Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(63)

The trouble was that, for a moment—high on sex chemicals and dopamine and whatnot—she’d believed Zaf. And she’d liked it.

After coming to her senses and throwing him out, she’d lit a candle for Oshun and spent a short while meditating. Dani had meant to focus on setting positive intentions—you know, as in: I intend to enjoy my new friend with benefits until his tongue falls off. But Zaf’s voice kept sneaking its way into her head, shattering her concentration with sweet, nonsensical rubbish.

There’s nothing immoral about the way I want you.

Why do I want to kiss you so badly right now?

She went to bed in a foul mood.

By lunchtime the next day, her temper had fermented into violent urges. When they met for their usual fake lunch date, and Zaf greeted her with a smile that turned her muscles to jelly, Dani fantasized briefly but passionately about throwing a chair at him. When he bought her a Coke and made her laugh, she seriously considered pushing him into a fast-moving river. The knowledge that these feelings were unreasonable did little to make them stop.

“Fluff says our hashtag engagement is declining steadily,” Zaf whispered between mouthfuls of his baked potato. The food court was quiet today, so they were risking strategic updates.

Dani looked up sharply, jolted from a daydream about biting his arse. “Really? Declining?”

“Steadily,” he repeated. “But I think that’s normal, after a week.” Then he frowned. “Actually, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, so I could be wrong. Do you think it’s normal?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. Social media moved quickly, that was just the way of things. So why did she feel a flare of panic, a sudden determination to stretch this “viral moment” out a little longer?

Probably because they’d agreed to stop having sex when they ended their fake relationship—so if they ended things early, Dani would be unfairly deprived of dick. Yes, that must be it. Zaf was so good in bed, she’d feel cheated if she missed out on her allotted three weeks.

But he clearly didn’t feel the same, because lunch was almost over, and he had yet to suggest a repeat of last night. Usually, Dani would bring it up herself—she had needs, after all, which was the whole point of this bloody arrangement. But various sex chemicals had made her slow to boot him out yesterday, and he’d latched on to that fact with disturbing enthusiasm. If she came on too strong now, he might get the wrong idea again, and then she’d have to horribly disappoint him.

“We’re still benefiting from the popularity,” he was saying, oblivious to her inner (sexual, purely sexual) turmoil. “Donations are increasing daily.”

“That’s great,” Dani murmured, and meant it. She smiled when he told her about the connections he was making with local schools. She nodded when he described the funding budgets he’d applied for from bigger trusts. She absolutely did not fantasize about shoving their food off the table, climbing across it, and kissing him senseless, because that would be ridiculous. Public kisses could not lead to orgasms, and she was in this thing for the orgasms.

Unfortunately, lunch ended without Zaf offering another one.



By the time Dani returned home on Wednesday evening, she’d decided Zaf’s lack of interest in sexual shenanigans was actually a good thing. Her schedule was far too busy to accommodate daily boinking, anyway. The symposium was less than three weeks away. She had seventeen days left to prepare for a panel discussion with the one and only Inez Holly, so a calm, quiet, Zaf-less night sounded absolutely ideal. Definitely conducive to research.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Dani found she couldn’t get much done.

While she sat at her desk and stared blankly at the Wall of Doom, the sunlight through her window grew richer and sank lower, throwing long shadows across the room. At some point, she got up, rummaged through the freezer, and threw some vegetarian nuggets in the oven. Ate them. Sat down again and continued to be useless. Briefly considered dunking herself in a saltwater bath to exorcise whatever demon of mediocrity had occupied her body.

And then, just as the sun’s last rays died, Zaf called.

“Hey.” His voice was low and rich and comforting, whiskey and maple syrup.

“Hi,” she said, pushing her necklaces aside and rubbing her chest. There was an odd sensation beneath her breastbone that might be heartburn. “Is everything all right?” He didn’t usually call her. She called him, during her five-minute rest breaks, because he knew better than to possibly interrupt her work.

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Except for the fact that you were kind of weird today.”

Dani swallowed and twitched one of the pencils on her desk. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. Is it because you had a great time last night and you want to lock me up in a sex dungeon forever, but you’re scared I might get the wrong idea?”

She stared at the phone for a second before putting it back to her ear. “Did you . . . did you just read my mind?”

When Zaf spoke, she heard the hint of surprise he was trying to hide, knew her response had been unexpected. “Nah. That’s just the reaction I’m used to after sex.”

She snorted. “Sure. And when was the last time you had sex, Mr. Happily Ever After?”

“Last night,” he said.