“I’m on my period.”
He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning. “Mm-hmm. Sorry. I always forget people have those.”
“Must be nice,” she snorted.
“I mean, ye—”
“Before you finish that sentence, you should know I’ve taken enough codeine to plea diminished responsibility after I murder you.”
“Duly noted.”
“But I’m sorry for, er . . . causing concern. In the depths of my misery,” she drawled, “I momentarily forgot about your protective instincts.”
That was a very sweet way to phrase I forgot your Worry setting is permanently turned up to a thousand. “It’s fine,” he said. “I take it you’re not feeling great?”
“Oh, goody, you’re interested in my menstruation. Did anyone ever tell you about rectal cramps?”
“No, no they did not. Can I come over?”
There was a moment of silence. “I said rectal cramps.”
“I know.”
“As in, your arsehole—”
“Yeah, I know what a rectum is. Stop trying to freak me out. Are you hungry or not?”
“Hungry?” Dani repeated. Her voice was a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.
“That’s what I said.”
“Hmm. Well. I ate all my emergency Skittles this morning, and I’m out of cereal, so . . .” A pause. “I want egg fried rice, salt and pepper potatoes, and crispy seaweed.” She put the phone down.
Zaf decided there must be something deeply wrong with him, because somehow, he’d managed to enjoy that conversation.
* * *
Less than an hour after his unexpected phone call, Dani opened her door to find Tall, Dark, and Shouldn’t Be Here on the doorstep. Along with a bag of Chinese food, since he clearly knew what was good for him. Obviously, the food was the only reason why Dani let him in—well, that and the fact that the sight of him soothed her never-ending PMS tummy ache by a solid 10 percent.
Zaf soothed rather a lot of things, even when she didn’t want him to, and apparently without trying. The fucker.
“Hey,” he said softly, putting the bag down and catching her by the shoulders. He was big and handsome and he smelled like oranges, and she wanted to swim around in his eyes as if they were pools of rich, dark honey. Also, it was entirely possible Dani had taken too much codeine. Oops.
“You okay, sweetheart?” He squeezed her upper arms, which felt quite lovely, so she grabbed his arms and squeezed back. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. “What are you doing, Dan?”
Good question. She stopped squeezing. “Nothing.”
“Are you tired?”
“Yes.”
“Are you high?”
“It’s a possibility,” she admitted.
“Is your rectum doing unholy things?”
“The good kind or the bad kind?”
He laughed and dragged her into a hug, which was fabulous, because Zaf was the most huggable person on earth. He was very sweet and very soft and very firm. He held on to you, not enough that you felt suffocated, but more than enough to make it clear you should stay right there. With him. Because he wanted you to.
The circumstances of this particular hug made Dani wonder what else he wanted. There was no one to fake it for here, and despite his earlier moment of obliviousness, he must realize now that she wasn’t in the mood. So why, exactly, had he come over?
Friend. He came over because he’s my friend. And she shouldn’t ask herself questions like that, because what was the point of them? If he looked at her as if she mattered, if he asked about her day, if he bought her fucking muffins, it didn’t mean a bloody thing. She didn’t want it to mean a thing. In fact, she was already sick of him and his hugs and his kind, steady calm, and she should probably tell him to leave because there was no good reason for him to—
Then Zaf kissed her forehead, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. Instead of pulling away, Dani turned her head. Their lips met.
Her heart ached with shy excitement, as if they’d never touched before. The kiss was a chaste brush of lips, barely there, yet powerful enough to dislodge an uncomfortable truth inside her. She wanted Zaf here, and just the act of wanting in itself made her exhilarated and afraid—as if she were falling slowly enough to enjoy the sensation, but fast enough that landing would hurt.
He raised his head, studying her face as if he sensed some infinitesimal change in her. “Dani,” he said, his voice strange—quiet but urgent, gentle but burning. “You do know—you do realize that soon—” He broke off.
Her mind filled in his gaps: Soon enough, all this will be over. We’ll be over. She’d checked the calendar that morning. They had eleven days until their arrangement ended, until everything between them disappeared.
No—not everything. They’d been friends before all this had started, before the video and the fake dates and the deal they’d made. They’d be friends after it. And that was what really mattered, insisted a panicked voice inside her mind: the friendship.
She couldn’t lose him. She refused. He was so dear, he was so—
Dani choked down the words that threatened to escape, swallowing her feelings like a blade. “Of course I know,” she said calmly. “Soon, the symposium will be upon us and I will either tragically fail or reign triumphant.”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, that’s right. My money’s on triumph, by the way.” He let her go and bent to pick up the Chinese food. “Still shitting yourself over Inez Holly?”
“Absolutely.”
He laughed as he headed to the kitchen. “Well, after we eat, you can tell me about all the prep you’ve done. It’ll be like practice or something.”
Dani stopped walking. “You . . . want to talk about the panel?”
“Yeah. Why not?” He bent to search the cupboards for plates.
“Because . . .”
