Archive of Our Own

Mindy sits with Betsy in the breakroom and watches the younger girl closely as she takes a bite of her pasta.

Betsy drops her fork and turns to Mindy with wide eyes. “Oh my gosh, Doctor Lahiri, this is the best ethnic food I’ve ever tasted! You were so right about that new Italian place.”

Mindy smiles and says proudly, “Isn’t it great? I already have an idea for the opening of my Yelp review,” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, picks her phone from the table and reads, “A Penne for My Thoughts: New Italian restaurant Flies Pasta the Rest—,"

She looks up to see Betsy nodding encouragingly and a bemused Danny standing in the doorway with a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“Is that for real?” he asks in disbelief.

“Danny!” Mindy exclaims, pulling a tin plate from the brown bag in front of her. “Betsy and I went to that new Italian place down the street, and their food is amazing.”

He crosses the room and takes a seat at the opposite table. “Really? What’d you get?”

“Betsy ordered bolognese and I got pasta pu-sha-nes-coy or something,” she says, trying to remember how the guy at the restaurant pronounced it.

“Puttanesca,” Danny corrects and raises his brow as he checks out her plate. “And no, that is not pasta puttanesca. Where are the olives? The capers? The tomatoes? This dish is an abomination.”

“Well, it tastes alright to me,” Mindy says defensively. God, leave it to Castellano to ruin everything.

“That's because you’re uncultured,” Danny replies easily as he sits back and unfolds his newspaper. 

Mindy’s mouth drops open in shock. “Excuse me? I’m like the most cultured person I know.” She looks to Betsy for confirmation. “I’ve seen Amelie without subtitles.”

“It’s true, Dr Lahiri is super cultured,” Betsy agrees, and Mindy looks pleased as she nods along. “I once saw her reading about something called a 'Hitachi'. I think it's Japanese."

“Okay, Betsy,” Mindy interrupts. She touches a hand to her temple and then points it the younger girl. “I told you that is not something you can share with other people.”

Danny ignores their entire exchange and looks at Mindy thoughtfully. “Look, you want real Italian food? Come by my apartment on Friday. I’ll show you how it’s supposed to taste.”

“Danny,” she says, pleasantly surprised. “Are you offering to cook for me?”

He shrugs noncomittally. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you believe that’s an authentic meal. You’re welcome to come too, Betsy.”

Betsy smiles but shakes her head regretfully. “Sorry Dr Castellano, but Tamara's taking Jeremy and I to a party in Brooklyn on Friday."

"Wait," Mindy says, holding out her hand to stop her. "Tamara's taking you to a party? How was I not invited?"

Betsy says, uneasily, "She said it was a small thing. Only a hundred of her closest Facebook friends will be there." Upon seeing Mindy's even more offended look, Betsy quickly gathers her food and stands, telling them, "Have fun at your dinner, you guys!" before she books it. 

Mindy gives Danny an incredulous look. "Can you believe that?" 

His expression shows he's clearly not bothered by the news of their snub, and he clears his throat in an attempt to bring the conversation back to his offer.

“Guess it’s just you and me, then.” Danny says, and Mindy nods as she takes another bite of her inauthentic lunch.

“I can’t wait to see this."

***

Mindy smoothes the bottom of her dress—a pretty black number with a sparkly rhinestone design—and tugs her leather jacket to cover her chest a little better. When she’d asked Danny what the dress code was for the evening, he’d just shrugged and said “I don’t know. Nice?” so she’d figured this would do. Besides, it was just dinner with Danny. His definition of nice is probably, like, loafers and jeans, she thinks.  

She knocks.

“Coming!” she hears him yell, the sound of his voice muffled through the door. She smiles as she imagines him trying to manuver around the kitchen, frantically checking pots and pans as smoke filters from the oven, eventually setting off the smoke alarm. She half-expects to find him holding a box of pizza in forfeit.

The image causes her to laugh as the door finally swings open and she’s greeted with a very composed, non-frazzled Danny dressed in a rather snazzy black dress shirt and grey pants. Her laughter turns to shock, and she glances down at his feet. And he's definitely not wearing loafers. Woah.

