If We Ever Meet Again

by Ana Huang

  Blake picked up the pizza photo and chuckled. “This is a great picture.”

  “It was a great day.” Spring break last year. While their friends partied it up in Cancun and Panama City, Farrah and Maggie escaped to Italy. It was Maggie’s idea—she was a classics major and obsessed with all things Greek and Italian. It turned out to be the best decision Farrah ever made.

  Well, second best.

  It was weird. Italy felt like a lifetime ago. Farrah kept in touch with Maggie, but the Greek life drama and campus shenanigans Maggie complained about might as well be from another world.

  After a year abroad, junior year was going to be a major adjustment.

  Farrah pushed the thought out of her mind. She wasn’t going to think about next year, not when she had Blake here and an entire semester of FEA left.

  “Come here.” Blake sat on the edge of her bed and patted his lap.

  She curled up in his embrace, soaking up the familiarity like it was a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a windowless room for weeks.

  “Tell me about your break.” The deep timbre of his voice caused her to shiver with happiness.

  “It was good. I ate a lot. Caught up with friends. The usual. I told you everything exciting that happened.” Skype wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person, but it was better than nothing. “Except for one thing.”

  “Really?” Blake’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “What is it?”

  “I’ll show you.” Farrah fished her sketchbook from her nightstand drawer at the same time. She flipped it open to her final design concept for the IDAA contest. “I finished this over winter break and submitted my portfolio last week.” Her pulse raced with nerves. “That’s it. It’s out of my hands.”

  “Holy shit,” Blake breathed. He brushed his fingers over the sketch. “Farrah, this is incredible.”

  After agonizing over the third design for months, Farrah woke up in the middle of the night with a crystal-clear vision of what she wanted to do. She started sketching and didn’t stop until she finished the entire thing, afraid to pause lest the inspiration leave her.

  “Thanks.” Farrah struggled to contain her grin. “I’m really proud of it.”

  She didn’t bother trying to be humble, because she was proud of her work. It was one of her favorite designs, bar none.

  Farrah scrapped her earlier traditional hotel suite idea and shifted to island villa theme that leaned on natural colors, flowy fabrics, and open spaces: soft, billowing curtains around the bed and draped across the ceiling; an open-air living room with an organic-shaped wood coffee table and natural fiber furniture; indigenous artwork and aqua accents that picked up on the pale blues of the sea.

  Interior design isn’t about how a space looks; it’s about how it makes you feel. Farrah’s villa may not exist in real life, but just looking at the sketch evoked a sense of freedom, adventure, and happiness.

  Hopefully, the NIDA judges agreed.

  “I wish we were there right now.” Blake brushed his fingers over the sketch. “Just the two of us on a secluded island, where nothing can touch us.”

  “Maybe one day.” Farrah’s stomach fluttered. “Do you think I can win?”

  “Are you kidding?” Blake brushed his lips over hers. “I’m no design expert, but I can tell this is something special. You will win. It’s not a question.”

  She smiled at his confidence. “You should’ve been a cheerleader instead of a football player.”

  Blake broke into laughter. “You’re right. I messed up.”

  “Anyway, enough about me. How was Austin?”

  “Fine.” He hesitated. “I have news too. I found an investor for the bar.”

  Farrah’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s amazing! Who? How? Tell me everything!”

  He chuckled at her giddiness. “Don’t get too excited. It’s my buddy Landon, so it’s not like I convinced a big-time businessman I don’t know to invest. His family is huge in the hospitality world, and he came into half his trust when he turned twenty-one. He’s trying to show his mom he knows what he’s doing, so we’re going halves on the bar.” Blake grinned. “Plus he’s a great friend.”

  “That’s still incredible.” Farrah couldn’t contain her excitement. She witnessed firsthand how hard Blake worked these past few months. She’d read his business plan. She saw the way his eyes lit up when he talked about the bar. His venture was going to be a success. She was sure of it. “I’m so proud of you. Your family must be too.”

  “I guess. My sister is. My mom’s coming around. My dad is skeptical. He thinks the only thing I’m good at is football.” Despite his casual tone, Farrah detected the hurt beneath his words.

  Anger flashed through her. She’d never met Joe Ryan, but she was going to give that man a piece of her mind when she saw him. “Fuck your dad. He’s trying to sabotage your dreams before you even get them off the ground, and I am. Not. Here. For. It.”

  Blake’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

  “I’m serious!” She pounded the mattress with her fist. “Don’t let him do that to you.”

  “I don’t want to complain too much.” Blake rubbed his thumb over her locket. “I know I’m lucky my dad is still around.”

  Her anger melted away, replaced by an ache in her heart. God, she loved this boy. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. My relationship with my father was different. I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to mend fences with your dad; he is still your dad. But do not let him discourage you. You’re capable of great things, Blake Ryan. Don’t forget that.”

  Blake’s eyes darkened with emotion. “I don’t deserve you. You know that?” He pulled her in tight and rested his cheek on top of her head.

  Farrah closed her eyes, soaking in the warm strength of his embrace. “I know.”