“Because what?” He found the plates, put them down on the counter, and walked over to her. “Because you don’t think I’m interested?” Their gazes caught, and he shook his head. “But that can’t be right. You know I’ve read your articles. And back when we only hung out at work, you told me about that stuff all the time. You didn’t give a shit if I was bored or not—which I wasn’t, by the way. So that can’t be it.” He cocked his head, almost theatrically. Something precious unfurled in Dani’s chest at the familiar, teasing sparkle in his eyes. “Maybe it’s because you’re not used to the people you sleep with giving a shit about you. Except that can’t be right, either, because you told me once that you’ve slept with friends before. And honestly, I don’t see how anyone could know you and not give a shit about you, Danika. The way you act sometimes,” he said softly, “I know it must have happened. But I just don’t understand it.”
She swallowed. Hard. “Zaf . . .”
“So maybe that’s it. Maybe you don’t think someone who looks at you the way I do should care about every part of you. Maybe, before, you stumbled across people who only wanted bits and pieces of you. Never the whole package. Never enough.”
Each word tugged her apart at the seams until all she could do was stammer out a nervous laugh. “You’re . . . direct today.”
He looked at her. “Yeah, I am. Know what I was doing before you texted me?”
“No.” Some strange and starving beast inside her wanted to know what he was doing every second of the day, but that was clearly bonkers and possibly the result of a period-induced mental break, so she pushed it aside.
“I was emailing an old coach. Because I decided you were right before, that I should use my contacts to help Tackle It. I think the only reason I hesitated was—sometimes I get these barriers in my head. And I get anxious about what might happen if I cross them. If I don’t stick to what’s safe. But I’ve started blurring lines and crossing boundaries.” His eyes drilled into her, as if urging her to see—to see something. “It was easier than I thought it would be, because it was worth it. What do you think about that, Danika?”
> “I think I admire you,” she whispered, cautious pride warring with the nerves thrumming under her skin.
“Then maybe you should try crossing some boundaries, too. If you want.”
She didn’t want to understand him. Didn’t want to know what he meant. Because if she understood, they’d have to talk about it, and everything would be—
Different. Ruined. Over. She’d fuck it up, whatever it was. She was already fucking it up, standing here in silence while his chest rose and fell, and hope died in his eyes. She didn’t know how to do this. She hadn’t prepared or researched or practiced, had nothing even vaguely coherent to offer him beyond a familiar rasp of fear.
But Zaf wrestled with fear every day, and even when he lost, he came away bruised and bleeding because he’d tried. She couldn’t show her pathetic, nameless panic to a man like that. It would be fucking insulting.
The silence between them stretched before Zaf looked away. “Okay, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Okay.”
Dani knew what sighs meant: disappointment, dark and heavy, to match the sudden shadows in his eyes. Protecting him from that felt almost as important as protecting herself from drowning. “Zaf, I—I just have a lot going on right now. And interpersonal issues are not my strong suit.”
She watched his lips tip into a cautious smile and wanted to celebrate. “Interpersonal issues,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re having?”
“I—” I’m a coward. I’m lost. I’m addicted to being around you and I don’t know what I’ll do when it stops.
Maybe it shouldn’t stop.
“I don’t know what we’re having,” she said finally, “because I’m not best placed to analyze the situation at present.”
“Bad timing, huh?” His gaze caught hers and held. “You want me to wait, Dan? Ask me. Just ask, and I will.”
The words spilled from her lips without rational thought, pushed out by some needy, ravenous thing she couldn’t control. “Wait. Please.”
“All right,” he murmured. “I’m waiting.”
Something shimmered between them, something strange and dizzying. She was building up the nerve to examine it when Zaf turned away, heading back to the kitchen.
He opened her steaming egg fried rice and his own chow mein, grabbing cutlery as if nothing had happened and switching back to their previous topic. “We don’t have to talk about work if you don’t want to. We can watch TV instead.”
Dani hesitated. Felt a little ashamed of her weakness, and a lot like kissing him in gratitude. Finally, she asked, “Do you like zombie films?”
He looked up, and, God, he was so fucking beautiful. “Hell yeah, I do.”
Chapter Fifteen
@TMELZ: Relationship status: watching that #DrRugbae video for the 47th time with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
The next week flew by so quickly, Zaf barely had enough time to be anxious. He still managed, obviously. But it was a tight squeeze.
Dani went into overdrive, preparing for the symposium, and Zaf . . . well, Zaf did what he could. There’d been a moment, on the night he’d brought her dinner, when he’d thought he’d ruined everything. That he’d been too honest, hinted too hard, reached for something bright and been doomed to burn.
Then she’d surprised him. Danika always surprised him.
Wait. Please.
They still didn’t talk about their feelings or sleep in the same bed. But that meadow of affection he’d been trying to starve, the one that bloomed inside his chest for her? All of a sudden, she wouldn’t let it die. When they had lunch together, her feet nudged his under the table where no one could see. When they rode the library elevator alone, she played with his hair. One night, after sex, she put her arm around him with such painful awkwardness, it took Zaf a while to realize what she was doing.
“Is this cuddling?” he asked, incredulous. “Just straight cuddling, no sex? Is that a thing we do?”
“Quiet, Ansari.” She smothered him with a pillow until he tickled her into submission.