He gives her a crooked smile and pushes the door further. “Come in,” he says, motioning her inside. As she steps through the doorway, he reaches for her jacket. “You look nice.”

“You too,” she says and shoots him a wondrous look. “Danny, oh my God. It smells incredible in here.”

“Thanks,” he touches her arm lightly and directs her to the dinner table, where she takes a seat. She watches as he heads into the kitchen and pulls an apron over his head.

An apron. On Danny Castellano. She can barely comprehend what she's seeing.

He returns moments later with a large bowl in one hand and a platter in the other.

“Alright,” he says. “A little antipasti and crostini to start you off.”

“Oh my God,” she stares up at him and thinks about pinching herself to see if this is real. “You were really serious about this.”

He places the plates on the table and wipes his hand on his apron. “I don’t joke about food.”

“Well, I definitely didn’t expect this from a guy who thinks a ham and cheese is food.” She picks up some crostini and takes a bite. “Oh my God," she's starting to sound like a broken record. "Danny, this is really good!”

“Thanks,” he calls from the kitchen. She sees him fiddle around with a pot and empty the contents into a glass dish he soon carries over to her. “Now for the main course: tagliatelle al ragu bolognese.”

“I am about to have a heart attack,” Mindy says, eyes wide. He dishes the pasta onto a plate and hands it to her, and she literally feels herself about to drool. This is insane. She seizes the opportunity and whips out her phone to take a picture of the spread.

“What, no, Mindy—,” Danny protests and reaches for her phone. “Come on, we've been through this. Not everything has to go on Twitter.”

“Danny, I have to instagram this. People need to know what you’re capable of.”

He sighs and retreats to the wine cabinet, grabs a bottle and returns to the table. “Wine?” he asks. When she nods, he pops it open and pours them both a glass of a delicious-looking red. She murmurs her thanks and takes a sip as he removes his apron and grabs a lighter from the kitchen.

Danny lights the candle piece in between them. Mindy’s eyebrow rises as she asks, “A candle? Really?”

He smirks and sits in his seat, finally, and picks up a fork. “I like to set the mood when I make dinner.”

She nods and starts to dig in to the delicious-looking food in front of her, but something in her mind clicks. Wait a minute, she thinks, turning in her seat to take a full survey of the apartment. Dim lighting, candles, fancy tablecloths…. “Danny, is this a date?”

Her voice drops when she says date, like she’s saying a kid saying a bad word, and he chokes on his pasta. “W-what?”

“A date. You know, like two people having dinner together to see if there’s a connection, then you make me hop a fence to explore some secret, gorgeous garden.” She pictures Hugh Dancy struggling with the gate in Notting Hill and starts to panic. “I can’t climb in heels, Danny! I’m not dressed for that!”   

“What, who said anything about a garden?” he asks, genuinely confused. “And, no, Mindy, this is not a date.”

“Are you sure? Because this feels like a date,” she gestures to the table. “There’s a candle between us, you broke out the good wine. I mean, you even have jazz playing in the background!” She points her fork at him. “That’s, like, classic date behavior.”

“But it isn't one,” He takes a drink from his beer and gives himself time to recover. “Believe me, you’d know if you were on a date with Danny Castellano.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay. So this is just a normal, extremely romantic evening between two friends.”

“Mindy,” he interrupts, exasperated. He sees she’s not going to give up on this one and decides to switch gears. “Why, do you want it to be a date?”

“No,” she says quickly. She relaxes and focuses her attention back to the food. Of course this isn't a date. What was she thinking? “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” Danny tells her, and as an afterthought, he adds, “and anyway, I don’t make my dates do the dishes after I cook for them.”

She giggles through a mouthful of pasta. “Good one, Castellano.”

He remains stone-faced. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Danny," she fixes him with a gape-mouthed stare. "I don’t even do my own dishes. I’m not washing yours.”

“We’ll see,” he says amiably. His grin is as crooked as it’s ever been.

