Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(62)

“Who’s this?” Jamal grumbled, and Zaf realized he hadn’t said anything yet.

His surprise wore off, and he felt himself smile. “Why are you answering Kiran’s phone?”

Jamal’s sleepy tone vanished. “Zaf?”

“Yeah. Bet you wouldn’t have picked up if you’d noticed it was me, you shit.”

In the background he heard Kiran’s voice, faint and yawning. “Jamal, who’s that?”

“I only came over for dinner,” Jamal said quickly. “Your mum was there. But we went upstairs to talk, and then we fell asleep—me and Kiran, I mean. Not me and your mum.”

“I should bloody well hope not. Are you ignoring her?” Zaf asked, sounding vaguely threatening and trying not to laugh.

“Am I ignoring your mum?”

“No, dipshit, Kiran. I just heard her ask you a question. Are you ignoring her right now? Because I really don’t appreciate that.”

There was a pause before Jamal sighed. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Who, me? Never. Now piss off and let me speak to my sister.”

“God, you’re a dick.” There was some fumbling as the phone was passed around. Then Kiran’s voice floated down the line.

“Stop tormenting my suitors,” she said dryly, “or I’ll beat you.”

“It’s not torment. It’s just my personality.”

“Shut up.” There was a pause, and her next words were hesitant. “Jamal and I have technically been misleading you about just how often we speak. I asked him to—”

“Lie out his arse, yeah, all right.”

“I just didn’t want to put any pressure on . . .”

“I know,” Zaf said softly. “It’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Obviously. Your business. Actually, you can’t see me, but I’m jumping for joy.”

“That sounded extra sarcastic, so it must be true.”

Zaf’s lips twitched into a smile. Of course, the smile might have been wider if the night’s events weren’t still weighing on him.

Sleeping. Jamal and Kiran had been sleeping, and judging by the acidic bite beneath his happiness, Zaf envied them. He tried to imagine ever falling asleep beside Danika and drew a big fucking blank. His steps echoed down the empty street, his shadow stretching ahead, dark and alone.

But then he remembered the feel of her fingertips brushing his cheek, that moment of perfection, trapped in amber, when it almost seemed as if she cared for him. Not the way she had a month ago, or even a week ago, with that sweet but strictly friendly concern. He’d seen something different in her eyes . . . And she’d almost let him stay. He could swear she’d almost let him stay.

“Zafir? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured. Or falling apart. One of those.

“You’re quiet,” Kiran said.

“Thinking. But I really am fine. Better than fine. I’m glad.” Because Kiran had been through the absolute worst—the fucking worst. But here she was, trying again. It reminded Zaf why he loved this romantic shit so much: because it was all about hope, about finding sparks of light in a world that could be so fucking dark. And there’d been a time in his life when the promise of hope and light were the only things keeping him anchored.

“Kiran,” he said, “are you in love?”

He could practically hear her blushing. “Well—I—”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered.

“Were you scared?”

There was a pause before she answered, her voice soft. “Of course I was, Zaf. I’m still scared now. A little bit of me is always scared. But I was also terrified that this might never happen. That I’d never . . . move past the loss. The thing is,” she told him, “feeling is always worth it.”

Feeling is always worth it. The words were too true to ignore. After Dad and Zain had died, the family had spent so long numb with grief. Now the idea of stifling his emotions on purpose felt like a sin. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to. And maybe that was okay, because things couldn’t grow without water or light, and there was no way in hell Dani would ever water him. So he’d keep his desperate, aching feelings to himself, and then three weeks would pass, and their deal would end, and Zaf would get over all this.

He didn’t have to kill the scarlet poppy in his chest: it would die naturally. Because pining after someone who only wanted him for sex had to be the definition of an unhospitable environment.

There was no need to overthink, or panic, or fix things: he was just going to let shit happen. Go with the flow. No more uptight Zafir. His old therapist would be shitting herself with pride. He was making a good decision, here. He definitely was.

“You know what, K?” he murmured. “Thanks.”

He could hear his sister’s bemusement through the phone. “For what?”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Dani had a problem, and it had started last night.

She’d known exactly what she and Zaf were doing—right up until the moment he’d called her perfect. It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter. She was willing to bet that a large percentage of the nation would call her perfect when she was in the middle of providing them with an excellent orgasm, and really, who would blame them?