Before long, he started coming over early to cook dinner. She’d eat saag paneer with one hand, the other clutching a book. “Sorry,” she’d say every so often. “I’m—sorry. I’m busy. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he’d say. “I want to.”
She’d smile, and eat, and read. He’d crack out his laptop and catch up on work. But when the clock struck nine, without fail, she’d pull the computer gently from his grip and drag him off to the bedroom.
Not that he was complaining.
On one of those near-perfect nights, it happened. Zaf, his nerve endings still tingling from his orgasm, was pressing Dani against the living room wall as he kissed her good-bye. They did that, now: they kissed good-bye, like a couple who couldn’t wait to see each other again.
“All right,” he panted against her lips. “All right. I’m going.” He stepped back, already missing her.
Instead of opening the door to kick him out, she hesitated. “Wait. I, erm, mumfupdumpin,” she mumbled, padding over to the kitchen.
He squinted after her. “You what?”
Silence as she riffled through a drawer, then returned, clutching a little black pouch in her hands. She cleared her throat. “I made you something.” And then, while his brain was still processing those words, she shoved the pouch at him like a toddler presenting a finger painting.
Except this definitely wasn’t a finger painting. He took it, a smile spreading over his face and a whole herd of feelings rampaging through his chest. Butterflies, birds of fucking paradise, all that shit.
“You made this,” he repeated. “For me?” Through the black gauze, he felt dried-out plants and little stones.
She nodded, looking like she might die of embarrassment. “Um. Yes.”
He still had no fucking clue what it was, but— “It smells like you.” Like peace and candlelight.
A hint of pleasure warmed her features, erasing her self-consciousness. “It’s a charm. It’ll help you sleep. I know you don’t like taking your meds when you have to get up in the morning, so I thought maybe—”
“You thought you’d make me this,” he said, emotion spilling from his voice without permission. His feelings for Dani were like sunlight: they’d always find a crack to slip through, a way to light things up. “Careful, Danika. Keep being so sweet and I might think you give a damn.”
She pursed her lips. “Well. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to get it up.”
“Bullshit.”
“Be quiet.” She grabbed a handful of his shirt, dragged him closer, and kissed him again.
Changing. Everything was changing.
But time slipped through Zaf’s fingers like sand, and the end of their deal loomed like an axe over his head. When their fake relationship became unnecessary, would she take the leap with him and start something real? Another man might assume the answer was yes, but he knew Danika well enough to realize that soft touches and significant looks meant nothing. When she made a decision, she spoke.
She hadn’t spoken yet.
* * *
The Friday before the symposium was full moon night, which meant Zaf found himself banned from Dani’s flat and discouraged from calling. Something about a standing date with Sorcha, witchy business, and “the baffling quality of heterosexual energy.” He decided not to follow that particular thread.
But the next day, Saturday, dawned bright and brilliant. He got up with a smile on his face and a determination to put his pining on the back burner, because today was about one thing and one thing only: Dani sitting on a panel beside her idol. So he combed his hair into something like an actual style, dressed carefully, and used the beard oil Kiran always badgered him about. Then he made his way over to Dani’s flat, knocked three times, and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Just when he was wondering if he’d missed a pretty vital text, the door burst open and there she stood, wild-eyed and . . . brown-haired?
“I�
��m sorry,” she said, “sorry, sorry, sorry. I heard you, but I didn’t hear you.”
“That’s o—” She was already gone, whirling so fast, her black dress fluttered around her shins.
Zaf shut the door and watched her pace across the room, muttering to herself under her breath, her hands rubbing that newly dyed hair. There was a pile of books and paper in the middle of the floor and a small mountain of shoes by the desk that looked like they might have been thrown. The candles on her little goddess table were burning, surrounded by half-empty mugs of different-colored tea.
“So,” he said, “you seem perky.”
Dani ignored him.
“And obviously in a very healthy place right now.”
She ignored him harder. A passing bystander might claim she hadn’t done anything at all, but they would be wrong.
He sat on the arm of the sofa and said, “Want to talk about it?”
She turned to glare at him, which was progress. “You are profoundly annoying and extremely troublesome.”
“Good thing I have a big dick.”
There was a flicker of surprise, a hint of a smile. “Shut up.”
“Come here.” He caught her hand, pulled her closer. “Yesterday at lunch, you were fine. Now your hair is brown and your laptop is balanced upside down like a tent on your kitchen counter, all of which suggests you’re losing your shit. Want to tell me why?”
She raised a defensive hand to her curls. “It’s not brown! It’s very dark blue.”
“Danika. I’ve seen your hair blue. That’s brown.”
She folded her arms over her chest and made a strangled, jerky sound, kind of like a frustrated kitten. “Well, maybe it is! Maybe I need to look as ordinary as possible to make up for the fact that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“There has not ever,” Zaf said mildly, “been a time when you didn’t know what you were doing. Including your actual birth. I’m pretty sure about that.”
“I just—after you left, I may or may not have had a rather unpleasant nightmare, in which I made a complete fool of myself in front of Inez Holly”—it was always Inez Holly, Zaf had learned, and never Professor Holly or Inez—“and she gave me a look of chilling disdain midpanel in front of everyone—”
Take a Hint, Dani Brown Page 21