“We won’t see,” she says. “Because it’s not going to happen.”

***

An hour later, Mindy and Danny are seated on the couch, out of view of the sink full of dirty dishes. They’re situated on opposite ends of the couch, chatting easily and amicably.

“So, who taught you how to cook like that?” Mindy asks, sipping from her fourth glass of wine. She isn’t sure if it’s the amazing food she just ate or the wine, but she hasn't been able to stop smiling since they finished eating.

Danny reclines into his side of the couch, holding a beer in one hand as he boasts, “My grandmother was incredible in the kitchen. She made the greatest food you’ll ever taste in your life.”

“Well, not you specifically,” he corrects, giving her a wry smile. “She passed in ’96. But you know what I mean.”

“I do,” she says, looking at him with something that could maybe be described as enchantment. “And I’m sorry I missed out. This does explain why you were such an adorably round kid though.”

“And why my mom put me in dance class when I was eleven.”

“Ah yes,” she laughs, remembering his dance moves at office night out. “Who can forget the sweet, sweet moves of Italian Chita Rivera?”

He chuckles and for a second, she can't believe she's making Daniel Castellano laugh after he cooked her a fabulous dinner in his own apartment that he invited her to. So surreal, she thinks, and takes another sip of wine. “You know, I love hearing stories about early Danny Castellano. It’s like getting to peek inside the Chamber of Secrets.”

He scratches his neck and looks slightly embarrassed. “Nah, my childhood wasn’t so great.”

“Maybe," she agrees. "But it was interesting. That’s more than I can say about mine.”

“Alright,” he says, clearly ready to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Tell me about yours.”

She tucks her bare feet beneath her and makes herself comfortable. “My childhood was pretty boring, actually. There was my mom and dad, and little brother Rishi. A lot of studying and doing everything my parents told me to do." She thinks for a moment and then snaps her fingers. "Oh, and I had super hairy arms as kid. Like, abnormally hairy. The other kids called me ‘Mindywolf’ all throughout sixth grade.”

She sees his confused expression and explains, “It was a play on ‘werewolf’."

Danny grimaces and knocks back his beer. “Kids are cruel.”

“And not very good with puns,” she sits her wine glass on the coffee table and lifts up her arms. “Puberty was kinder to me though. Well, puberty and lasers.”

She holds out her right arm. “Feel!”

He looks at it and then at her. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“Come on, just do it!” She scoots over to the middle of the couch. “It’s baby smooth.”

“No," he says, waving her off. "I don't—I can follow your story without feeling your arm.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Danny.”

“Not feeling your arm makes me a jerk?” he asks, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“No,” Mindy says, her voice equally as frustrated. “You staring at my arm as if it’s diseased makes you a jerk.”

He practically throws his beer on the table as he gives an exasperated, “Fine!” and takes her arm, holding it with one hand while he feels it with the other. Mindy grins at him triumphantly, “See? They’re insanely soft.”

Danny murmurs something in agreement but his eyes seem transfixed to the brown arm in his hands. He continues to run a hand across her skin, starting from the area just below her elbow in a slow trail to the small of her wrist. He's barely applying any pressure but the light brush sends a strange tingling sensation down her spine. The atmosphere shifts as she looks at her arm, then back at him.

“You, uh, going to let go of my arm anytime soon?” she jokes awkwardly, her voice soft.

He looks at her. “Do you want me to let go?” he asks simply, and his voice is so low that Mindy feels all the air has been drained from the room. She chokes as his fingers drag slowly past her wrist and down to her fingers until their hands are intertwined in a way that feels much more intimate than it should. He watches her face for a reaction, any reaction, but she’s so wrapped up in the feeling of his hand holding hers that she can barely do more than shake her head wordlessly.

She's reminded of the last time they'd held hands, on the plane ride home from Santa Fe—an event they still had yet to discuss. She'd felt something similar then, like something was happening, but she couldn't quite figure out what. But as she tightens her grip on his hand and draws a little closer to him, she knows she's very excited to find out.

