“Hey,” he said, all raspy and gorgeous and ugh. “Let me guess. You’re working.” There was a smile in his voice—no scolding exasperation or heavy disappointment to be found. Almost as if he was amused, rather than annoyed, by her unsociable hours.
“Yep,” she confirmed. “Working.” But now that she had Zaf on the phone, work didn’t seem half as interesting as getting on his nerves. Hmm. Unfulfilled lust was a funny thing.
“Studying in the middle of the night,” he groused, fondness lacing each word. “I don’t know how you look so pretty all the time. I come to work every morning looking like I’ve got two black eyes.”
The word pretty sent a childish thrill of pleasure through her, which was mortifying, because Dani wasn’t in the habit of caring about who called her pretty. If she did, she might also have to care about who called her ugly, and when you were a woman—especially a black woman on the chubbier side—that was never a good idea. The only opinions she valued on that score were her own.
But there seemed no harm in murmuring, “Pretty, am I?”
“Don’t start. You know you’re a knockout.” He paused, clearly considering. “Unless you don’t, and you’d like me to tell you. As a friend.”
“No, no,” she said quickly—because he would tell her if she asked. He would tell her in that quiet, rumbling voice, calm and steady and unembarrassed, just to make her feel good about herself. And this weird melting feeling in her middle, as if her insides were spilling out and leaking everywhere, might get even worse. God forbid. As an extra layer of protection, she added, “For future reference, there’s never any need to emphasize my attractiveness. As you say, it’s already an established fact.”
He laughed, the sound sinking into her skin, spilling over tight, tense muscles.
“As for my lack of dark shadows,” she went on, trying to sound casual, “it’s concealer. Google it.”
“Hmm. Maybe my niece will lend me some.”
She exhaled, smiled. It was kind of adorable how often he mentioned his niece. “Good luck. But you know, there is an alternative to makeup.”
“Yeah?”
“Indeed. It’s called sleep, and at this time of night, most people are doing it. Why are you up so late?” Maybe he was busy, too. Maybe he valued his work in the same way Dani did, and maybe, because of that, he’d understand certain things and—
He grunted. “No reason. I don’t always sleep that great.”
Ah. She dragged her teeth over her lower lip, that softly delivered news making her chest ache. “Something on your mind?”
“Something on yours,” he asked, “since you called?”
If Dani bothered to observe things about people, she might note that Zaf had a singular talent for steering subject changes. “I try to take a five-minute rest break every thirty minutes,” she told him. “Although time occasionally gets away from me. I thought, since you’re up, and we have things to talk about—”
“You’re bestowing your five minutes on little old me? I’ve never been so flattered.”
She laughed. “That’s not the reaction I usually get.” Most people wanted more from her, hungry for bites she didn’t have to spare. Dani wasn’t good at this sort of thing—at making people feel like they mattered. But according to the universe, Zaf was her perfect fuck buddy—so of course he wouldn’t mind. He probably didn’t care enough to mind.
He sounded like he cared, though. “Is that right?” he murmured, the smile in his voice replaced by something cautious and concerned. “What reaction do you usually get, Danika?”
Dani decided that changing the subject had just become a matter of urgency. “Oh, you know,” she managed, and wiped the question away with an airy laugh. “Never mind all that. How goes the publicity thing? What does a fake relationship involve, anyway?”
There was a slight pause. She bit her lip and hoped for the best. Zaf gave it to her. “Er . . . I sent a few lines to the Nottingham Post, since you’re okay with it. And I guess those kids took a picture of us—talking in the car park,” he said, because he was adorable, “which got the hashtag trending again. One-time donations are through the roof, so all the attention really is working.” She detected a faint note of wonder in his voice that made her want to squish his cheeks and kiss his forehead. Fortunately, he wasn’t in the room, so she was saved from the horror of actually following that impulse. “I got an email from BuzzFeed Sports, too,” he said, sounding pleased. “They sent me some questions to answer. Everything’s amazing, Dan. And it’s because of you, obviously.”
She made a gagging sound. “Don’t start getting emotional.”
“Piss off. Let me say thank you.”
“Zaf, don’t, I’ll be sick. You don’t want me to be sick.”
“Fuck you, then,” he said, but there was laughter in his voice. “As for the fake relationship—we don’t have to kiss in any more car parks.”
She was going to say, What if we want to?, but that sort of thing should probably be saved for face-to-face communication. Wouldn’t want him to misunderstand her intentions.
“I was thinking we should just have lunch together,” he went on, “and try to . . . you know. Flirt.”
“Try to flirt? Because we’re so out of practice.”
She could almost hear his blush through the phone. “We don’t flirt.”
“If that’s what you think, I really need to brush up on my skills.”
Judging by the strangled sound he made, Zaf appeared to be having some sort of mental crisis. “You mean . . . we . . . do flirt?”
“Well, I try my best. You can be difficult, sometimes.” Dani stood up as he spluttered through a response, wandering around her flat’s living room to stretch her legs.
“I thought—I thought you were joking,” he said finally.
She wouldn’t want his head to explode, so
