Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(27)

Squinting at the harsh light of the display, he saw Danika’s name and felt his heart kick happily in response. Shit. That couldn’t be good.

He liked her way too much, and he knew it. In the books Zaf read, making out with a friend usually lead to a happy ending, as did faking a relationship with one. But in reality, she wasn’t interested, and if he didn’t get these feelings under control, he’d only end up hurting himself.

Not safe, his nervous heart whispered. Not safe at all.

DANIKA: Can I tell my sisters we’re faking it?

She texted like she talked: no hellos or good-byes, no context. There was no reason for that to make Zaf smile, so he rubbed a hand over his beard and forced himself to frown instead. Yeah. Much better.

ZAF: If you think you need to.

DANIKA: Oh, good, because I already did.

His laughter bounced around the walls of his dark, empty bedroom.

DANIKA: How long is this whole arrangement supposed to last, anyway?

For some reason, his gut response was forever. Ha. Not fucking likely.

ZAF: My niece reckons we should milk it, but I think interest will die down quickly. People have better shit to do. Let’s say . . . a month, to be safe?

DANIKA: Oh, so now your niece is on in this? Corrupting innocents, hmm?

ZAF: Hard to corrupt a mastermind.

DANIKA: Well, damn. Fair enough. And a month sounds doable. By the way, shouldn’t you be asleep right now?

ZAF: Probably. Shouldn’t you?

DANIKA: Working. This is my breaktime entertainment. So try to be more entertaining.

He snorted, shaking his head. Working at this time? Of course she was.

ZAF: Anyone ever tell you you’re really up yourself?

DANIKA: Of course they have. You told me about a month after we met.

That one left him staring at the screen for a while. She remembered random things he’d said a month after they met? Maybe he’d upset her, and it had stuck in her head. Or maybe not, because the phone beeped, and another text appeared.

DANIKA: You’ve never seemed to mind it, though, so don’t start now.

It must be exhaustion—or perhaps it was the possibility that the wrong answer might hurt her feelings. Whatever the reason, Zaf found himself typing recklessly and sending without thought.

ZAF: I don’t. I like it.

DANIKA: My sisters saw the video and they think you like ME.

He swallowed. His eyes felt heavy all of a sudden. Maybe it was eye strain, maybe it was surprise sleepiness, or maybe his body was trying to send him into hibernation so he wouldn’t have to deal with this embarrassment. Was the fact he had a thing for her that obvious?

ZAF: I do like you. You’re my fake girlfriend.

A pathetic half lie, but what was he supposed to do? Admit her smile gave him butterflies, and force her to let him down gently? She’d told him loud and clear she didn’t do that kind of thing. Friendship and faking it, that was all he should want from Danika—all he did want from Danika, because he knew what was good for him.

But then the memory of her mouth smacked him over the head, and he thought about her dazed, hot-treacle eyes the moment after they’d kissed, and . . . She’d said she enjoyed it. Did that mean she wanted more? Would he give her more, if she asked? No, he shouldn’t. Zaf might not practice his religion, but he’d grown up believing sex meant something. He still believed that. Some people could do casual, but it would probably melt his brain.

Then again, you don’t know until you try.

Ah, shit.

DANIKA: I thought as much. Breaktime’s over now. I give your entertainment value 6/10.

ZAF: I’m offended.

DANIKA: Keep that fire burning. Hopefully it will motivate you to do better next time.

Next time came three hours later. He was still awake, turning her—all of her—over in his mind, when the phone chirped again.

DANIKA: If you answer this, I’ll be deeply worried for your sleep cycle.

He was already grinning as he picked up the phone.

ZAF: Be worried, then. I’m worried about how long you work between breaks.

DANIKA: Be worried, then.

He was laughing when the phone rang, her name lighting up the screen.



Dani was propped up at her desk, staring sightlessly at her panel notes, listening to the phone’s soothing dial tone and trying not to stumble into sleep.

Tiredness wasn’t great for mental processing: she knew this. But she also wanted—needed—to kill the upcoming feminist lit panel, and since it was a discussion rather than an essay or presentation, there was no knowing what kind of research it might require. So she would complete all the research, just to be sure. If there was one thing Dani could excel at, it was this. Inez Holly would not catch her stuttering, no, sir.

But even now, self-conscious awareness hummed at the back of her mind like the low murmur of students before a lecture began. That awareness reminded her, completely unprovoked, that if she had someone waiting for her in the bedroom down the hall, they’d feel annoyed or neglected right now. They’d lose their patience and their temper. They’d try to persuade Dani away from her tried and tested process, as if they knew what was best for her, and if she refused, they’d ask snide questions about whether her degrees would marry her and love her in her old age.

Unless they were sweet like Zaf. If they were sweet like Zaf, they’d probably talk her into bed with gentle, teasing comments. And if they were heavy like Zaf, they’d pin her down in a big soft hug, and she wouldn’t even be able to sneak off once they fell asleep, and then she’d have to rest . . .