Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(66)

“Hmmmmmmmm.”

“Sorcha, darling, do you have something in your throat?”

“Who, me?” Sorcha batted her lashes. “Not at all. I’m simply overwhelmed by Dr. Rugbae’s cuteness. All those meaningful looks, and the tender way he wiped milkshake off your nose . . . Adorable.”

“Good,” Dani said, keeping her voice low. “It’s supposed to be.”

“And why’s that?”

Dani shot her a look. “You know why.”

Sorcha snorted. “I know something.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sorcha smiled and shrugged one narrow, black-clad shoulder.

“You’re very irritating when you’re being enigmatic, did you know that? And”—Dani squinted—“are you wearing my Benetton jumper?”

Sorcha waved a hand as if she could brush the question away. “You might as well eat that muffin. He left it for you.”

Dani looked down at the little cake. “What? No, he didn’t. I told him I didn’t have time for dessert.”

“Because you’re very strict about your schedule when you’re stressed. But you’re also easily tempted out of said strictness when faced with the temptation of sweets, which Zaf clearly knows.” Sorcha leaned forward, an odd, almost excitable expression on her face. “So he bought it. And left it. For you. How does that make you feel, Danika?”

Dani doused the flicker of warmth in her chest, pinching her own thigh beneath the table to ward off nonsensical emotions. “How does that make me feel? Is this some sort of therapy role-play?”

“Are you pleased?” Sorcha prodded. “Are you happy that he bought you a muffin?”

“I don’t think he did buy me a muffin,” Dani insisted, because if she allowed herself to think that he had—well. She didn’t know what would happen, but the giddiness blossoming in her stomach and the completely unauthorized smile tugging at her lips suggested it would be bad. Terrible. Mortifying.

Foolish. If she let herself follow Sorcha’s thread, she would make a fool of herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dani said firmly, and took a bite of the dessert because finders were keepers anyway. Through a mouthful of fluffy chocolate goodness, she mumbled, “For Christ’s sake, it’s only a muffin.”

Sorcha huffed out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Oh sweet Lord, you have got to be kidding me.”

“What is going on with you today?” Dani demanded.

Sorcha rolled her eyes. “Absolutely nothing at all.”



For some reason, the muffin? was still on Dani’s mind later that night.

It was ridiculous, of course. Zaf had serious dadlike tendencies; she’d always known that. His habit of feeding her didn’t mean anything, and anyway, she didn’t want it to mean anything. He was her universe-mandated fuck buddy, and fuck buddies didn’t run around making gentle romantic gestures. Fuck buddies didn’t know or care that explicit expressions of affection gave Dani hives; nor did they find subtler, easier, low-pressure ways to make her feel special. Fuck buddies just . . . fucked.

Zaf might be a hopeless romantic, but he wasn’t romantic about her. She was hardly his ideal. She was hardly his forever.

Still, Sorcha’s waggling eyebrows nagged at Dani for hours.

Perhaps she felt guilty for stealing the muffin, or maybe she couldn’t forget its particular yumminess. Whatever the reason, when she and Zaf lay panting in bed that evening, some sort of dessert demon took over Dani’s body. She turned to him and murmured, “I think I ate your muffin today.”

He laughed, still slightly breathless. Then he nudged her in the ribs, a familiar tease that soothed the awkward tension in her belly. “Good. That was for you, you dork.”

Shit. “Why?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why did I get you a muffin?”

She nodded tightly.

“Because I knew you wanted one.” When Dani remained silent, her feelings an uncertain tangle, he cupped her face. His thumb brushed her lower lip, and her cheeks warmed, even though he’d touched far more intimate places minutes ago. “Do I need a reason to make my friend smile?”

Well, when he put it like that. “I suppose not,” she said on an exhale. Friends. That’s the way things were between them, and there was no danger in friendship, no pressure, no expectation. She’d been silly to worry.

Because she had been worried. Most definitely. This hollow hunger in the pit of her stomach was . . . erm . . . relief.

“Good.” Zaf ran his hand down her throat, over her collarbone. Cupped her breast, bent his head, kissed her there. “You’re so reasonable when we’re naked.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”

“If I made a pun right now, would you throw me out of bed?”

“Best not to find out,” she said dryly, and pushed his head back to her breast.

Their phone call that night was slow and easy, almost as if Zaf had called just to talk instead of to prove he’d gotten home safe. Dani tried to mind, and failed. The pillow he’d lain on smelled just like him, and if she fell asleep with her arms wrapped tight around it . . .

At least there was no one there to see.



Hi Zaf,