Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(33)

Except . . . well, she supposed something could’ve been done. Something other than accidentally standing him up. She didn’t like the idea of standing him up, not even for a library power nap.

“It’s okay,” Zaf said, and the ease of his response snapped Dani out of her thoughts like an unexpected static shock. “I brought lunch,” he went on, “since I thought you might be busy in here.”

For a moment, all she could do was stare. He’d thought she’d forgotten him because she was busy with work, and instead of throwing a righteous fit, he’d . . .

He’d brought lunch to her.

A sunrise threatened in Dani’s chest, but she shoved it down, barely wincing when the heat stung her palms. They were coconspirators, after all. They were in the midst of a plot. A plot that required Zaf to be around her, and do nice things for her, and look at her with eyes like fire gleaming off midnight water.

“You’re very laid back about this,” she whispered, arranging her books into a neat pile. “But I suppose allowances must be made for fake girlfriends, as opposed to real ones.”

“Yep,” he said cheerfully, and there was no reason for that confirmation to pinch at something behind her breastbone. She already knew she wasn’t quite up to scratch; every relationship since her first, since Mateo, had taught her that, and it didn’t matter. A sensible woman played to her strengths and left immaterial weaknesses behind.

Which didn’t explain why she kept asking pointless questions, like picking at a scab. “So if this was real, and your girlfriend missed lunch . . .”

Zaf looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed as he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You didn’t miss lunch, Dani. You fell asleep because you work too hard, and if you were really mine, I’d be less worried about lunch dates and more worried about ways to trick you into slowing down.” His thumb swept over her neck again, a slow, soothing stroke that tugged at something sweet and lazy in her. If you were really mine, he’d said, and the words seemed to beat a tattoo against her skull, as fast and firm as the pulse pounding scandalously between her thighs.

“Oh,” she said, so quiet she barely heard herself.

But Zaf heard and came closer, his scent filling her lungs. “When you ask me things like that, Danika, it makes me think someone hasn’t treated you right.”

Those words were a wake-up call, swooping in to save her from herself. “Sorry,” she said brightly. “No soap-opera sob story here, mostly because I’m humanly incapable of sobbing. Superior tear ducts, you understand.”

“Mm-hmm.” Zaf nodded. “Obviously. Mechanical heart, too.”

“Got it in one. I was just curious about how relationships work when you’re a hopeless romantic.” She waited for him to deny that judgment, wondering if he’d respond with sarcasm or maybe some masculine bluster. There was a first time for everything, after all.

Instead, he watched her steadily. “Right,” he murmured, his dark eyes piercing, and suddenly she felt as if he’d stripped off all her clothes in the middle of the library. And not in a sexy way.

She pushed the feeling away, replacing it with a flirtatious confidence that was as easy as breathing. “If you ever want to know how I do things,” she purred, “just ask.”

He didn’t flush, didn’t stutter or change the subject. He didn’t bite, either, didn’t smirk or sway closer. No, Zaf just shook his head, squeezed the back of her neck, and said, “Behave yourself, trouble.”

Dani blinked. She had the oddest feeling something about their sexual balance had irreversibly changed, and not necessarily in her favor.

Well. Good for Zaf.

“Let’s eat,” he said, as if nothing had happened. His hand left the back of her neck, and he turned to riffle through a bag she hadn’t noticed before. “No protein bars. Promise.”

She bit her lip. “I like your protein bars.”

“Thought they tasted like cardboard?”

“I like them,” she repeated stubbornly, because it was true, and because she was gripped by the unnerving worry that he might stop giving them to her. Although, why that thought should make her worry, she had no earthly idea. All her feelings were wonky and sideways at the minute. Maybe it had something to do with her nerves about the panel, or her poor, neglected vagina, or both.

“Glad to hear it,” he said cheerfully, “because I’ll blend them into mush and spike your green tea if necessary. Now,” he muttered, almost to himself, “let’s see.” Out of his mysterious plastic bag came a bottle of water, which she grabbed so greedily, she almost missed the rest: wrapped bagels from the union, little pots of fruit and yogurt, crisps and Maltesers.

“Zaf,” she whispered, “you do know we’re not allowed to eat in here?”

“So we’ll do it until someone throws us out. You’re hungry, my break’s almost over, and”—he gave her a significant look, his voice dropping to a whisper—“we have to eat together because we’re madly in love and all that shit.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Dani shuffled her chair closer to his, just so any photos that wound up online would accurately convey how thrillingly intimate they were. Couple goals, and so on and so forth. Milking it, et cetera, et cetera. “How was your day, er, baby?”