If We Ever Meet Again

by Ana Huang

  Farrah’s jaw dropped. The words sounded harsh to Blake’s own ears, but they needed to be said.

  “That’s not living.” Farrah jabbed her finger at the jumping platform. “That’s dying. If I jump off that platform, I’ll die.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit!”

  “Farrah, think of everyone that’s jumped tonight and survived. Fuck, even Luke did it, and he weighs three times more than you do. If he can’t break that rope, no one can.” Blake’s eyes twinkled. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not that special.”

  “Ha ha.” Farrah’s expression lightened before it tensed again. “I’m still not doing it. Even if the rope doesn’t break, I’ll have a heart attack in midair.”

  “Ok.” Blake released her. “We’re not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you’re really uncomfortable with the idea, you can leave, and no one will judge you for it. But before you do, look around and tell me what you see.”

  She did. Blake followed her gaze and took in their surroundings. They stood atop the Macau Tower, home to the world’s highest bungee jump. Beneath them, the city’s lights and sprawling casino hotels glittered like a carpet of fallen stars.

  “I see Macau?”

  “You see Macau, I see a choice.” Six months ago, Blake would’ve punched himself in the face if he heard these words coming out of his mouth. He sounded like a damn self-help book. But this wasn’t about him; this was about Farrah. “You can either stay in your comfort zone or do something that makes your heart goddamn race. One’s safe. The other is scary as hell. You know where the safe path takes you—but it only takes you that far. The scary path? No one knows. It could be awful. Or it could be the best decision you’ll ever make.”

  Blake got so caught up in his speech, he forgot whether they were talking about the bungee jump or something else.

  Damn, I should be a motivational speaker.

  Farrah’s eyes swam with uncertainty. “I—” She looked around once more. “I’m really scared.”

  “You should be. So am I. But think of how good it will feel after you do it. Bungee jump: $500. Facing your fears: priceless.”

  Farrah’s laughter was music to Blake’s ears. She loosened her grip on her necklace. “You are such a cheese ball.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with cheese. It’s delicious.” Blake’s face softened. “How about this? If you don’t jump, I won’t either.”

  Her eyes grew round. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. What are friends for?” Blake smiled a crooked smile. “Second option: if you jump, I’ll jump first. I’ll catch you if you fall. Not that you will,” he added quickly.

  A slideshow of emotions played out across Farrah’s face. Fear, nervousness, and ultimately, determination. “No,” she said. “I’ll go first. I need you here for moral support.”

  Blake grinned. “You got it.”

  He flagged down the operator. Good thing Kris reserved the entire hour for them. Otherwise, the staff would’ve kicked them out a long time ago.

  “If I die, it’s your fault,” Farrah said while the operator checked her harness to make sure it was tight enough and buckled correctly.

  “Noted.” Without thinking, Blake reached out and squeezed her hand. The touch of her skin against his sent his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with their impending jump off a 70-story tower. “You’ll be ok. I’ll buy you a drink after we’re done.”

  “Ready?” the operator asked.

  Farrah took a deep breath. Her skin had a faint green tint. “No.” She took her position on the jumping platform and looked over her shoulder at Blake. “Make that drink a double.”

  “Done.”

  Farrah faced forward. Blake held his breath, his heart pounding in triple time. She hesitated, and for a second he thought she was going to back out again. But she took the leap, and her scream echoed in the cold night air. He could pinpoint the moment the rebound happened because he heard another scream—fainter this time—and then…silence.

  A grin spread across Blake’s face. Damn, she did it. She really did it.

  A wave of pride flooded him.

  “You’re up.” The operator beckoned to Blake.

  After he passed the safety check, Blake took Farrah’s spot on the jumping platform and looked down. 764 feet was a long way to fall.

  “Ready?” The operator and an assistant grasped the back of Blake’s harness.

  He nodded.

  They let go.

  Blake pictured Farrah’s face. If she could do this, so could he.

  Fuck it.

