Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(23)

Why was he nervous?

“The thing is,” he repeated, “it’s all because people think you and me are together. That hashtag, the couple goals thing . . .” He sounded so uncomfortable saying couple goals, Dani had to hold back her laughter.

“It’s silly,” she agreed, “but if it’s helping, that’s a good thing. Isn’t it?”

He looked up. “So you don’t mind? It doesn’t bother you?”

“I don’t know,” Dani said slowly, exploring her own thoughts as she spoke. She knew she should be horrified, or at least uncomfortable—especially given her feelings on relationships. But she and Zaf weren’t actually together, so the usual, suffocating pressure that accompanied anything to do with attachment was absent. “No,” she said finally. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”

He took a step closer, then another, until his coffee-and-citrus scent flooded her space and she couldn’t meet his eyes without tipping her head back. She was used to talking with him at the security desk, while he sat down. This was . . . not the same. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, the urgent burn of his gaze, that made everything different.

Either way, it was hot. Dani still had a few logical worries about romance novels and sweetness and expectations and blah blah blah, but right now, her vagina was pitching an intriguing idea: How about we trust the universe, stop second-guessing this, and take the fucking hint?

“The thing is,” Zaf was saying in that low, smoke-and-whiskey voice, “I had this idea. It’s a ridiculous idea, but it’s still an idea, and it—it would help me a lot. Help Tackle It a lot.”

She hovered closer to him as if hypnotized. An idea that would help his charity? His charity for children? Yes. Wonderful. Fascinating. Almost as fascinating as watching his lovely mouth move. “Tell me.”

“What if . . .” He hesitated, then pushed on, fast and firm. “What if we let people think we’re together?”



As soon as the words left his mouth, Zaf regretted asking. It was as if letting them out of his head and into the light showed him, in painful detail, how ridiculous he was being. Or maybe it was Danika’s reaction that made him wince, the way she stared at him in silence for long, long moments.

Shit.

“Never mind,” he said gruffly. “I have no idea why I said that. Obviously you wouldn’t—I mean, we aren’t—so that would be—it’s just,” he went on desperately, because he should probably explain himself, “the Post sent me this message about some kind of feel-good local feature, and they asked about Tackle It, but I don’t think they’d want to do the piece if they knew we weren’t a couple, so . . .” So he’d lost his grip on good sense, apparently.

Dani continued to stare, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. She was so close, closer than they ever got. He could see the texture of her lips, soft and plump and creased, could trace the smooth dip of her cupid’s bow with his gaze. Could drink in the velvet of her skin and the slight indent of a little scar on the bridge of her nose. He could smell her: she was warm skin and fresh fruit and the sweet smoke of blown-out birthday candles, delicious and a little confusing all at once.

But now really wasn’t the time to lose his head over Danika’s hotness. He was supposed to be concentrating on taking back the fucked-up suggestion he’d just made.

“It was a bad idea,” he said. “I know that. I’ve been reading too many romance novels. No one fakes relationships in real life.”

“Faking a relationship,” she said slowly, as if she were turning the words over on her tongue, examining them as she spoke. “I thought that’s what you meant.”

He searched her tone for amusement or annoyance or something, and came up completely blank. Studied her expression and saw nothing but that familiar thoughtfulness. He’d always liked the way she considered things, the way she learned them inside and out before expressing her thoughts, but right now it was fucking killing him. “Bad idea,” he repeated, trying to ignore the thud of his heart against his ribs. “Even if you wanted to, you probably couldn’t. You might be with someone. Or gay. Or both. Probably both. I never asked. I know you were dating that professor—”

“You know about Jo?” For the first time, Dani sounded kind of . . . off. Upset, maybe.

“I don’t know nothing about nothing.” Clearly. Zaf shoved the final bite of his sandwich in his mouth to shut himself up. In hindsight, he probably should’ve done that a good ten minutes ago.

Her lips quirked, and the tension faded from her mouth, her shoulders. “Okay. Well, I’m not gay.”

He swallowed. “Right.”

“I’m bisexual.”

“Got it.” He crushed his sandwich wrapper into a ball and reminded himself that just because Danika was into guys didn’t necessarily mean she was into security guards with the social skills of a fucking brick wall.

“And, no, I don’t have a partner,” she went on. “I don’t do the commitment thing. Ever.”

Well, shit. Zaf wasn’t exactly in a hurry to find a relationship—he had his own crap to deal with, and sometimes that crap seemed never ending. But he still valued commitment. He still envied old married couples. He still remembered the love his parents had had, the love his brother and Kiran had had, and wanted it despite the danger of loss. If commitment wasn’t for Dani, then she and Zaf weren’t for each other.