  “I love you.” There was a strange undercurrent in his voice, a shakiness that was not like Blake.

  Old Farrah would’ve latched onto that minute detail and overanalyzed the heck out of it, but New Farrah convinced herself it was her imagination.

  FEA was in session again, the group was reunited, and she and Blake were back together. It was going to be an amazing semester, and she wasn’t going to waste it worrying about demons that didn’t exist.

  “I love you too.”

  Their lips met in a tender promise. Blake felt the same, smelled the same, and tasted the same—like rich, dark chocolate. Like sin and desire. Like the stars and dreams. He tasted like Blake.

  Her Blake.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blake felt like shit.

  He woke up with cottonmouth and a granddaddy of a hangover. Gatorade and a carb-filled breakfast helped with the physical symptoms, but he still felt like shit, and it had nothing to do with drinking too much yesterday.

  The urge to regurgitate that morning’s jianbing forced him to clamp his mouth shut until it passed, yet his stomach remained queasy.

  “Whose bright idea was it to come here after last night?” Luke flinched when the steel drummers banged their instruments.

  The sound pierced through Blake’s head like a drill through drywall.

  “It’s the New Year, Luke! Cheer up.” Courtney swung Leo’s hand back and forth, giddy as a schoolgirl.

  “New Year’s was weeks ago.”

  “This is the Lunar New Year. Don’t be so American.”

  Luke became grumpier. “I am American. A hungover American.”

  “You’re free to go back to the dorm any time you want.”

  He fell silent.

  The group wandered through the crowded pathways of Yuyuan Garden. Everyone and their mother (and father and grandparents and siblings) were out in full force for the Garden’s annual Spring Lantern Festival.

  Lanterns of various sizes, colors, and shapes hung from every imaginable perch—roofs, ceilings, doorways, balconies. Massive pig-themed installations served as an ode to the Year of the Pig and dazzled viewer
s with their sheer size and intricacy. There were activities for all kinds of attendees—lion and dragon dances for the entertainment-minded, lantern riddles for the intellectually oriented, and traditional New Year sweets for the culinary-obsessed.

  Blake tightened his grip on Farrah’s hand. It was his rock, the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a puddle of regret on the ground.

  God, I’m an asshole.

  “How are you feeling?” Farrah sidestepped an adorable toddler who was staring up at one of the pig installations in awe. Her mouth curved into a small smile before she turned to Blake, and her brow wrinkled with concern. “We can go back to FEA if this is too much.”

  “No, it’s New Year’s. Besides, you want to see the fireworks.”

  “I’ve seen fireworks before.”

  “Really, I’m ok. I feel much better.” Blake squeezed her hand again, this time in reassurance.

  “Ok. But if you don’t feel well, tell me.”

  “Yes, mom.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Don’t call me that. It’s creepy.”

  He laughed. Some tension eased. The rest remained—a lead ball of worry, self-loathing, and guilt that had plagued him for weeks.

  His mind flashed back to Landon’s New Year’s party over winter break. It did that a lot these days.

  Blake should’ve known better than to drink that much when Cleo was there. Granted, Blake could usually hold his alcohol. Until last month, he’d blacked out only once, when he was a college freshman trying to keep up with his older teammates at his first frat party. The morning after the party, he woke up in the bathtub with penises drawn all over his face in black Sharpie. It was embarrassing and a bitch to get the marker off, but harmless.

  Waking up naked in a hotel bedroom with no recollection of the previous night while Cleo waltzed out of the shower? Far less harmless.

  The urge to throw up rose again. Blake drew in a deep, shaky breath. He couldn’t think with all the noise and commotion around him.

  That was probably a good thing.

  The group paused to watch one of the lion dances. The massive costumes were decorated in bright red and gold, the luckiest colors in the Chinese culture. Red for joy and good fortune, gold for fulfillment and good luck. There were two performers per lion—one to manipulate the head and one the tail. Their agility and coordination would make Blake’s old football coach drool.

  Despite their heavy costume, the dancers twisted and turned and jumped from pole to pole with nary a stumble. The audience’s gasps and applause drowned out the drums and cymbals in the background when the performers somersaulted off the 20-foot-poles and nailed a rock-solid landing.

  Blake watched without watching. Any other time he’d be right there with his friends, cheering the dancers on, but he couldn’t shake what happened on New Year’s—the American New Year’s—out of his mind.

  Blake downed his drink and took in his surroundings. The Zinterhofers’ duplex occupied the top two floors of their flagship hotel in downtown Austin. Blake had been here more times than he could count, but its magnificence never failed to impress. With its polished wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and panoramic views of the city skyline, the penthouse was a far cry from the Ryans’ comfortable but modest home in the Austin suburbs.

  Blake swept his gaze over the attendees. It was an eclectic mix of their high school friends and the Zinterhofers’ rich associates. Landon was in the corner, speaking with an older woman in a tight gown that showed off an abundance of cleavage. She touched his arm and laughed too loudly at something he said.

