He didn’t want to agree with that kind of cynicism—not even now, when he was ignoring the warning sirens in his head in favor of the ache in his cock. So he slid his hands beneath her short robe to cup her arse and pulled her close until they were pressed together, their heavy breathing in synch. “There’s nothing immoral about the way I want you, and what I promised was three weeks of making you come. So say the word, and I’ll take you to bed again.”
Danika tilted her head back, rising up on her toes until her lips brushed his. “And fall asleep right after,” she murmured, “and snore all night like a big bear, and develop delusions of romance in the morning because you read too many novels.”
A reluctant smile curved his lips. “I’m not that easily carried away, you know. I won’t forget what this is.”
“Good,” she said. “Now bugger off.”
He laughed, and kissed her cheek, and let her go. She practically shoved him out the door, and as soon as he was alone in the hallway—as soon as he was without her—the confusion he’d been looking for crushed him like a brick wall.
I won’t forget what this is.
Fuck, he was such a liar.
* * *
The thing about mental health was, you couldn’t take a course of antibiotics and be magically healed. Some people’s brains just thought too much or felt too much or hurt too much, and you had to stay on top of that. Zaf, for example, would always be an anxious motherfucker—which was fine. He’d learned to handle it. And, like he taught the kids at Tackle It, taking the time to work through your feelings was never a bad thing.
Unless working through your feelings involved walking home from a friend’s house after she’d screwed you senseless, coming to terms with the fact that something about her made you wonderfully, dangerously silly.
Zaf shoved his hands into his pockets and watched the cracks in the pavement as he moved. Fact was, he had . . . feelings for Danika Brown. Soft, mushy, I need you feelings that made him want to hold her hand, or introduce her to his mother, even when she was threatening him with words he didn’t understand. The problem: Dani didn’t want his feelings. In fact, she didn’t want any of the things Zaf wanted, which made him wonder how he’d managed to develop this attachment in the first place. Weren’t you supposed to prefer people who shared your core values, or whatever the fuck? Yeah, that seemed right. And yet, here he was, pining after a woman who’d never be interested. Typical. Bloody typical.
It wasn’t like he could convince Dani to change everything she believed and be with him for real. She was a person, not a doll or a character in a book, and expecting something she hadn’t offered would feel like . . . It would feel like trying to change her, like saying what she had to give wasn’t enough. But it was. Their friendship, it meant something. It meant everything, because it was from her.
Which was why he couldn’t do the sensible thing and cut her off completely. Avoiding her would probably stop these feelings getting any worse, but for fuck’s sake, he didn’t want to avoid her. They worked together, and they were in the middle of a fake relationship, here, and he’d promised her three weeks of sex, and—and who the hell was he kidding? None of that shit mattered. None of it. He just didn’t want to go without her smile.
Zaf stopped in the middle of the street, rubbed a frustrated hand over his beard, and glared at a passing car, just because. Then he decided it was officially time to call Jamal.
Fuck, he’d never hear the bloody end of this.
But when he dialed Jamal’s number, no one picked up—which meant he’d either gone to bed earlier than usual or was dead in a ditch somewhere. Zaf racked his brain for their last conversation, remembered calling his best friend a pretty-boy twat with his nose in everyone else’s business, and decided to mentally rewrite that as something more poignant and loving. Then he reminded himself sternly that not everyone in his life was doomed to die (well, they were, but hopefully not yet) and called Kiran’s number instead.
After a few rings, Jamal answered the phone with a gruff, irritable, “What?”
Well. That was unexpected.
Actually, no it wasn’t.
“Who’s this?” Jamal grumbled, and Zaf realized he hadn’t said anything yet.
His surprise wore off, and he felt himself smile. “Why are you answering Kiran’s phone?”
Jamal’s sleepy tone vanished. “Zaf?”
“Yeah. Bet you wouldn’t have picked up if you’d noticed it was me, you shit.”
In the background he heard Kiran’s voice, faint and yawning. “Jamal, who’s that?”
“I only came over for dinner,” Jamal said quickly. “Your mum was there. But we went upstairs to talk, and then we fell asleep—me and Kiran, I mean. Not me and your mum.”
“I should bloody well hope not. Are you ignoring her?” Zaf asked, sounding vaguely threatening and trying not to laugh.
“Am I ignoring your mum?”
“No, dipshit, Kiran. I just heard her ask you a question. Are you ignoring her right now? Because I really don’t appreciate that.”
There was a pause before Jamal sighed. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“Who, me? Never. Now piss off and let me speak to my sister.”
“God, you’re a dick.” There was some fumbling as the phone was passed around. Then Kiran’s voice floated down the line.
“Stop tormenting my suitors,” she said dryly, “or I’ll beat you.”
“It’s not torment. It’s just my personality.”
“Shut up.” There was a pause, and her next words were hesitant. “Jamal and I have technically been misleading you about just how often we speak. I asked him to—”
“Lie out his arse, yeah, all right.”
“I just didn’t want to put any pressure on . . .”
“I know,” Zaf said softly. “It’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Obviously. Your business. Actually, you can’t see me, but I’m jumping for joy.”
