Except for the fact that they didn’t talk anymore.
Except for that.
“Stop trying to throw me off,” Dani said firmly—because, clearly, the only way to end this god-awful conversation was to be firm. “I know what I’m doing and I know what I want. I am a grown woman of reasonable intellect, on track for tenure within the next fifteen years, with a deep desire for frequent oral sex and absolutely nothing else. So shut up and let me ask for it.”
“Oh, whatever,” Sorcha tutted. “Fine, then. Ask.” And a miracle occurred: she rolled her eyes, heaved a disapproving sigh, but ultimately shut her mouth.
Well. One must always take swift advantage of divine happenings.
Dani closed her eyes and began again. “Oshun, I need a regular source of orgasms.” She thought of Jo and added, “Someone who won’t expect more from me than I can give. Preferably a sensible sort with a nice arse who’s focused on their own goals. I haven’t had much luck, myself, so if you know anyone who meets the criteria . . . just . . . point me in their direction. Give me a hint.” When Dani finished, a warm and rare peace washed over her like the waters of a sun-touched river, as if the goddess had heard and promised to do her best. She let a tentative smile curve her lips and basked in the glowing silence.
A silence that was promptly ruined by Sorcha. “Christ, you’re such a Sagittarius.”
“Murder. I am going to commit a murder.” Dani opened her eyes and rose up on her knees, studying the table calmly. Should she smack her best friend over the head with a religious icon—potentially disrespectful—or a hefty wax candle? The candle was aflame, so it’d have to be the statue. Only, when she reached for it, something fell out of her dress’s many hidden pockets to land smack-bang on the altar.
In fact, it landed at Oshun’s feet, balancing perfectly on top of the honey dish.
Dani supposed that was some sort of sign. Likely one that said, Please don’t kill Sorcha, you will eventually regret it and I doubt you’d enjoy prison.
Sorcha squinted in the candlelight, clearly unconcerned by her near brush with death. “Hang on, is that a cereal bar? I’m ravenous.”
“It’s a protein bar,” Dani corrected, picking it up and handing it over.
“Since when do you eat protein bars?” Crumbs flew as Sorcha broke off pieces with her fingers like the mannerless heathen she was.
“I don’t. Someone gave it to me. God, Sorch, you’re making an awful mess and we haven’t even finished our invocations. Didn’t you want to do something for that creative writing competition you entered?”
“Doubt it’d help.” Sorcha snickered. “We are shitty witches.”
Dani sniffed. “Speak for yourself. I am focused on the present and attuned to the magic of my reality.”
“Since when?”
“Since I made a request and now I’m waiting for a sign!”
Sorcha tossed the protein bar’s empty wrapper onto the table. “Knowing us, you’ll probably bloody miss it.”
CHAPTER ONE
Five Months Later
The student union’s coffee shop was like a bad pop song: painfully repetitive and unnaturally upbeat. Milk was steamed, names were chirped, and baristas beamed as if there were any call for such abominably perky behavior. (There most assuredly wasn’t.) Dani was late for work, and the churn of coffee beans acted as background music to her fantasies about murdering everyone around her.
Come to think of it, she’d been considering murder quite a lot, lately. Perhaps she should see someone about that, or perhaps it was simply a natural consequence of living on planet Earth.
“Christ,” Sorcha muttered, stirring half a kilo of sugar into her latte. “Are people always this loud?”
“It’s March. The end of the semester is in sight. They’re”—Dani let her gaze drift over the far-too-perky students filling the shop—“hopeful.”
“Someone should cure them of that. It’s disrespectful on a Monday morning.”
Before Dani could wholeheartedly agree, a barista slapped two takeout cups on the counter. “Green tea and a black coffee for Danika?”
“Thanks.” Dani grabbed the drinks and made good her escape.
“Black coffee,” Sorcha murmured as they wound through the mass of bodies. “That’ll be for your gorgeous security friend, am I right?”
“He has a name.”
“And I’d like to scream it.”
Dani almost choked on her own laughter. “Sorcha, you’re gay.”
“Thanks for noticing. Really, Dan, this is just coffee-shop banter. Girls being girls! Speaking of, this is the part where you admit all the filthy things you’d like to do to your so-called friend Zafir.”
Dani scowled at the name—mostly because if she didn’t, she might smile, which Sorcha would willfully misinterpret. “I’d never do filthy things to Zafir. He’s a nice boy.”
“Nice?” Sorcha squawked the word, incredulous. “Zaf? Zafir Ansari? That big, grumpy fucker who terrifies half your building?”
Dani sipped her green tea. “He’s very sweet once you get to know him.”
“Sweet?” Sorcha was approaching glass-shattering pitch.
Perhaps she was right; sweet might be overstating the matter. But Zaf was kind, and Dani had always had a soft spot for kind men; they were fabulously rare. Unfortunately, Zaf also avoided staring at Dani’s chest with the kind of Herculean focus that suggested either disinterest or an excess of chivalry—and Dani couldn’t stand chivalry in a man. It frequently led them to make ill-advised decisions, like inviting her to have dinner before sex, or hanging around and talking after sex.
“Zaf, gorgeous as he may be, is not an option. I’m waiting for a sign,” she reminded Sorcha. “I’ll just wank to thoughts of his beard until my perfect fuck buddy materializes.”
Sorcha considered that for a moment before shrugging. “Fair enough. Speaking of yummy
