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