“That sounded extra sarcastic, so it must be true.”
Zaf’s lips twitched into a smile. Of course, the smile might have been wider if the night’s events weren’t still weighing on him.
Sleeping. Jamal and Kiran had been sleeping, and judging by the acidic bite beneath his happiness, Zaf envied them. He tried to imagine ever falling asleep beside Danika and drew a big fucking blank. His steps echoed down the empty street, his shadow stretching ahead, dark and alone.
But then he remembered the feel of her fingertips brushing his cheek, that moment of perfection, trapped in amber, when it almost seemed as if she cared for him. Not the way she had a month ago, or even a week ago, with that sweet but strictly friendly concern. He’d seen something different in her eyes . . . And she’d almost let him stay. He could swear she’d almost let him stay.
“Zafir? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he murmured. Or falling apart. One of those.
“You’re quiet,” Kiran said.
“Thinking. But I really am fine. Better than fine. I’m glad.” Because Kiran had been through the absolute worst—the fucking worst. But here she was, trying again. It reminded Zaf why he loved this romantic shit so much: because it was all about hope, about finding sparks of light in a world that could be so fucking dark. And there’d been a time in his life when the promise of hope and light were the only things keeping him anchored.
“Kiran,” he said, “are you in love?”
He could practically hear her blushing. “Well—I—”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered.
“Were you scared?”
There was a pause before she answered, her voice soft. “Of course I was, Zaf. I’m still scared now. A little bit of me is always scared. But I was also terrified that this might never happen. That I’d never . . . move past the loss. The thing is,” she told him, “feeling is always worth it.”
Feeling is always worth it. The words wer
e too true to ignore. After Dad and Zain had died, the family had spent so long numb with grief. Now the idea of stifling his emotions on purpose felt like a sin. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to. And maybe that was okay, because things couldn’t grow without water or light, and there was no way in hell Dani would ever water him. So he’d keep his desperate, aching feelings to himself, and then three weeks would pass, and their deal would end, and Zaf would get over all this.
He didn’t have to kill the scarlet poppy in his chest: it would die naturally. Because pining after someone who only wanted him for sex had to be the definition of an unhospitable environment.
There was no need to overthink, or panic, or fix things: he was just going to let shit happen. Go with the flow. No more uptight Zafir. His old therapist would be shitting herself with pride. He was making a good decision, here. He definitely was.
“You know what, K?” he murmured. “Thanks.”
He could hear his sister’s bemusement through the phone. “For what?”
Chapter Fourteen
Dani had a problem, and it had started last night.
She’d known exactly what she and Zaf were doing—right up until the moment he’d called her perfect. It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter. She was willing to bet that a large percentage of the nation would call her perfect when she was in the middle of providing them with an excellent orgasm, and really, who would blame them?
The trouble was that, for a moment—high on sex chemicals and dopamine and whatnot—she’d believed Zaf. And she’d liked it.
After coming to her senses and throwing him out, she’d lit a candle for Oshun and spent a short while meditating. Dani had meant to focus on setting positive intentions—you know, as in: I intend to enjoy my new friend with benefits until his tongue falls off. But Zaf’s voice kept sneaking its way into her head, shattering her concentration with sweet, nonsensical rubbish.
There’s nothing immoral about the way I want you.
Why do I want to kiss you so badly right now?
She went to bed in a foul mood.
By lunchtime the next day, her temper had fermented into violent urges. When they met for their usual fake lunch date, and Zaf greeted her with a smile that turned her muscles to jelly, Dani fantasized briefly but passionately about throwing a chair at him. When he bought her a Coke and made her laugh, she seriously considered pushing him into a fast-moving river. The knowledge that these feelings were unreasonable did little to make them stop.
“Fluff says our hashtag engagement is declining steadily,” Zaf whispered between mouthfuls of his baked potato. The food court was quiet today, so they were risking strategic updates.
Dani looked up sharply, jolted from a daydream about biting his arse. “Really? Declining?”
“Steadily,” he repeated. “But I think that’s normal, after a week.” Then he frowned. “Actually, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, so I could be wrong. Do you think it’s normal?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. Social media moved quickly, that was just the way of things. So why did she feel a flare of panic, a sudden determination to stretch this “viral moment” out a little longer?
Probably because they’d agreed to stop having sex when they ended their fake relationship—so if they ended things early, Dani would be unfairly deprived of dick. Yes, that must be it. Zaf was so good in bed, she’d feel cheated if she missed out on her allotted three weeks.
But he clearly didn’t feel the same, because lunch was almost over, and he had yet to suggest a repeat of last night. Usually, Dani would bring it up herself—she had needs, after all, which was the whole point of this bloody arrangement. But various sex chemicals had made her slow to boot him out yesterday, and he’d latched on to that fact with disturbing enthusiasm. If she came on too strong now, he might get the wrong idea again, and then she’d have to horribly disappoint him.
“We’re still benefiting from the popularity,” he was saying, oblivious to her inner (sexual, purely sexual) turmoil. “Donations are increasing daily.”