They're centimeters away from each other when the sound of her phone receiving a text message breaks their concentration. Mindy reluctantly withdraws her hand from his and reaches for her phone. She sees it's from Morgan and turns back to Danny.

"It's nothing. Just a text message." She places a tentative hand on his knee and tries to look as available as possible in an effort to bring back the mood from before. "So, um, where were we?" 

He glances at her hand, but before he can answer, her phone beeps again. Then again. Mindy glares at the phone when it beeps yet again and Danny finally asks, "Are you going to get that?" 

She grabs the phone:

“Oh God,” she groans. Her four hundred dollar shoes! Her beautiful magenta carpet! She had begged Dr Schulman for months to get that installed; she counted it as one of her first real victories at the practice. “I am going to kill Morgan!” she yells and jumps off the couch. She immediately begins to gather her belongings.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and disappointment, but he tries not to let the latter show. 

Mindy slips on her jacket and wanders the room in search for her purse. “Morgan is basically destroying my office," she says exasperatedly. She crouches and peers under the dinner table. “I have to go. I have to stop him, I have to call PETA, I don’t know. I just have to do something!”

“Well, do you want me to help?”

“No!” She quickly exclaims before blushing at her outburst. “I mean, I wouldn't want to make you an accomplice to the murder. No offense, but you wouldn't last a day in prison.”

Danny sighs and lifts himself from the couch with the acceptance that whatever was happening a few minutes ago is over. He grabs the black bag at the foot of the couch and walks it over to her. “Here, you left it over by the couch.”

She smiles with gratitude and shoulders the purse, turning away from his gaze as she heads for the door. 

She takes one step into the hallway and turns to him, unsure of what she's supposed to say. Should she address what almost happened on the couch, or would that get filed away with all of the other unspeakable somethings she swore were happening more and more frequently between them? She honestly doesn't know.

“So,” she starts slowly, pulling her jacket tight around her. “Thanks for dinner, Danny.”

He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "No problem. Glad I could give you your first real taste of Italian.”

“That was, hands down, the best meal I’ve ever had," She smiles and nudges his arm. "You surprised me, Castellano.”

He ducks his head and then looks at her, his eyes bright and...happy. They don't say anything for a moment, just stare, and Mindy feels her stomach turn in a not-totally-unpleasant way. Her frantic state from before is forgotten as she lingers by the doorway. 

“Okay,” she says, drawing out the goodbye for as long as possible. “I guess I’m leaving now.”

He crosses his arms and nods. “Do you want me to walk you to the train, or…?”

“No, that’s okay.” she says. Why aren’t her feet moving?

She decides that she can deal with Morgan later, because right now she doesn't want to leave. She doesn't want to put a stop to their night together, or pretend she didn't feel something back when they were sitting on the couch. She curls her foot in her shoe and struggles to form the words, I want to stay, so she just stares up at him and prays he'll say them for her. 

Instead, he just nods again, looking markedly less awkward than she feels. “Alright then….”

“Yep," she says quickly. Forget it. "I’m leaving.”

“See you Monday,” he nods.

She steps into the hallway and begins walking backwards, veeeeeery slowly, still facing him. “So.... I'll talk to you later.”

He points toward the elevator. “Elevator’s that way,” he says.

Mindy looks at it and sighs. “Yes, that is the elevator. Goodnight, Danny,” she says finally and turns to leave, for real this time.

She’s barely taken three full steps when Danny chuckles and says, “Mindy, wait,” before he strides down the hall, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. He places his hand on her cheek as his lips descend upon hers.

“Oh thank God,” she breathes with relief. She slips her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, forcing him to give her deeper entry into his mouth. His hands roam from her shoulders to her back and then down to her hips, as he backs her against a wall of the hallway, aligning them so they're embrace is even more intimate. 

“You really thought I was going to let you leave?” he asks, nipping at her bottom lip. 

She pulls her head back slightly and says, “Well, I don’t know, Danny. You have a very convincing poker face.”

