would be bad. Terrible. Mortifying.
Foolish. If she let herself follow Sorcha’s thread, she would make a fool of herself.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dani said firmly, and took a bite of the dessert because finders were keepers anyway. Through a mouthful of fluffy chocolate goodness, she mumbled, “For Christ’s sake, it’s only a muffin.”
Sorcha huffed out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Oh sweet Lord, you have got to be kidding me.”
“What is going on with you today?” Dani demanded.
Sorcha rolled her eyes. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
For some reason, the muffin? was still on Dani’s mind later that night.
It was ridiculous, of course. Zaf had serious dadlike tendencies; she’d always known that. His habit of feeding her didn’t mean anything, and anyway, she didn’t want it to mean anything. He was her universe-mandated fuck buddy, and fuck buddies didn’t run around making gentle romantic gestures. Fuck buddies didn’t know or care that explicit expressions of affection gave Dani hives; nor did they find subtler, easier, low-pressure ways to make her feel special. Fuck buddies just . . . fucked.
Zaf might be a hopeless romantic, but he wasn’t romantic about her. She was hardly his ideal. She was hardly his forever.
Still, Sorcha’s waggling eyebrows nagged at Dani for hours.
Perhaps she felt guilty for stealing the muffin, or maybe she couldn’t forget its particular yumminess. Whatever the reason, when she and Zaf lay panting in bed that evening, some sort of dessert demon took over Dani’s body. She turned to him and murmured, “I think I ate your muffin today.”
He laughed, still slightly breathless. Then he nudged her in the ribs, a familiar tease that soothed the awkward tension in her belly. “Good. That was for you, you dork.”
Shit. “Why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why did I get you a muffin?”
She nodded tightly.
“Because I knew you wanted one.” When Dani remained silent, her feelings an uncertain tangle, he cupped her face. His thumb brushed her lower lip, and her cheeks warmed, even though he’d touched far more intimate places minutes ago. “Do I need a reason to make my friend smile?”
Well, when he put it like that. “I suppose not,” she said on an exhale. Friends. That’s the way things were between them, and there was no danger in friendship, no pressure, no expectation. She’d been silly to worry.
Because she had been worried. Most definitely. This hollow hunger in the pit of her stomach was . . . erm . . . relief.
“Good.” Zaf ran his hand down her throat, over her collarbone. Cupped her breast, bent his head, kissed her there. “You’re so reasonable when we’re naked.”
She smacked his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”
“If I made a pun right now, would you throw me out of bed?”
“Best not to find out,” she said dryly, and pushed his head back to her breast.
Their phone call that night was slow and easy, almost as if Zaf had called just to talk instead of to prove he’d gotten home safe. Dani tried to mind, and failed. The pillow he’d lain on smelled just like him, and if she fell asleep with her arms wrapped tight around it . . .
At least there was no one there to see.
Hi Zaf,
I’m happy to inform you that our head teacher was as impressed by your work as I am. We’d love to have you teach a workshop to one Year Nine class and one Year Eleven class over the summer term. Please find a proposed schedule attached.
Kind regards,
Emma Cheung
By the third week of their arrangement, and the second week of their, er, sexual arrangement, the scarlet flower of affection in Zaf’s chest—the one that was supposed to die—had multiplied. He was housing a brightly colored meadow, beautiful and dangerous.
Every morning, he woke up and told himself, This is minor. This will pass. At least you’re not in love with her. And every night, he ran his hands over Danika’s skin, kissed the moans from her mouth, lost himself inside her, and pretended the squeeze of his heart was some kind of deadly arrhythmia, or a hallucination, or something he’d eaten. Anything but that reckless thing he was absolutely not allowed to feel. Anything but that.
Weekends were the best and the worst. Best, because he couldn’t see Dani at work, didn’t have to spend his lunch worrying about how many of his reactions to her were just for show and how many were an overflow of affection. Worst, because trying not to pine over Dani might be uncomfortable, but waiting