“That’s great,” Dani murmured, and meant it. She smiled when he told her about the connections he was making with local schools. She nodded when he described the funding budgets he’d applied for from bigger trusts. She absolutely did not fantasize about shoving their food off the table, climbing across it, and kissing him senseless, because that would be ridiculous. Public kisses could not lead to orgasms, and she was in this thing for the orgasms.
Unfortunately, lunch ended without Zaf offering another one.
* * *
By the time Dani returned home on Wednesday evening, she’d decided Zaf’s lack of interest in sexual shenanigans was actually a good thing. Her schedule was far too busy to accommodate daily boinking, anyway. The symposium was less than three weeks away. She had seventeen days left to prepare for a panel discussion with the one and only Inez Holly, so a calm, quiet, Zaf-less night sounded absolutely ideal. Definitely conducive to research.
Unfortunately, for some reason, Dani found she couldn’t get much done.
While she sat at her desk and stared blankly at the Wall of Doom, the sunlight through her window grew richer and sank lower, throwing long shadows across the room. At some point, she got up, rummaged through the freezer, and threw some vegetarian nuggets in the oven. Ate them. Sat down again and continued to be useless. Briefly considered dunking herself in a saltwater bath to exorcise whatever demon of mediocrity had occupied her body.
And then, just as the sun’s last rays died, Zaf called.
“Hey.” His voice was low and rich and comforting, whiskey and maple syrup.
“Hi,” she said, pushing her necklaces aside and rubbing her chest. There was an odd sensation beneath her breastbone that might be heartburn. “Is everything all right?” He didn’t usually call her. She called him, during her five-minute rest breaks, because he knew better than to possibly interrupt her work.
“Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Except for the fact that you were kind of weird today.”
Dani swallowed and twitched one of the pencils on her desk. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. Is it because you had a great time last night and you want to lock me up in a sex dungeon forever, but you’re scared I might get the wrong idea?”
She stared at the phone for a second before putting it back to her ear. “Did you . . . did you just read my mind?”
When Zaf spoke, she heard the hint of surprise he was trying to hide, knew her response had been unexpected. “Nah. That’s just the reaction I’m used to after sex.”
She snorted. “Sure. And when was the last time you had sex, Mr. Happily Ever After?”
“Last night,” he said.
“Smooth.”
“Shut up. Danika . . .” His words became slower, more serious. “Just so you know, I’ve been thinking that maybe—maybe I should let you take the lead, when it comes to our friends-with-benefits situation. You know,” he added, “since you’re the one with the rules. And since you’re already doing a lot for me, with the fake dating, and everything. Seemed like I shouldn’t ask for too much. So. That’s why I didn’t mention it today.”
Yet again, it was as if he’d read her mind. Actually, it was as if he’d kicked down her mental front door and riffled through her metaphorical knicker drawer, which was, among other things, extremely rude and profoundly uncomfortable.
“And you’re telling me this why?” she demanded.
“No reason,” he said mildly.
“I should hope not. I’m very busy, you know. It’s not like I spent all day wondering about—about what you were thinking, or some such rubbish. And I certainly don’t sit around fantasizing about your dick all the time.”
“Sure you don’t, trouble. Just like you definitely didn’t spend lunch staring at my mouth and drooling into your baked potato.”
“Zaf Ansari, you are the cockiest little shit I’ve ever—”
�
�Ah, don’t feel bad, Dan. I spent the whole day fantasizing about you, too.”
Dani wheezed a little, then pulled herself together through sheer force of will. Her heart pounded like a drum, fairies fluttered their way through her stomach, but her voice remained steady. “Of course you did. I’m very memorable.”
“And very pretty when you come. Can’t get it off my mind.” But his voice was so low and rough and raw, she almost heard something different.
Can’t get you off my mind.
God, did he have to be so fucking—open about it? Did he have to want her so obviously? Did he have to make her feel so safe and so golden and so out of control?
“Well,” Dani said faintly. “Well. If that’s the case, you’re probably struggling to concentrate.”
“I am,” he sighed. “I really fucking am.”
“Maybe . . . maybe you’d better get over here, then.” Please get over here. Now. Before I expire.
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I should.”
* * *
Their phone calls dwindled after that, because Dani developed a new routine: she’d finish her research at 9 P.M., and then Zaf would come over. She’d fuck him into exhaustion, catch her breath, maybe kiss him a little while she made herself come again—which wasn’t the same as cuddling. Cuddling didn’t count if you masturbated while you did it, not even if the person in your arms whispered things like “Go on, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Fuck, I love how you love to come.”
Once all that was . . . dealt with, she’d send Zaf home, and he’d call her when he got back safely. It was a cursory phone call, of course, a security measure—but sometimes they started chatting, and she occasionally fell asleep listening to the deep, familiar rhythm of his voice.
On nights like those, she’d wake up the next morning to the sound of his alarm through the phone. Would hear him mumble sleepily, “Shit,” before cutting off an hours-long call neither of them had been conscious for. The only reason Dani allowed this particular habit to continue was—well. If she heard him waking up, at least she knew he’d managed to fall asleep.
Take a Hint, Dani Brown Page 19