***

Their lips meet as they stumble and try to make their way back to his apartment without losing contact. His shirt is already falling off his body as they close the door behind them, and he wastes no time in throwing her jacket on the floor and attacking the zipper of her dress. Mindy feels herself fall onto the couch, backwards and she thinks to herself that this should all feel so weird. But it doesn't, not even a little bit. 

He's leaning over her, pressing her into the couch as he pushes her dress down to her waist and begins kissing her neck. She's grateful she decided to wear her cute bra that night as his fingers work at undoing the clasps, letting it fall so he can kiss her breasts properly. She sighs in contentment, allowing her head to drop and hit the arm of the couch as she enjoys the feel of his tongue on her skin.

About a minute passes before she sits up and frowns. "Why are you still wearing pants?" she asks and then unbuttons them for him. He looks down and watches as she places a hand inside.

"Are you not wearing underwear, Danny?" she asks, looking at him in surprise.

He lifts a shoulder and grins at her lazily. "I like to be free when I'm at home," he says, and she bites her tongue and grabs his cock instead. 

He bends to kiss her as her fingers grip him, slipping over the the head and back, gripping him tighter as she feels him stiffen. He doesn't allow her to get too far, however, before he's separating himself from and grunting, "Condom," as he steps out of his pants and walks briskly to his bedroom. Mindy watches his ass as he leaves and admires the even better frontal view when he returns. 

He's holding a strip of foil packets in his hand as he bends down and kisses her with a furious sort of intensity, his tongue wrapping around hers as he presses every part of his body against hers. She shivers from the feeling of their naked skin touching and returns the kiss, gyrating under his grasp to press herself more fully against him. When he tears open a condom wrapper she stops him, taking it from his hand.

"Let me do it," she whispers and he nods wordlessly.

She sits up and look at him with hooded eyes, deciding to show off a bit by using her favorite Cosmo-inspired trick of putting a condom on with her mouth.

"Hey, Mindy, wait—," Danny says when he sees her hold the condom to her lips. 

"Shh, Danny, just watch. This is going to be hot," she assures him.

However, as soon as the condom touches her tongue she yelps and spits it out, clutching at her mouth.

“God, that is disgusting! Is that spermicide?” she asks, examining the foil package. She glares at him accusingly. "Danny!" 

"I tried to warn you!" 

"God," she tries to wipe tongue on her arm. "I try to be sexy and end up poisoned."

“It was the only kind they had!” he says, throwing his arms out in exasperation.

“So you go to another location!” Mindy shoots back. “These aren’t even more effective than regular ones, anyway.”

"Mindy."

She places a hand over her mouth. “I think my tongue is broken.”

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. He pulls her hand away and replaces it with his mouth. He kisses her and his tongue brushes hers as if he’s trying to massage the taste away. “Better?” he asks.

She nods and brings him back in.

Her hands run up his sides as he positions himself between her legs. She's backed into the corner of the couch as she watches him open a new condom wrapper and put it on quickly. She wraps her legs around his waist, and sighs when she feels him enter her.

He groans once he’s fully inside of her, and for a moment they just stare at each other without moving. He looks at her with an expression she can’t quite identify, wonder mixed with something else, and she feels slightly uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.

She moves her hips to knock him out of it, and he leans forward to kiss her, a simple closed-mouth kiss, and begins to slide in and out until he falls into a rhythm—a quick, hard thrust inside and a slow, tantalizing slide out. He keeps one hand pressed against the couch to help him keep his balance as the other massages her clit as he thrusts, and he leans forward and breathes harshly against her neck.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice sounding strained. “Mindy.”

She presses wet kisses on his neck and tugs on her breast. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to squirm against him and moan at the sensations. They continue like this for a while longer, until Mindy’s breathing hitches and she scratches his back as she tries to pull him deeper. Soon, she’s trembling underneath him, feeling the effects of an orgasm.

The whimper she makes as she comes sends Danny over the edge and he continues to deliver extremely long, hard thrusts, pausing a few seconds in between to maximize the effect. She kisses his wrist, still pressed against the couch, and whispers dirty nothings to help him along.

