Despite his subconscious fears, Zaf knew, logically, that there was no connection between his grief and the time he’d spent playing for the Titans. Blurring lines between past and present wouldn’t unravel all his progress or take him back to the dark place he’d been in when his family had shattered. Only one thing about pro rugby had made his experience worse: the part where his minor claim to fame led the press to swarm him like mosquitoes.
But faking it with Dani had overwritten those memories with newer, lighter ones. This time around, he had control. He had the power. And something about that caused his fears to fade until they were blurry at the edges.
Still, when he opened Mac’s email, he heard the thump of his pulse in his ears and felt himself hesitate. Zaf sat with his anxiety for long, long moments, until his breathing slowed and he was calm enough to push past it. Fast. With gritted teeth.
Yes, he told Mac, of course I remember you, and the family’s okay, what about yours? I . . . I can definitely offer the emotional workshop stuff without the coaching, if that’s what you need. We can work something out.
Then Zaf hit Send, ran a hand over his beard, and realized he was grinning. Adrenaline flooded his veins like he’d just roared in a tiger’s face and come out unscathed. “All right,” he told himself, shutting the laptop. “Take five.” This called for a celebratory cup of tea or twelve.
He was in the bathroom ten minutes later, humming under his breath and getting undressed for the shower, when Dani’s name lit up his phone.
DANIKA: Not tonight. Currently drowning in my own blood.
ZAF: ???
She didn’t reply.
Buttnaked, Zaf sat on the edge of his bathtub—shit, that was cold—and stared at the screen, waiting for her reply. Obviously, Dani wasn’t actually drowning in her own blood right now. Usually, when people were in the middle of something like that, they didn’t text about it. On the other hand, Dani wasn’t particularly usual, and she wasn’t texting him anymore, and he could definitely imagine her, say, trying to open a bag of Skittles with a kitchen knife, accidentally stabbing herself in the hand, and texting him about it shortly before passing out from blood loss.
Fuck it. He hit Call.
She picked up after a few seconds, sounding fairly healthy, if a little tired. “Hello?”
Zaf sighed, closing his eyes and raking a hand through his hair. His heart pounded against his chest—and yes, he knew that was unreasonable, but he was always going to be himself. “Fuck’s sake, woman. I thought you were dying or something.”
Her pause seemed to crackle with amusement. “And you thought this because . . .”
“Because you—” He broke off. “Oh. Ohhhh. I see. Never mind. Got it.”
He supposed he couldn’t blame her for laughing.
“Zaf,” she gasped between giggles, “just to be clear—”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“I’m on my period.”
He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning. “Mm-hmm. Sorry. I always forget people have those.”
“Must be nice,” she snorted.
“I mean, ye—”
“Before you finish that sentence, you should know I’ve taken enough codeine to plea diminished responsibility after I murder you.”
“Duly noted.”
“But I’m sorry for, er . . . causing concern. In the depths of my misery,” she drawled, “I momentarily forgot about your protective instincts.”
That was a very sweet way to phrase I forgot your Worry setting is permanently turned up to a thousand. “It’s fine,” he said. “I take it you’re not feeling great?”
“Oh, goody, you’re interested in my menstruation. Did anyone ever tell you about rectal cramps?”
“No, no they did not. Can I come over?”
There was a moment of silence. “I said rectal cramps.”
“I know.”
“As in, your arsehole—”
“Yeah, I know what a rectum is. Stop trying to freak me out. Are you hungry or not?”
“Hungry?” Dani repeated. Her voice was a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.
“That’s what I said.”
“Hmm. Well. I ate all my emergency Skittles this morning, and I’m out of cereal, so . . .” A pause. “I want egg fried rice, salt and pepper potatoes, and crispy seaweed.” She put the phone down.
Zaf decided there must be something deeply wrong with him, because somehow, he’d managed to enjoy that conversation.
Less than an hour after his unexpected phone call, Dani opened her door to find Tall, Dark, and Shouldn’t Be Here on the doorstep. Along with a bag of Chinese food, since he clearly knew what was good for him. Obviously, the food was the only reason why Dani let him in—well, that and the fact that the sight of him soothed her never-ending PMS tummy ache by a solid 10 percent.
Zaf soothed rather a lot of things, even when she didn’t want him to, and apparently without trying. The fucker.
“Hey,” he said softly, putting the bag down and catching her by the shoulders. He was big and handsome and he smelled like oranges, and she wanted to swim around in his eyes as if they were pools of rich, dark honey. Also, it was entirely possible Dani had taken too much codeine. Oops.
“You okay, sweetheart?” He squeezed her upper arms, which felt quite lovely, so she grabbed his arms and squeezed back. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. “What are you doing, Dan?”
Good question. She stopped squeezing. “Nothing.”
“Are you tired?”
“Yes.”
“Are you high?”
“It’s a possibility,” she admitted.
“Is your rectum doing unholy things?”
“The good kind or the bad kind?”
He laughed and dragged her into a hug, which was fabulous, because Zaf was the most huggable person on earth. He was very sweet and very soft and very firm. He held on to you, not enough that you felt suffocated, but more than enough to make it clear you should stay right there. With him. Because he wanted you to.
The circumstances of this particular hug made Dani wonder what else he wanted. There was no one to fake it for here, and despite his earlier moment of obliviousness, he must realize now that she
