Chapter Seven #2
During their Sunday-night phone call, he barely mooned over Danika at all.
During his post-phone call wank (unavoidable-she had a sexy voice, okay?) he kept things fast and thoughtless.
On Monday, when she turned up at his desk to fake flirt before and after class, Zaf remembered through every smile and lingering look that this was all for show. It. Was. All. For. Show.
And when she texted him later that morning, her messages like little rays of sunshine no one else would ever see?
That was friendship, obviously. Friendship, full stop.
DANIKA: I can t wait for lunch.
DANIKA: Not the fawning all over you and feeding you grapes part. The food part.
Huh. Zaf hadn t realized grape-feeding was on the fake-lunch-date cards at all, but suddenly he couldn t wait, either.
DANIKA: My stomach is eating itself. RIP me.
ZAF: Didn t you eat your protein bar?
DANIKA: Yes, I ate my protein bar, you absolute parent. It s a shame I don t have a daddy kink, or I might get off on those things.
Zaf set his jaw and shifted in his seat. She kept . . . saying things like that, these past few days, and it was getting harder and harder not to bite.
ZAF: Come and get another one.
DANIKA: You want me to choke down two in one day?!
He should probably be offended, but he found himself laughing into his hand, disguising the sound with a cough and a glower when a passing group of students stared at him. Once they were gone, he set his tiny smile free and typed out a response.
ZAF: That s not very polite.
DANIKA: I can t leave my strategic library position to come and get a protein bar. My seat by the window will be stolen. The risk isn t worth the tasteless but protein-rich reward.
ZAF: Are you telling me you don t like my protein bars?
DANIKA: They taste like cardboard.
DANIKA: Keep giving them to me, though.
As if he had any intention of stopping.
ZAF: For food emergencies?
DANIKA: You ask so many questions. I m working now, I have to go.
And she really did go. There were no more texts during her breaks-not a single one-and she didn t show up to lunch, either.
Zaf leaned against a lamppost by the food court, staring longingly at the noodle van and the library in turn, like a man with a desperate craving for chili bean sprouts and books.
Or chili bean sprouts and a bookish woman.
Whatever. Clearly, he was delirious with hunger, since he d finished his store of snacks around 10 A.M. as always. Hours ago now.
He checked his phone again, but there was no response from Dani to his latest nudge.
Since his brain was his brain, his first thought was that she d died.
She d taken the stairs and fallen, or she d been crushed between those fancy moving bookshelves-the ones with signs on them saying to shout before you pulled the levers, only no one ever did.
Lucky for Zaf, he was used to shoving unreasonable worries away, so he drop-kicked those ideas into the sun and moved on.
In reality, he d probably been stood up by his fake girlfriend.
Ouch. Of course, knowing Dani, it was equally likely that she d just gotten distracted-that she was lost in a book or a journal, her phone at the bottom of her bag, time a distant concept she preferred not to play with.
Which would be fine, if it weren t for the fact that they had social media stalkers to manipulate into free publicity.
And, wow , it all sounded incredibly mercenary when he phrased it like that. But still.
Zaf needed to be seen with Dani before this flash in the pan . . . un-flashed. He wasn t about to let a single fake-lunch-date opportunity slip through his hands. So, for the good of Tackle It-obviously-he had no choice but to hunt down his girlfriend.
His fake girlfriend.
Obviously.
The low murmur was a familiar fixture in her dreams. Hey. Danika.
Danika , said with those soft, round consonants. Dani smiled, squeezing her eyes tight against the light. If she could fall asleep properly and sink fully into this dream, she might see Zaf as well as hear him. And seeing him was always a thrill.
Unfortunately, her inner eye remained stubbornly blank. She might have sulked over that, if it weren t for the feel of a large, warm hand stroking her hair.
Dani. The whisper was quieter and closer, now.
She felt the warmth of a body beside hers, caught the scent of coffee beans and spiced citrus-a scent she usually tried not to enjoy, because sniffing people was .
. . just . . . odd. But it was okay to sniff people in dreams. Or to fantasize about taking the whole of them, making them yours, popping them into your mouth like a glossy, round grape, seeds and all, and trusting they wouldn t choke you. For example.