  Cougar central.

  Blake set his empty glass on the bar and moved to rescue Landon from the cougar’s grasp. He made it two steps when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Hey, Blake.”

  His throat went dry. He turned. “Hey, Cleo.”

  The two childhood friends stared at each other. It was their first time speaking since their breakup. He’d avoided her all night—damn Joy for bringing her—but seeing her there right in front of him made Blake’s chest hurt. Their romantic relationship may not have worked out, but Cleo was a huge part of his life. They’d been friends since they could walk.

  He hadn’t realized how much he missed her as a friend until now.

  “It’s good to see you.” Blake ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “You look great.”

  Cleo’s green dress matched the color of her eyes. Her skin gleamed beneath the lights and her hair fell in glossy dark curls past her shoulders. In fact, he noticed several guys checking her out from the corner of his eye.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  Cleo cleared her throat. “How’s Shanghai?”

  “It’s great!” Blake winced. That came out more enthusiastic than he’d intended. “Different, but…”

  “Yeah.”

  Another pause.

  He couldn’t take it anymore. If he had to dance around the elephant in the room one more time, he’d scream.

  It was time to man up and look that damn elephant in the eye.

  “I’m sorry about the way I handled things before I left,” Blake said. “And for being MIA since then.”

  “You’ve been busy.” Cleo fiddled with her clutch. “I hear you’re dating someone in Shanghai.”

  His jaw tightened. I am going to kill Joy.

  “I am.” This conversation was getting worse by the minute. “Cleo, I care about you. You’re one of my oldest friends. But we never worked as a couple. We both know that.”

  Cleo’s cheeks paled. Her eyes swirled with a mix of sadness, resignation, and—panic? No. That didn’t make sense.

  “I know.” Her smile looked forced. “I don’t blame you. You’re a good person, Blake, and it was good while it lasted.”

  Relief fizzled through him. “Yeah, it was.”

  “Why don’t we start over? Put everything behind us and toast to our friendship.” Cleo waved down the bartender. “Two shots of tequila,” she ordered.

  Blake’s eyebrows shot up. Cleo rarely drank, and she hated tequila.

  Nevertheless, his relief outweighed his surprise. He could tell Cleo wasn’t 100% over their breakup, but at least she was willing to try. She could have her pick of guys. She’d eventually move on, which meant his family would have to move on.

  A two-ton boulder eased off his shoulders.

  “Here’s to friendship.” Cleo raised her shot glass.

  “To friendship.” Blake clinked his glass against hers and knocked back the drink. He laughed at Cleo’s grimace. “We could’ve had something other than tequila.”

  “It’s fine.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s do another one. For old times’ sake.”

  “Maybe we should pace ourselves.” His suggestion was as much for his own benefit as it was for Cleo’s. He should’ve eaten dinner before the party, but he lost track of time Skyping with Farrah. Now, his stomach turned at the thought of another shot.

  Cleo clucked her tongue. “Shanghai has made you soft.”

  Oh, hell no.

  “Soft?” Blake narrowed his eyes. Yeah, his head was starting to spin, but his reputation was at stake here. “Soft, my ass.” He turned to the bartender. “Another round of shots. Make ‘em double.”

  The lion dance ended to enthusiastic applause from the crowd.

  “That was cool.” Luke yawned. “Let’s get food. I’m hungry.”

  “We literally ate like half an hour ago,” Kris snapped.

  “We don’t have to get a full meal, just snacks,” Luke said in a conciliatory voice.

  Blake expected the rest of the group to walk on eggshells around Kris, but Luke? That was a shocker.

  They pushed their way through the crowd toward the vendors selling Spring Festival snacks such as steamed niangao cakes, glutinous rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves, and various sweets.

  Blake followed Farrah through the crowds,
too lost in his thoughts to navigate on his own.

  Blake cracked his eyes open.

  That was a mistake.

  The sunlight pierced his retinas like lasers and intensified the pounding in his head. He slammed his eyes shut.

  A raspy groan filled the room. It took him a minute to realize it came from him.

  Where the hell was he? What day was it?

  Blake tried to piece together the events of last night, but all he could remember was arriving at Landon’s party, drinking, arguing with Joy, drinking, talking to Cleo, drinking, and…that was it. He couldn’t remember the fireworks or what he did when the clock struck midnight.

  Blake groaned again. He turned on his side so he faced away from the windows and tried opening his eyes again. Better. Sort of.

  “I am never drinking alcohol again,” he muttered.

  “That’s what you always say.”

  Blake jerked his head up and looked over his shoulder. The bright light hit him in full force, but it was nothing compared to the dread that slammed into his body when his eyes confirmed what his brain knew.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Cleo stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Her damp hair fell past her shoulders in tight curls. A towel wrapped around her body, barely large enough to cover the necessary bits.

  “What are you doing here?” Blake’s eyes adjusted to the light, and he realized he was in one of the Zinterhofers’ suites. They always set aside a few rooms for guests who were too intoxicated to drive home after one of their New Year’s parties.