  He was in Macau. He was on top of the world. It was now or never.

  Blake closed his eyes and took the fall.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Farrah didn’t die. On the contrary, she’d never felt more alive.

  She grabbed Kris’s hand and spun her around, her skin buzzing with energy. She couldn’t stop smiling. She was on top of the freakin’ world.

  “Thank you for this!” she shouted over the music.

  The idea Kris had during her retail therapy session turned out to be a humongous idea—an all-expenses paid trip to Macau for Courtney’s birthday weekend. The bungee jump packages alone cost $4,500 for the group. That wasn’t counting the flights, meals, drinks, suites at a five-star hotel, and various other activities. The total bill must run in the five figures.

  Farrah couldn’t fathom any parent being ok with their kid dropping that much money in one weekend, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was too happy, too buzzed, too…everything.

  “Any time. I love Macau!” Kris shouted back. Her eyes glowed with a mixture of triumph, defiance, and satisfaction. “And Daddy’s going to freak when he sees next month’s credit card bill. I can’t wait! He’ll finally understand how upset I am about Gloria.”

  So the redhead had a name.

  The music transitioned from the down-tempo, hypnotic beats of EDM to a sultrier club remix of the latest R&B hit. Farrah smiled when she saw Courtney and Leo making out in the corner. Guess her talk with him worked.

  Courtney’s birthday fell a day before Halloween, and she insisted on wearing a costume-esque outfit. Her gold flapper dress glittered like a ray of sunlight in the dark nightclub.

  Farrah’s gaze flitted around the club and landed on Blake, who was drinking with Luke at the bar. In the club’s dim reddish lighting, he looked like sin and temptation rolled into one. Blake turned his head to say something to Luke, and the move threw his profile into sharp relief—the sculpted cheekbones, the high straight nose, the strong jaw. How was it possible for someone’s face to be that perfect? It wasn’t fair.

  Yet when Farrah looked at him, she didn’t think about how Blake resembled a Greek god. Ok, she thought about it a little, but all she could focus on was the way he’d held her at the top of the Macau Tower. The warmth that rolled through her when he offered to skip the jump with her. How he made her feel like she could conquer her biggest physical fear—and she had.

  “You’ve got it bad.”

  “What?” Farrah asked, distracted. Blake laughed at something Luke said. The butterflies in her stomach performed a somersault that would make Simone Biles proud.

  “You have a crush on Blake,” Kris sang.

  Farrah whipped around to face her friend. She flushed crimson. “I do not.”

  “Please. I recognize that look. You totally want to jump Blake’s bones.”

  “Shh!” Farrah glanced back at the bar. Blake remained deep in conversation with Luke. “Do you want everyone to hear you?”

  “No one can hear shit. It’s loud in here.”

  “He can hear you!” Farrah gestured at Nardo.

  “Thanks for realizing I’m here,” he said sardonically. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. A girl liking Blake Ryan is hardly news. Guys like that always have a line of girls waiting to get with them.” Nardo sniffed. “It’s an uninspired
choice, really.”

  “Thank you for your unsolicited opinion.” Kris pushed Farrah toward the bar. “Ask him to dance.”

  “I don’t think so.” So much for her earlier I-can-conquer-the-world high.

  Farrah didn’t make the first move. Ever. The thought of rejection and the accompanying humiliation was too much to bear.

  “Why not? You like him, don’t you?”

  “That’s not the point. I can’t just go up there and ask him.”

  “Honey, it’s the twenty-first century. Girls can make the first move.”

  “What if he says no?”

  “Then he’s an idiot. You’re hot!”

  “Ok, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “Farrah Lin, if you make one more excuse, I’m going to shove my foot up your ass. Go!”

  Ok. She could do this. She was asking Blake to dance, not to marry her.

  Farrah forced herself to walk to the bar. Her stomach cramped harder with every step.

  Luke noticed her first. “Sup?”

  “Sup. I mean, hi.” Nice.

