Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(14)

Chloe’s boyfriend, Red, appeared in the doorway with an indignant frown on his handsome face. “Hey. I feel like you’re forgetting that time I rescued you from a tree.”

“You didn’t carry me out of the tree in your arms,” Chloe said, her eyes still pinned to the phone in her hand, that damned video on a loop.

“And how the hell was I meant to do that? You were up a tree.”

“Don’t be jealous, darling.”

“Now, why would I be jealous?” Red walked behind the sofa and slid his hands over Chloe’s shoulders. Dani watched with no little awe as her hyperfocused older sister dropped the phone and giggled—giggled!—while Red whispered in her ear.

What an absolutely sickening display. Romance clearly melted the brains of sensible women. Dani was horribly glad she had nothing to do with it.

“All right,” Red announced. “I’m going to Vik’s. I filled Smudge’s bowl. See you later.” He grinned at Dani and Eve, then looked at his girlfriend again. His voice took on a low, steady warmth that made even Dani feel slightly wobbly inside. “Behave yourself, Button.”

Lord.

When he was gone, Eve gave a little shriek. “That man is so—”

“Never mind Redford,” Chloe said briskly. “Danika has a lot to tell us about her soon-to-be-husband.”

Dani’s stomach lurched. “Ugh. No. Relax. I just want to sleep with him.” The word husband gave her hives. As if romantic relationships weren’t impossible enough without the extra pressure of a bloody legal contract.

“Well, make sure he wraps it up, because people are already naming your children. And their suggestions are atrocious.” Chloe gave a delicate shudder. “Blitz, indeed.”

Dani gaped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not surprised they’re getting overexcited,” Eve said. “It’s the way he looks at you.”

Though she predicted she would regret it, Dani bit. “And how does he look at me?”

“Like he wouldn’t mind sleeping in a pile of your dirty laundry.” Eve arched her eyebrows, running her tongue over her purple upper lip. The lipstick clashed with her pink braids and scarlet T-shirt, which read, IN MY DEFENSE, I WAS LEFT UNSUPERVISED.

Dani stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know that feeling,” Eve said, “when you truly adore someone and also want to sniff their underwear?”

Dani stared some more. “No. No, I do not.”

“Chloe, you must know that feeling.”

“No comment,” Chloe said.

“Okay, let me rephrase: when you truly adore someone and also want to bury your face between their legs for eternity.”

“Oh,” Chloe said brightly, “that feeling.”

“If his eyes were penises,” Eve went on wisely, “you would be pregnant. With twins.”

Dani wrinkled her nose. “Evie, that’s disgusting.”

“Or is it?”

As one, Chloe and Dani replied, “Yes.”





CHAPTER FOUR


That evening, Zaf watched thirty-odd breathless lads drop like flies at the end of their training session. Mondays were for conditioning, and conditioning meant sweat.

Fighting a grin, he grabbed one boy’s inhaler from his pocket and held it up. “Usman. You good?”

Uzzy nodded and waved the inhaler away, his breaths deep and deliberate. “Yeah. Fine.”

Once upon a time, Zaf might not have believed that. But he’d spent the last six months guiding these lads through practical, sports-based workshops designed to show them that vulnerability wasn’t a crime, no matter what society tried to teach them. So today . . . yeah. If Uzzy said he was fine, Zaf trusted that.

“Lucas.” Zaf turned to a wing who’d just recovered from minor muscle strain. “How are you feeling?”

“Fucked,” the fifteen-year-old breathed, and flopped back onto the grass. The other boys snorted and laughed.

“Language,” Jamal interjected mildly. But then, he did everything mildly. Had ever since the day they’d met as teenagers at an Eid al-Fitr prayer. Zaf’s best friend was unshakable, unshockable, quietly immovable, and the king of patience—which made him damned good at running the Meadows Foundation, a charity that supported local kids through music, sports, and tech lessons.

So when Jamal had asked Zaf, a few years back, to coach the foundation’s youth league team, Zaf couldn’t refuse. It was supposed to be temporary—but, somehow, Zaf was still here. In fact, he enjoyed this shit so much that he’d started Tackle It, his own nonprofit. The Meadows Foundation boys still played rugby, but under Zaf’s program they also stayed in touch with their emotions and learned that dealing with mental health didn’t make them “weak.” Judging by the change in them, Tackle It worked.

Trouble was, the schools and other institutions Zaf had offered his services to weren’t biting. And he was low on funding, too. Right now, Jamal’s boys were all Zaf had.

His brother’s voice floated through his head, as clear as if Zain Bhai were standing beside him. Hey, Eeyore. Why don’t you take a second to be proud of yourself? You can poke holes in it later.

Okay, yeah. Imaginary Zain was right.