Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(5)
He turned, and there was Danika Brown.
She walked like she’d never stumbled, studying the empty foyer with feline eyes he had a bad habit of falling into. Her dark skin glowed prettily under the same fluorescent lights that made everyone else look ghostly, jaundiced, or gray. And even though he’d told himself a thousand times that panting after a friend—a work friend, a work friend who might also be gay—was tacky at best and creepy at worst, lust slammed into Zaf like an illegal tackle.
“I’m late,” Danika declared, because she rarely said hello or good-bye. Her long, black dress swirled as she approached him, the loose fabric occasionally clinging to her hip or her waist or her thigh. Not that he was looking, because that would be inappropriate. “Here you are,” she said, sliding a cup over the desk that separated them. “One extra-hot, extra-black, extra-bitter coffee for our resident prince of darkness.”
“Cheers, Princess,” he shot back, and his reward was a million-dollar smile from that soft, scarlet mouth. The sight crackled through his veins like electricity. He kept going. “Out-gothed any teenagers, lately?”
“Scared any old ladies shitless?” she replied sweetly.
“Old ladies love me.”
“Wow, hot stuff.”
He flushed, but hopefully his skin tone and his beard would hide it. “Erm . . . because I mow their lawns and that. Is what I meant.”
She grinned. “This just gets better and better.”
“Fuck off.”
Usually, she’d smirk at him and do as instructed, always in a rush to get to work. But today, she huffed out a laugh and ran a hand over her short, pink hair, from the razored edges to the longer curls on top. That hair had been black on Friday. Blue last month. Red the first day he ever saw her.
Aaand he should probably spend less energy cataloging this woman’s hair colors, and more on . . . you know, important shit. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to think about—workshops to write and goals to chase and nonprofits to get off the ground.
But then Dani sighed, and he was distracted from common sense again.
“That was a hell of a sigh,” he murmured, because it had been.
“Of course it was,” she replied absently. “I’m a hell of a woman.”
True enough, and a typical Danika comment, but her gaze was distant and her heart clearly wasn’t in it. With her narrowed eyes and her pursed lips, she seemed unusually . . . agitated, and that gnawed at Zaf harder than it should.
See, if she was pissed about “culturally biased research” or “two-dimensional claims to feminism,” he would have heard about it the minute she entered the building. Which meant something else must be bothering her, maybe something serious—but she hadn’t mentioned that something, so it clearly wasn’t his business.
He wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t pry. He wouldn’t—
“Everything all right?” blurted his big fucking mouth.
Dani startled as if he’d pulled her out of deep thought. “Well—it’s just—” She hesitated. “I should probably go up. You know I try to be early to class in order to give the impression of omnipotence.”
She was ridiculous, as always. Unselfconscious, as always. Made him want to grin, as always.
Zaf resisted, as always.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll see you—”
She produced another sigh fit for the stage and announced, “Fine, fine, you dragged it out of me.”
“Did I,” he deadpanned.
“I’d tell you not to be sarcastic, but I don’t think you can help it. No, be quiet, you awful man, and listen to me moan. You did ask.”
“That I did.” Fuck, but he enjoyed this woman.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me outside the coffee shop.”
He sipped his coffee like he wasn’t desperate to know. “Feel free to tell me anytime now. It’s only been a century since this conversation started, after all.”
That earned him a quicksilver smile before she confessed. “Some arsehole asked me to dinner.”
His next sip seemed to burn. “Hope you told them to get fucked.”
“Well, yes.” She must have approved of his response, because her gaze went all warm and sweet like treacle. “Yes, I did.”
“Good.”
Good, as in, women deserved to go about their business without being drooled on at the arse-crack of dawn; not good because he didn’t want any fucker taking Danika out to dinner. That would be weird and possessive and pointless, because she was categorically none of his business. Sometimes he got this burning urge to make her his business, but he was pretty good at squashing that before it got out of control.
See, what Zaf really wanted was to be happy, and he’d read enough romance novels to know how to make that happen. First, you reached your goals and shit. (He was working on that part.) Second, you found a good woman who made you think bad thoughts and you lived happily ever after with her.
Dani was a good woman who made him think filthy thoughts, but he’d known her long enough to realize there’d be no happily ever after. They wouldn’t even get to “once upon a time.” First, because she talked about banging Janelle Monáe kind of a lot, and when he’d asked what she thought of Idris Elba (everyone who was into guys liked Idris Elba, right?), all she’d said was “He’s great. I really enjoyed Luther.” And then there was the fact that, according to staff gossip (not that Zaf approved of staff gossip—he really didn’t, he absolutely didn’t), Danika Brown was the queen of one-time things. Zaf wouldn’t know what to do with a one-time thing if it showed up with a fifty-page instruction manual and slapped him on the dick.