“And you’re telling me this why?” she demanded.

“No reason,” he said mildly.

“I should hope not. I’m very busy, you know. It’s not like I spent all day wondering about—about what you were thinking, or some such rubbish. And I certainly don’t sit around fantasizing about your dick all the time.”

“Sure you don’t, trouble. Just like you definitely didn’t spend lunch staring at my mouth and drooling into your baked potato.”

“Zaf Ansari, you are the cockiest little shit I’ve ever—”

“Ah, don’t feel bad, Dan. I spent the whole day fantasizing about you, too.”

Dani wheezed a little, then pulled herself together through sheer force of will. Her heart pounded like a drum, fairies fluttered their way through her stomach, but her voice remained steady. “Of course you did. I’m very memorable.”

“And very pretty when you come. Can’t get it off my mind.” But his voice was so low and rough and raw, she almost heard something different.

Can’t get you off my mind.

God, did he have to be so fucking—open about it? Did he have to want her so obviously? Did he have to make her feel so safe and so golden and so out of control?

“Well,” Dani said faintly. “Well. If that’s the case, you’re probably struggling to concentrate.”

“I am,” he sighed. “I really fucking am.”

“Maybe . . . maybe you’d better get over here, then.” Please get over here. Now. Before I expire.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I should.”

Their phone calls dwindled after that, because Dani developed a new routine: she’d finish her research at 9 P.M., and then Zaf would come over. She’d fuck him into exhaustion, catch her breath, maybe kiss him a little while she made herself come again—which wasn’t the same as cuddling. Cuddling didn’t count if you masturbated while you did it, not even if the person in your arms whispered things like “Go on, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Fuck, I love how you love to come.”

Once all that was . . . dealt with, she’d send Zaf home, and he’d call her when he got back safely. It was a cursory phone call, of course, a security measure—but sometimes they started chatting, and she occasionally fell asleep listening to the deep, familiar rhythm of his voice.

On nights like those, she’d wake up the next morning to the sound of his alarm through the phone. Would hear him mumble sleepily, “Shit,” before cutting off an hours-long call neither of them had been conscious for. The only reason Dani allowed this particular habit to continue was—well. If she heard him waking up, at least she knew he’d managed to fall asleep.

All of this meant skipping her late-night study sessions, but within a few days, she was waking up earlier and more energetic in the mornings, so she supposed it all balanced out. Perhaps that was why her research for the panel had started going swimmingly, and why her nerves had faded, just a touch. Excellent sex had always worked wonders for Dani’s stress levels.

Sorcha said as much on Tuesday afternoon, when she found Dani in the library and announced, “As your best friend, I think it’s high time I was introduced to your wonderful boyfriend.”

Dani marked the page of her book and stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m tired of tracking your adorable dates through the Dr. Rugbae hashtag, so I thought I’d join you for lunch today.”

Dani added some startled blinking to her staring, just to emphasize the sheer what-the-fuck-ness of all this. “First of all, Sorcha, I can’t introduce you to Zafir. You already know him.”

“Barely.”

“And second of all”—Dani lowered her voice to a whisper—“you do realize he and I are not actually . . .”

“What I realize,” Sorcha said with a smirk, “is that you’re rather relaxed and glow-y, lately. Yesterday morning, you spent an hour discussing possible Game of Thrones endings with me instead of compulsively working, even though your panel is less than two weeks away—not to mention all the thesis work you’re keeping up with and the classes you have to teach. You’re seriously unclenching these days, which means—drum roll, please . . .”

“You’re an evil cow and I hate you.”

“Danika Brown is getting laid good,” Sorcha finished gleefully. “Amongst other things. Other mushy, happy things.”

Dani had learned long ago that there was no reasoning with this woman, so she responded with silence.

“Now, since you’re obviously super happy with Zaf—”

“Sorcha, you know I am ethically and philosophically opposed to the idea of being happy with a person.”

