See, if she was pissed about “culturally biased research” or “two-dimensional claims to feminism,” he would have heard about it the minute she entered the building. Which meant something else must be bothering her, maybe something serious—but she hadn’t mentioned that something, so it clearly wasn’t his business.
He wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t pry. He wouldn’t—
“Everything all right?” blurted his big fucking mouth.
Dani startled as if he’d pulled her out of deep thought. “Well—it’s just—” She hesitated. “I should probably go up. You know I try to be early to class in order to give the impression of omnipotence.”
She was ridiculous, as always. Unselfconscious, as always. Made him want to grin, as always.
Zaf resisted, as always.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll see you—”
She produced another sigh fit for the stage and announced, “Fine, fine, you dragged it out of me.”
“Did I,” he deadpanned.
“I’d tell you not to be sarcastic, but I don’t think you can help it. No, be quiet, you awful man, and listen to me moan. You did ask.”
“That I did.” Fuck, but he enjoyed this woman.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me outside the coffee shop.”
He sipped his coffee like he wasn’t desperate to know. “Feel free to tell me anytime now. It’s only been a century since this conversation started, after all.”
That earned him a quicksilver smile before she confessed. “Some arsehole asked me to dinner.”
His next sip seemed to burn. “Hope you told them to get fucked.”
“Well, yes.” She must have approved of his response, because her gaze went all warm and sweet like treacle. “Yes, I did.”
“Good.”
Good, as in, women deserved to go about their business without being drooled on at the arse-crack of dawn; not good because he didn’t want any fucker taking Danika out to dinner. That would be weird and possessive and pointless, because she was categorically none of his business. Sometimes he got this burning urge to make her his business, but he was pretty good at squashing that before it got out of control.
See, what Zaf really wanted was to be happy, and he’d read enough romance novels to know how to make that happen. First, you reached your goals and shit. (He was working on that part.) Second, you found a good woman who made you think bad thoughts and you lived happily ever after with her.
Dani was a good woman who made him think filthy thoughts, but he’d known her long enough to realize there’d be no happily ever after. They wouldn’t even get to “once upon a time.” First, because she talked about banging Janelle Monáe kind of a lot, and when he’d asked what she thought of Idris Elba (everyone who was into guys liked Idris Elba, right?), all she’d said was “He’s great. I really enjoyed Luther.” And then there was the fact that, according to staff gossip (not that Zaf approved of staff gossip—he really didn’t, he absolutely didn’t), Danika Brown was the queen of one-time things. Zaf wouldn’t know what to do with a one-time thing if it showed up with a fifty-page instruction manual and slapped him on the dick.
So she wasn’t for him and he wasn’t for her, and they were friends, so he shouldn’t even think about it. Which was why he swallowed his ridiculous jealousy and joked, “Hope that guy falls down a manhole or something.”
“From your lips to the universe’s ears,” she purred, and twinkled at him. That was the only way to describe it. She looked at him, and she just—she fucking twinkled. All of a sudden, he felt a little bit warm and slightly dizzy and way too horny for a Monday morning at work.
Zaf cleared his throat and pulled himself together. Clearly, that was more than enough Danika for one day. “Anyway. You’re late, remember?”
Her eyes widened in degrees as if she was a sleepy kitten. “Oh. Oh, shit! Yes, I am.”
“Hang on.” He reached into his pocket for Dani’s morning protein bar, a habit he’d fallen into since she’d started working at Echo months ago. It was only fair, since she always brought him coffee. And since she never had time for breakfast, a fact he’d learned after seeing her chomp down a bag of Skittles at 9 A.M. And since she was a bleeding-heart vegetarian who might die of malnutrition without him.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, and snickered, holding out her hand because she knew the drill.
Zaf snorted. But what he found in his pocket was hard and cold and definitely not protein-rich: his phone. Wrong pocket. As he let go and withdrew his hand, sound filled the air.
“Then have me. I’m dying for you, and you know it.”
Oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Of course he’d managed to press Play on his latest audio-book. Zaf grabbed his phone and fumbled with the earbuds wrapped around it—the same earbuds that hadn’t stopped him from hitting Play but now acted as some kind of impenetrable fucking shield protecting the Pause button. This must be one of his teenage nightmares, because his hands were way slower and clumsier than usual. The audiobook narrator warned, “If I touch you tonight, I’ll make you mine,” and across the desk, Danika made a choked noise of—horror? Yep, probably horror—and put a hand over her mouth.
“Zaf,” she half-shrieked, “is that porn?”
“No!” The word came out a bit too loud to seem honest. “No,” he repeated through gritted teeth, trying to sound like a calm, sensible man instead of a raging pervert. He finally managed to pause the app, then opened a desk drawer, shoved his traitorous phone inside (technology, like most apparently good things in life, clearly couldn’t be trusted), and slammed it shut.
“That was definitely porn,” Dani said, and Zaf was so busy wanting to jump off a bridge, it took him a long while to realize she was laughing. One hand still covered her mouth, but little chuckles escaped between her words, and her eyes creased at the corners in an unmistakable smile. The