Sweetheart. Wake up.
She d really rather not. Even though her position was a little uncomfortable and her pendants were digging into her chest, this dream or half dream or whatever was too heartbreakingly lovely to abandon.
You re drooling on a book.
Shit, Dani blurted, and jolted upright in her seat.
At which point, a few things became immediately obvious: first, that she had fallen asleep in the library.
Second, that she had not drooled on a book, but if the ache in her cheekbone was anything to go by, she had used a book as a pillow. And third, that Zaf was here.
Why was Zaf here?
Not that she minded, exactly. He was quite nice to have around, she supposed.
He was sitting beside her at one of the long library desks, and he appeared to have forgotten the meaning of personal space-again, not that she minded.
Zaf was close enough that she could count his sinfully long eyelashes, and if she wasn t mistaken, the delicious weight at the back of her neck was his hand .
A wave of pleasure thrummed through her stomach.
He was holding her neck. He was holding her neck .
His palm cradled the line of her spine and his thumb stroked the side of her throat, and her clit ached in time with every slow sweep.
Apparently, she had a thing for being grabbed by large men.
Funny how she d never noticed that until this moment.
Of course, she didn t usually let anyone grab her in public, since it had always seemed disturbingly proprietary, and Dani was not property.
So why, exactly, was she allowing Zaf the privilege?
As if that thought had deactivated some sort of mental firewall, the last of her faculties returned.
All at once, she remembered why Zaf was there, why he was holding her as if they d been married for sixteen years, and why he was staring at her with a slight, sweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Fake relationship. For . . . reasons. Lunch. To be . . . seen. And . . .
Oh, crap, she said. I m late, aren t I?
His smile widened into a grin, which was an absolutely shocking turn of events for a man with such epic resting bitch face. Maybe.
I m sorry, Dani blurted, then wondered why she was apologizing.
She was a terminally disappointing date, and I m sorry had never changed that.
The phrase was usually just an opportunity for whomever she was with to wrench her flaws wide open and list them all in excruciating detail.
Not that Zaf had a right to do that, because they weren t really in a relationship-she was doing him a favor, for heaven s sake-and anyway, she hadn t meant to fall asleep, so really, what was to be done?
Except . . . well, she supposed something could ve been done. Something other than accidentally standing him up. She didn t like the idea of standing him up, not even for a library power nap.
It s okay, Zaf said, and the ease of his response snapped Dani out of her thoughts like an unexpected static shock. I brought lunch, he went on, since I thought you might be busy in here.
For a moment, all she could do was stare. He d thought she d forgotten him because she was busy with work, and instead of throwing a righteous fit, he d . . .
He d brought lunch to her .
A sunrise threatened in Dani s chest, but she shoved it down, barely wincing when the heat stung her palms. They were coconspirators, after all.
They were in the midst of a plot. A plot that required Zaf to be around her, and do nice things for her, and look at her with eyes like fire gleaming off midnight water.
You re very laid back about this, she whispered, arranging her books into a neat pile. But I suppose allowances must be made for fake girlfriends, as opposed to real ones.
Yep, he said cheerfully, and there was no reason for that confirmation to pinch at something behind her breastbone.
She already knew she wasn t quite up to scratch; every relationship since her first, since Mateo, had taught her that, and it didn t matter.
A sensible woman played to her strengths and left immaterial weaknesses behind.
Which didn t explain why she kept asking pointless questions, like picking at a scab. So if this was real, and your girlfriend missed lunch . . .
Zaf looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed as he leaned in close and lowered his voice.
You didn t miss lunch, Dani. You fell asleep because you work too hard, and if you were really mine, I d be less worried about lunch dates and more worried about ways to trick you into slowing down.
His thumb swept over her neck again, a slow, soothing stroke that tugged at something sweet and lazy in her.
If you were really mine , he d said, and the words seemed to beat a tattoo against her skull, as fast and firm as the pulse pounding scandalously between her thighs.
Oh, she said, so quiet she barely heard herself.
But Zaf heard and came closer, his scent filling her lungs. When you ask me things like that, Danika, it makes me think someone hasn t treated you right.