“—he is officially important to my best friend. And the rules are the rules. Meet him, I shall.”

Dani pinched the bridge of her nose. “Zaf is not important to . . .” She’d been going to say, Zaf is not important to me, but that felt so horribly false she couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. “He’s no more important to me than—than—” She considered and discarded several options. My vibrator? My favorite mug? My laptop? My thesis manuscript? No, she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and gone too far. Either way, Zaf couldn’t be any of the things Sorcha was patently insinuating, because the universe itself had pointed him out to Dani as a fuck buddy. Nothing more. What that man wanted, she simply did not have.

“Zaf and I,” Dani tried again, wrenching her mind back on track, “are just—”

Sorcha growled. “Meet him, I shall.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Fine.”

When Dani showed up at the food court with a tiny, brown gremlin in tow, all Zaf did was arch an eyebrow and grunt, “Sorcha.”

“Rugbae,” Sorcha purred with a shit-eating grin.

They chose a food truck with surprisingly little fanfare, Sorcha prattling on as they waited for their subs, Zaf distracting Dani completely by going all . . . quiet. He was obviously listening as Sorcha spoke, his eyes focused and his nods coming at the right moment, but the sarcastic responses Dani had grown used to were replaced by a gruff, steady calm. He answered direct questions. He offered tiny, one-sided smiles. And that was it.

Dani watched him all the way back to their table, wondering if perhaps he was horribly ill, or had dropped his attitude down a well and needed help to rescue it.

Then Sorcha disappeared to find barbecue sauce (something about dunking over spreading; Dani preferred not to ask). As soon as they were alone, Zaf’s posture relaxed. That forbidding furrow between his eyebrows disappeared, and he flashed a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Dani’s brain melt at the edges. “So. Sorcha’s fun.”

Oh. Something clicked into place. “I forgot,” Dani blurted, then wanted to kick herself.

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I . . .” Well, she’d committed now; might as well reveal her creepy fluency in Zafir Ansari. Painfully glad that he couldn’t see her blush, she cleared her throat and said primly, “I forgot how you are around people you don’t know.”

His eyebrows, if possible, rose higher. “Meaning?”

She, if possible, blushed harder. “Meaning nothing. I just—I suppose I’m used to you being yourself around me. I’m glad—” No. Nope. Stop. Danika Alfreda Brown, stop fucking talking.

But it was too late. Zaf’s eyebrows displayed previously undiscovered Olympic potential and rose even higher. His grin was unselfconscious and familiar, and in the midst of her embarrassment, Dani felt a rogue flare of pleasure that he was showing it to her. This man didn’t share himself with everyone, which was just fine, but he shared himself with her, which was—exhilarating. Fucking fantastic.

Ah, the wonders of friendship.

“You’re glad that what, Dani?” he nudged.

“Shut up.” She sank vicious teeth into her sandwich.

“Glad you flossed this morning?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Glad . . . you wore your favorite shoes?”

How did Zaf know these were her favorite—? Oh. Because the other night, during one of their exhausted, babbling phone calls, she’d waxed lyrical about the blessed style-and-comfort combo of her suede block-heel ankle boots. The man absorbed information like a sponge. But she couldn’t allow herself to be impressed, not while he was currently ruining her life.

“Glad . . .” He trailed off as if thinking, then leaned in closer, his arm sliding around her shoulders and his lips brushing her earlobe. She fought a shiver of pleasure and lost. “Are you glad, Dani,” he asked, his voice smoky, “that you know me?”

She put down her sandwich. “Do you enjoy making me say hideous, unnecessary, and mortifying things?”

His answer was instant, delivered with a smile. “Oh, yeah.”

Dani was saved from crawling under the table and hiding there forever by the reappearance of Sorcha, who popped up out of nowhere and took a picture of them on her phone. With flash.

“A close-up of the lovely couple,” she trilled. “I see a platinum tweet in my future.”