  Blake’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “I see you’re here to claim your drink.”

  “What? Oh, my drink!” Right. The post-jump drink he’d promised her. “That’s why I’m here,” Farrah said, relieved to have an excuse.

  “How does a double tequila shot sound?”

  It sounded terrible, but she needed liquid courage. “Perfect.”

  As Blake placed the order, Farrah worked on taming her nerves. She jumped off a fucking tower tonight, for Pete’s sake. She shouldn’t be this nervous over a simple dance.

  “I need to pee before I drink more tequila,” Luke announced.

  Farrah eyed the yellowish-brown liquid in her shot glass and wrinkled her nose.

  “Uh, thanks for letting us know.” Blake clapped Luke on the shoulder. “Go do your thing, man.”

  “Peace.” Luke threw up the peace sign and ambled off. He was so tall he towered over everyone else in the club.

  “He’s so gone,” Farrah said.

  “Oh yeah, he’s done. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t puke all over our bathroom tonight.” Blake sprinkled salt on the skin between his thumb and forefinger and handed the shaker to her.

  She did the same.

  “To conquering fears.”

  “To conquering fears.” Farrah clinked her glass against Blake’s and downed the tequila. She grimaced and bit into her lime wedge, letting the sour fruit balance the flavor of the alcohol burning its way down her throat.

  God, tequila shots were gross. On the bright side, it didn’t take long for her buzz to return and smooth her frayed nerves.

  This was it. Time to ask him. “Who’s the girl?”

  Wait. That wasn’t the right question.

  Blake tilted his head. “What girl?”

  “The girl I saw coming out of your room the night we went to Moller Villa.” Farrah had avoided asking or thinking about Mystery Girl since that night, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about her. It didn’t take a genius to realize what Blake and Mystery Girl had been up to.

  Was it a onetime thing, or was he still seeing her?

  Farrah fought the urge to dry heave. Yep, the post-jump high was 100% gone.

  Discomfort filled Blake’s face. “She’s a girl I was seeing.”

  “Seeing,” meaning more than once.

  “Was,” as in past tense.

  “Oh.” Farrah fiddled with her empty glass. “What’s her name?”

  “Mina.”

  “She’s really pretty.”

  The discomfort deepened. “I guess.”

  “Are you still seeing her?”

  “She’s leaving Shanghai next week. I might say goodbye.”

  “Wow, that’s romantic.” It came out more sarcastic than she intended. What was wrong with her?

  Farrah’s head swam. The tequila shot was not a good idea.

  Blake scowled. “Ours isn’t a romantic relationship. We knew going in that it was going to be purely physical. I know that’s hard for you to understand—”

  “Wow.” Farrah sucked in a breath. “Why is it hard for me to understand? Because I’m a virgin? That doesn’t mean I grew up in a nunnery, Blake. I know what hookup buddies are.”

  “No! You’re taking this the wrong way.” Blake raked a hand through his hair, his face taut with frustration. “I meant you’re a romantic. You said it yourself. You believe in The One and epic love and all that. I don’t. That’s not what I came here for.”

  He was right. He’d said it all along. Blake didn’t believe in love. Farrah was a fool to forget that. She’d been so caught up in her daydreams she ignored what was right in front of her and read too much into every glance, every word, every action. When Blake took her to dinner and gave her that pep talk on the tower, it wasn’t because he liked her. He was just being a good friend.

  Good friends had their place, but Farrah was sick of falling for guys she couldn’t have. They were always either emotionally unavailable, like Blake, or literally unavailable, like Leo.

  She needed to stop living in the clouds and return to reality.

  “Maybe it’s not what I came here for either.” Farrah grabbed the drink nearest to her and chugged it. Vodka. Blech.

  “Hey!” the owner of the drink protested.

  The buzz intensified. Her heart beat fast with adrenaline.

  “I can have casual hookups,” Farrah said. “I’ll prove it.”

  Blake’s brow knit into a frown. “Farrah…” His voice carried a warning.