It works. She barely gets the words out before he completely lets go, burying his head in the crook of her neck as he does so. Neither of them move, they simply fill the room with the sound of their labored breathing.

They sit there in silence for what feels like years, each waiting for the other to speak. Mindy isn't certain of what her next move is supposed to be. What’s the protocol for sleeping with Danny Castellano? Does she get dressed and exit, catching the next train back to her apartment like a one-night stand making the walk of shame? Was this a one-night stand? Did Danny hate her now? She's unused to these feelings of insecurity after sex, so she closes her eyes and tries to distract herself from her nervousness. God, she hopes he doesn’t ask her to leave.

But when he finally untangles from her and lifts himself off the couch, she fears that’s exactly what he’s going to do. She braces herself and prepares to really let him have it, when he extends his hand and nods toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” he says, his voice raspy with a shy quality she’s never heard from him before. “Let’s go to bed.”

She starts to make a comment about the mess they’ve made, but decides against it. When she sees the gentleness in his eyes as he waits for her, patiently, Mindy has the strangest feeling that she’s about to cry. Instead, she swallows that feeling and places her palm in his as he helps her up, holding her hand while they silently make their way to the bedroom.

***

She wakes up at 6 a.m.

There's no moment of not knowing where she was, of being surprised to be waking up anywhere other than her bedroom. No, her subconscious can't even give her that. As soon as she's awake, she remembers. Everything. From the dinner, to the hand holding, to the sex.

She turns over on her side and covers her face with a pillow, trying not to scream. Jesus Christ, what had they done?! She’d just had sex with Danny, twice (they'd engaged in round 2 shortly after getting into bed), in the same night. Danny Castellano, the guy she’s always picking on, who sweats through a button down a day and starts every rant with "The Problem with Young People Today Is". That Danny Castellano. The guy she has come to consider to be one of her best friends.

Mindy privately acknowledges the truth in that last thought. She's not sure of when it happened, but she really does think of him as part of her tier of best friends. And, regardless of how good the sex is, she isn’t ready to throw away their friendship, nor is she eager to jump into a relationship with yet another coworker. Is that growth? she wonders.

This had been a mistake. An awesome, really good-with-its-mouth kind of mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. She has to put a stop to it.

She feels a hand on her breast and hears Danny murmur, “You’re thinking way too loudly for me to sleep.”

She frowns and turns to face him, “Okay, we have had this discussion before and I believe I proved that is impossible,” she says, and curses herself for leaning into his touch. She pokes his cheek, “Danny?”

His hand makes a trail leading from between her breasts to the spot between her legs.

“Danny,” she says again, but it comes out as more of a moan. Her hands instinctively reach out to grasp his shoulders as a finger begins to massage her.

She tries to stay above water. “Danny, we have to talk,” she finally gets out.

“I know,” he replies, as a finger slips inside of her. It’s soon followed by another as he lazily begins to finger her, both fingers sliding in slowly, and going slightly crooked on their way out. She squirms.

“We really should,” she tries again, but she finds it increasingly difficult to speak. “Oh my God.”

He pauses. “Do you want to stop?” He asks seriously, waiting for her response. “Because I’ll stop and we can talk, or whatever.”

She hears the sincerity in his voice and Mindy can’t decide who she hates more: him or herself. So, she slides her arms around his neck and whispers, “Shut up, Danny,” before bringing him in for a kiss.

His fingers pick up the pace as their kiss deepens, their lips melding together so that she barely knows where she ends and he begins. He soon rolls on top of her, his kisses trailing from her jaw, between her breasts, and down her stomach, his hands holding and caressing her sides as if her skin were made of precious jewels. He spends some time massaging the space around her bellybutton with his lips, which Mindy hates, but also kind of loves, and finally settles his lips between her, placing light kisses on the side of her thighs.

It's definitely a mistake, Mindy knows, and they are sure to regret it later.

But as his mouth closes over the most intimate part of her, she figures she’s okay with making one more.