard herself.

  But Zaf heard and came closer, his scent filling her lungs. “When you ask me things like that, Danika, it makes me think someone hasn’t treated you right.”

  Those words were a wake-up call, swooping in to save her from herself. “Sorry,” she said brightly. “No soap-opera sob story here, mostly because I’m humanly incapable of sobbing. Superior tear ducts, you understand.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Zaf nodded. “Obviously. Mechanical heart, too.”

  “Got it in one. I was just curious about how relationships work when you’re a hopeless romantic.” She waited for him to deny that judgment, wondering if he’d respond with sarcasm or maybe some masculine bluster. There was a first time for everything, after all.

  Instead, he watched her steadily. “Right,” he murmured, his dark eyes piercing, and suddenly she felt as if he’d stripped off all her clothes in the middle of the library. And not in a sexy way.

  She pushed the feeling away, replacing it with a flirtatious confidence that was as easy as breathing. “If you ever want to know how I do things,” she purred, “just ask.”

  He didn’t flush, didn’t stutter or change the subject. He didn’t bite, either, didn’t smirk or sway closer. No, Zaf just shook his head, squeezed the back of her neck, and said, “Behave yourself, trouble.”

  Dani blinked. She had the oddest feeling something about their sexual balance had irreversibly changed, and not necessarily in her favor.

  Well. Good for Zaf.

  “Let’s eat,” he said, as if nothing had happened. His hand left the back of her neck, and he turned to riffle through a bag she hadn’t noticed before. “No protein bars. Promise.”

  She bit her lip. “I like your protein bars.”

  “Thought they tasted like cardboard?”

  “I like them,” she repeated stubbornly, because it was true, and because she was gripped by the unnerving worry that he might stop giving them to her. Although, why that thought should make her worry, she had no earthly idea. All her feelings were wonky and sideways at the minute. Maybe it had something to do with her nerves about the panel, or her poor, neglected vagina, or both.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said cheerfully, “because I’ll blend them into mush and spike your green tea if necessary. Now,” he muttered, almost to himself, “let’s see.” Out of his mysterious plastic bag came a bottle of water, which she grabbed so greedily, she almost missed the rest: wrapped bagels from the union, little pots of fruit and yogurt, crisps and Maltesers.

  “Zaf,” she whispered, “you do know we’re not allowed to eat in here?”

  “So we’ll do it until someone throws us out. You’re hungry, my break’s almost over, and”—he gave her a significant look, his voice dropping to a whisper—“we have to eat together because we’re madly in love and all that shit.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” Dani shuffled her chair closer to his, just so any photos that wound up online would accurately convey how thrillingly intimate they were. Couple goals, and so on and so forth. Milking it, et cetera, et cetera. “How was your day, er, baby?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Baby? Can’t decide if that’s better or worse than me calling you babe that one time.”

  “Oh, shut up. This is the sort of thing couples say.”

  “I bet it is, doll tits.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Except that. No one says that.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked mildly.

  “Yes, I’m sure, sugar cock.”

  Zaf spluttered, then burst into a coughing fit. Dani was searching for another name that might cause a similarly adorable reaction when a gaggle of ruddy-faced, thick-necked boys—und
ergrads, if she had to guess—appeared out of nowhere. They chose a desk opposite Dani’s, dragging spare seats from neighboring tables, ignoring the glares of other occupants as chair legs scraped over the floor. After sitting down in a muttering, giggling group, they proceeded to stare, starry-eyed, at Zaf and tap away on their phones with obvious intent. One boy turned to shove another’s shoulder after a particularly loud guffaw, and Dani caught sight of the lettering on the back of his blue jacket: NGU RUGBY.

  “Oh, good,” she whispered. “I do believe your acolytes have found us.”

  Zaf rolled his eyes. “I doubt any of them had even heard of me before last week.”

  “Honestly, Zafir, you’re so grumpy you could create your own storm clouds. Entire countries would pay good money to use your services, I’m sure.”

  “What can I say? It’s a natural talent.”

  “Or maybe it’s lack of sleep,” she pointed out, then wanted to kick herself. It was none of Dani’s business if he stayed up until all hours of the night. She was nobody’s mother, thank you very much.

  “You’re telling me to sleep? Woman, you just passed out in a library.”

  She blushed. “It’s a very restful environment!”

  “I’ve heard beds are even better.”

  “I don’t want to talk about beds with you, Zaf.” Not right now, anyway, because it wouldn’t do to spontaneously combust in public.

  But then it occurred to her that in public was the perfect time to push things, just a little. Because if everything went horribly wrong, and he wasn’t interested in what she had to offer, Dani could claim she’d been faking it. Genius. Suddenly the boys at college who’d once texted her messages like Be my gf? Haha, JK. Unless . . . ? seemed like bold pioneers instead of irritating gnats.

  So she murmured the tragic truth with a teasing smile. “Too much bed discussion could tip me over the edge. Next thing you know, I’ll be ravishing you on this undoubtedly unsanitary carpet.”

  Apparently, he hadn’t expected that, because for a moment, his face was blank as a new Word document. Dani bit her lip, wondering how he’d respond, and barely noticed the increase in whispers from their excitable observers at the next desk.