  Farrah ignored it. She grabbed the drink owner’s shirt. He was young. Decent-looking. He’ll do. “You. Are you single?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Good. Let’s dance.”

  Farrah dragged him onto the dance floor without sparing Blake another glance. She bypassed her surprised friends and wrapped her arms around the guy’s neck.

  The music segued into another, even sexier R&B song. Farrah ground her hips against Drink Guy’s, gyrating to the beat of the music. He was wearing too much cologne, and his breath smelled like cheap vodka.

  Luckily, she was drunk enough to overlook both of those things.

  Fuck Blake. Farrah wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d find him during study abroad. Her mistake was tunnel vision—focusing on one guy she liked and ignoring the rest of her options.

  It was time to give other guys a chance. She didn’t need butterflies and skipped heartbeats to have a good time.

  “Wow.” Drink Guy’s eyes glazed over. “I’m so glad you took my drink. I’m Greg.”

  “Greg, I’m Farrah. Now shut up.”

  “Ok.” A minute passed. “So, where are you from?”

  Farrah groaned. Instead of answering, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. That’ll shut him up.

  Greg wasn’t a great kisser, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. His lips moved eagerly over hers, and his hands cupped her bottom—

  Greg was gone.

  Farrah frowned. Her eyes fluttered open to see Blake towering over them with a face like thunder. He gripped Greg’s shoulder so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “You’ve made your point.” His voice was calm but edged in steel. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I’m not making a point. I’m making out.” Farrah giggled at her play on words. “Now let him go so we can continue making out.”

  “Yeah, man, you’re hurting me,” Greg complained. He tried to twist out of Blake’s grasp.

  Blake clamped down harder. “I’ll give you to the count of three before I rearrange your face,” he said, still in that deadly calm voice.

  Greg looked at Blake, then at Farrah, then at Blake again. He held up his hands. “Don’t need to shoot me twice.”

  He scampered off.

  Pussy.

  “Look what you did. Happy now?” The room tilted to the right. Farrah shook her head until it corre
cted itself.

  “Not even a little bit. You’re drunk.”

  “No shit. We’re in a bar.”

  “That guy had his hands all over you!”

  “So? If I didn’t want his hands all over me, I would’ve taken care of it myself.” Farrah shoved Blake’s chest, her buzz giving way to anger. Blake didn’t budge. It was like trying to shove a tree. One with stupid dimples and stupid blue eyes the color of crystals. Only now, the dimples were nowhere to be seen, and his eyes had darkened to a furious shade of sapphire. “You had no right to scare him away like that.”

  “I was trying to help you!”

  “I don’t need your help!”

  “Guys.” Sammy stepped in between them. Olivia must’ve put him up to it because he looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. “Let’s take it down a notch. Why don’t we—”

  “Shut up, Sammy,” Farrah and Blake said in unison.

  “Yeah, ok.” Sammy returned to where Olivia stood with the rest of their friends. She glared at him. “What? I tried.”

  “We’ll discuss this outside,” Blake said through gritted teeth. “Everyone’s staring.”

  He was right. A crowd had formed, and people were watching the drama play out with wide eyes. She half expected one of them to bust out a bucket of popcorn.

  “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “Farrah, please.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. She followed Blake out of the VIP room to the exit. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Maybe the fresh air would do her some good.

  “No re-entry after you leave,” the bouncer warned.

  “VIP.” Farrah flashed her purple wristband as proof.

  The bouncer squinted at it and nodded.

  There was no one near the exit except for a handful of cabbies smoking and chatting by their cars. Farrah gulped in a breath of fresh air.

  Blake faced her. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “Neither are you. You’re acting like a dick.”

  “I’m acting like a dick? You chewed me out for trying to help you!”

  “I told you I don’t need your help.”

  Blake’s nostrils flared. “Fine. My bad. Go make out with that guy. In fact, go have wild monkey sex and swing from the chandeliers. See if I care.”