“Let’s eat,” he said, as if nothing had happened. His hand left the back of her neck, and he turned to riffle through a bag she hadn’t noticed before. “No protein bars. Promise.”
She bit her lip. “I like your protein bars.”
“Thought they tasted like cardboard?”
“I like them,” she repeated stubbornly, because it was true, and because she was gripped by the unnerving worry that he might stop giving them to her. Although, why that thought should make her worry, she had no earthly idea. All her feelings were wonky and sideways at the minute. Maybe it had something to do with her nerves about the panel, or her poor, neglected vagina, or both.
“Glad to hear it,” he said cheerfully, “because I’ll blend them into mush and spike your green tea if necessary. Now,” he muttered, almost to himself, “let’s see.” Out of his mysterious plastic bag came a bottle of water, which she grabbed so greedily, she almost missed the rest: wrapped bagels from the union, little pots of fruit and yogurt, crisps and Maltesers.
“Zaf,” she whispered, “you do know we’re not allowed to eat in here?”
“So we’ll do it until someone throws us out. You’re hungry, my break’s almost over, and”—he gave her a significant look, his voice dropping to a whisper—“we have to eat together because we’re madly in love and all that shit.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Dani shuffled her chair closer to his, just so any photos that wound up online would accurately convey how thrillingly intimate they were. Couple goals, and so on and so forth. Milking it, et cetera, et cetera. “How was your day, er, baby?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Baby? Can’t decide if that’s better or worse than me calling you babe that one time.”
“Oh, shut up. This is the sort of thing couples say.”
“I bet it is, doll tits.”
Her cheeks heated. “Except that. No one says that.”
“Are you sure?” he asked mildly.
“Yes, I’m sure, sugar cock.”
Zaf spluttered, then burst into a coughing fit. Dani was searching for another name that might cause a similarly adorable reaction when a gaggle of ruddy-faced, thick-necked boys—undergrads, if she had to guess—appeared out of nowhere. They chose a desk opposite Dani’s, dragging spare seats from neighboring tables, ignoring the glares of other occupants as chair legs scraped over the floor. After sitting down in a muttering, giggling group, they proceeded to stare, starry-eyed, at Zaf and tap away on their phones with obvious intent. One boy turned to shove another’s shoulder after a particularly loud guffaw, and Dani caught sight of the lettering on the back of his blue jacket: NGU RUGBY.
“Oh, good,” she whispered. “I do believe your acolytes have found us.”
Zaf rolled his eyes. “I doubt any of them had even heard of me before last week.”
“Honestly, Zafir, you’re so grumpy you could create your own storm clouds. Entire countries would pay good money to use your services, I’m sure.”
“What can I say? It’s a natural talent.”
“Or maybe it’s lack of sleep,” she pointed out, then wanted to kick herself. It was none of Dani’s business if he stayed up until all hours of the night. She was nobody’s mother, thank you very much.
“You’re telling me to sleep? Woman, you just passed out in a library.”
She blushed. “It’s a very restful environment!”
“I’ve heard beds are even better.”
“I don’t want to talk about beds with you, Zaf.” Not right now, anyway, because it wouldn’t do to spontaneously combust in public.
But then it occurred to her that in public was the perfect time to push things, just a little. Because if everything went horribly wrong, and he wasn’t interested in what she had to offer, Dani could claim she’d been faking it. Genius. Suddenly the boys at college who’d once texted her messages like Be my gf? Haha, JK. Unless . . . ? seemed like bold pioneers instead of irritating gnats.
So she murmured the tragic truth with a teasing smile. “Too much bed discussion could tip me over the edge. Next thing you know, I’ll be ravishing you on this undoubtedly unsanitary carpet.”
Apparently, he hadn’t expected that, because for a moment, his face was blank as a new Word document. Dani bit her lip, wondering how he’d respond, and barely noticed the increase in whispers from their excitable observers at the next desk.
Then Zaf’s surprise melted into an expression she could only call hunger. Without warning, he grabbed the leg of her chair and jerked it—jerked Dani—closer. The breath left her lungs, and by the time she remembered how to inhale again, her seat was trapped, sideways, between his spread thighs. His arm rested over the back of the chair, and she felt its heat against her shoulders. His mouth was perilously close to her cheek, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough and changed, and it rasped over her skin the way his hands would. “Tell me what it is you want from me, Danika. Explain it to me. Slow.”
For someone so repelled by relationships, Dani sure had a lot of questions about them. But then, for someone who wasn’t interested in casual sex, Zaf sure struggled with telling her to knock this innuendo bullshit off.
He didn’t want her to knock it off.
Maybe he was imagining the way she looked at him sometimes, like he was a surprise, scary but special all at once. And maybe he was imagining the vulnerability in her, too, glittering beneath her surface like fragments of gold underwater. The problem was—call him reckless, call him led by his dick, call him a hopeless romantic, but he wanted to believe in it. He wanted it so badly that he dragged her closer and asked her straight.
“Tell me what it is you want from me, Danika. Explain it to me. Slow.”
Her teeth grazed the soft, plump flesh of her lower lip, and he felt the action in his fucking balls. Her gaze flicked over to the boys watching them, then back to Zaf. She spoke so
