all horny thoughts firmly aside. Small talk, then sexual propositions, that was the rule. Although, she supposed discussing porn might be blurring boundaries. Oh, well.
Zaf’s cheeks flushed darker. “I was never listening to porn. I listen to romance novels.”
Erm . . . what?
“I beg your pardon,” she sputtered after a moment. “Did you just say you listen to romance novels?”
He grunted. “Well. I listen in the car, mostly. Read at home.”
Dani, in a shocking display of intelligence, repeated, “Romance novels. Actual romance novels. The novels. With the romance.”
He gave her a flat, sharklike stare that sent another thrill of arousal down her spine, because apparently, she found him gorgeous even when he was annoyed. Possibly more so, in fact. “And?” His tone dared her to elaborate.
“Oh, behave,” she said, her surprise blooming into curiosity. “What do you think I’m going to do, question your masculinity and tell you kissing is for girls?”
After a moment, he admitted grudgingly, “Nah.”
“Then what’s the murder glare for?”
With complete seriousness, he told her, “This is just my face. I have a murder face.”
But when she laughed out loud, his scowl faded, replaced by one of his little smiles. Usually, Zaf was handsome in a distant, angsty, man-on-TV sort of way. But when he smiled, even the tiniest bit? Then his kind eyes glowed like spilled ink by candlelight, and she found herself wanting to kiss the broad curve of his nose. In a purely abstract manner, of course. In reality, Dani would never do something so pointless. Faces were for sitting on, not for kissing.
At least, that was her opinion. She wondered now, more than ever, what Zaf’s was. “Why do you read romance?” she asked, sounding a little like a drill sergeant or a police investigator. Oops.
Zaf looked at her as if she’d asked if milk came from fish. “For the romance.”
“The . . . romance.”
“Yeah. People liking each other and talking about their feelings and living happily ever after.”
Now she’d officially entered the realm of what the fuck. “You voluntarily read about people discussing their feelings?”
“Yep.”
“Let me rephrase that,” she said. “Why do you read about people discussing their feelings?”
“If I was standing here with a thriller, would you ask me why I read about people murdering each other?”
“Of course I wouldn’t. You have a murder face, not a feelings face.”
It was his turn to laugh, the sound low and rich and unreasonably sexy. “Good point.”
“It’s just, I would never have guessed you were a romantic.” This is what Dani said, but what she really meant was Oh, hell. You’re a romantic. She hated to question Oshun’s verdict, especially after asking for help in the first place—it seemed a tad ungrateful, slightly rude, et cetera—but really. A romance novel–reading undercover sweetheart who gave his jacket to umbrella forgetters without a second thought? This was her supposedly perfect fuck buddy? She usually preferred the unsentimental and disinterested type. “Fond of happily ever afters, are you?” she asked brightly.
Zaf rubbed a hand over his beard, looking oddly pensive all of a sudden. “I’ve seen the alternative. That’s not the story I want for the rest of my life.”
The words caught Dani unawares, heavy as stone, solemn as still water. A strange ache started beneath her rib cage. “Oh?”
“Mmm.” He brushed the moment off with a barely there smile. “I mean, who doesn’t want to live happily ever after?”
She studied him for a second, searching for another hint of that serious, hidden sadness. But she couldn’t find it, which meant he didn’t intend to share it again—and Dani wasn’t one to push. She certainly found it rather irritating when people pushed her.
So she made herself smile back and say, “I’m more into happy endings, actually.” When Zaf stared at her in silence, she added, “That was a joke. You know. About orgasms.”
“I know,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I just thought you needed a minute to see how corny it was.”
“Oh, wow. Wow. Someone’s feeling sassy today.”
“Maybe you bring it out in me,” he said dryly, and took another bite of his sandwich. “So . . .”
“So?”
“Are we, er . . . going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
For a moment, Dani was convinced he meant her raging theoretical hard-on for him. Perhaps he’d noticed her nipples stabbing the shit out of her bra, or maybe her unsubtle questions about his stance on romance had tipped him off. Eve read romance novels, so Dani had learned that the