by Ana Huang
Nardo Crescas clucked his tongue. “Farrah. Come on.”
“I’m trying to help,” she whispered. “It’s about time Sammy and Olivia got over their little feud, don’t you think?”
“A feud is defined as a ‘prolonged and bitter quarrel or dispute.’ Therefore, ‘little feud’ is an oxymoron.”
Courtney snorted while Farrah rubbed her temple. Some things never changed.
Nardo, Sammy’s best friend from college and another member of their study abroad group, wasn’t as scrawny as he used to be, and he seemed a smidge less uptight, but he still talked like he was trying out for the role of Human Encyclopedia. Farrah wondered if everyone at his job talked like that. Nardo was an economist at the Department of Treasury, and he wore the unofficial straight-man-in-Washington-D.C. uniform: khakis paired with a gingham button-down. Bonus points for the oh-so-intellectual, black-framed glasses.
While everyone else had already been in New York, Nardo drove up from D.C. yesterday to celebrate Sammy’s pop-up bakery opening, which had been a smash success. Crumble & Bake was the hottest new thing in town, and Farrah couldn’t be happier for her friend.
By sheer luck, Sammy’s opening coincided with Kris and Courtney’s visit, and he’d decided to host an FEA reunion/pre-July Fourth barbecue at his Brooklyn brownstone rental. Luke was in Wisconsin and Leo was on a book tour in Europe, but otherwise, everyone in their Shanghai circle was present and accounted for.
Including Blake.
Farrah’s mouth dried when he stepped into the backyard, a god among mortals with his golden hair and sinful body. Memories of what she’d done to said body that morning before they arrived at Sammy’s house flooded her mind, and her face turned the color of Olivia’s watermelon juice.
“Sam, the ice is in the kitchen,” Blake said, clapping his friend on the back. He’d volunteered to run to the corner store for more ice earlier.
“Thanks, man.” Sammy nodded.
Blake slid into the empty seat next to Farrah at the picnic table. “Hey.” His dimples flashed.
“Hey.” The velvety tips of butterfly wings brushed Farrah’s heart.
She was treading dangerous waters. Her arrangement with Blake was the stupidest thing she could’ve agreed to since he’d made it clear what he wanted: her. All of her.
And if she wasn’t careful, she might just give it to him.
Sex aside, Farrah had forgotten how easy it was to talk to Blake. How safe he made her feel. How hard he made her laugh. All the things that made her fall in love with him the first time around had the potential to do so again, maybe even more, because she’d realized her feelings for him were the exception, not the rule. He was the only guy who could turn her inside out with one smile.
She didn’t trust him, not completely. But he was inching his way deeper past her defenses, and one day, she’d have to decide whether to wave the white flag or go out in a blaze of glory.
One day. Not today.
“What are you doing after this?” Blake ran one warm, rough hand up her thigh, and her core wept in response.
They’d had enough sex to repopulate an army this past week. You’d think her body would be all tapped out, but no, she was soaking wet in the middle of a barbecue with her friends.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to say ‘you,’” Farrah whispered, tightening the leash on her self-control.
Blake chuckled, his gaze gleaming with lazy male satisfaction. “I see someone has sex on their mind,” he drawled. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hit up the Brooklyn Botanic Garden—there’s a special night exhibit running there through the end of the month—but I’m down for something kinky too.” He paused. “We could do something kinky in the garden. That’ll spice things up.” His fingers hit the edge of her panties beneath the table.
Farrah swallowed and glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Kris and Nate were laughing at something on his phone, Courtney and Nardo were arguing about Black Mirror, and Sammy and Olivia were busy ignoring each other.
“We are not getting kinky in a garden.” She grasped his hand and placed it back in his lap. Her hand brushed his impressive hard-on, and molten lava spilled into her lower belly. “And what do you mean, spice things up? Bored already?”
Blake’s eyes glittered like pristine glacial lakes in the sun. “Never.”
A thick rope of unspoken words stretched between them.
Farrah faked a cough, cutting the cord. “You’re not the garden type. Besides, this sounds like a date.” Dates weren’t part of the deal. They weren’t not part of the deal, but she was too afraid to go down that path yet.
Blake shrugged. “Heard about it from Landon, thought it sounded interesting. Besides, you like gardens, and it’s not a date.”
“It’s not.” Skepticism turned what would’ve been a question into a statement.
“Nope. If it were a date, I’d bring you flowers, not bring you to flowers.”
Farrah burst into laughter, and the grin on Blake’s face widened.
“Here.” Olivia plunked a burger in front of Farrah, interrupting her mirth. “Be grateful I didn’t spit in it.” She frowned at the man sitting next to her roommate. “Blake.”
“Liv.”
Farrah had told her friends about her arrangement with Blake because she didn’t need the added stress of more secrets. Sammy had been thrilled, Kris indifferent, Courtney excited, and Olivia upset. She was the closest to Farrah and, therefore, the most protective. Not to mention, the girl had a memory like a steel trap. Time had smoothed the animosity Kris and Courtney held toward Blake, but Olivia remembered it well. She’d been wary, even after Farrah explained the real reason Blake broke up with her.
Nardo’s eyebrows rose when he saw Blake and Farrah together at Sammy’s opening, but he hadn’t said anything, so Farrah mentally lumped him in the “indifferent” camp.
A doorbell rang deep in the house.
“I’ll get it,” Sammy said. “Nardo, you mind taking over for me real quick?”
“No problem.” Nardo cast a strange look in Olivia’s direction while Sammy went to answer the door.
“Just so you know,” Olivia told Blake. “If you hurt Farrah again, I’ll string you up by your balls and drop you in the middle of an ax-throwing competition.”
Blake’s smile didn’t budge. “Noted. Bonus points for creativity. Your Yale degree is wasted on finance instead of screenwriting.”
Farrah couldn’t resist another laugh as Olivia huffed at Blake’s blasé response.
“I mean it.” Olivia poked a finger at Blake’s chest. “Orgasms only. No heartbreak allowed.”
This time, Blake was the one who laughed while Farrah blanched in horror.
“Liv!”
“Don’t worry,” Blake said, draping an arm over Farrah’s shoulder. “Orgasms are a guarantee, and heartbreak is not on the menu.”
“Who’s guaranteeing orgasms?” Courtney butted into their conversation.
Before anyone could answer, Kris let loose an expletive. “Who the fuck is that?”
Their heads swiveled toward the entrance to the house. Sammy had returned…with a gorgeous, leggy blonde in tow. The mystery woman had a face that could put Charlize Theron to shame, and she wore a stylish red jumpsuit that Farrah recognized from the latest issue of Mode de Vie.
“Hi, Nardo,” the blonde lilted.
“Hey, Jess.” Nardo cast another wary glance at Olivia, who was frowning at the newcomer.
Sammy cleared his throat. “Guys, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Jessica. Jess, this is everyone.” He introduced the group, tripping over Olivia’s name.
Silence greeted his announcement.
Shock slid through Farrah’s veins. Girlfriend? Sammy hadn’t so much as hinted at a girlfriend before today.
Nate was the first to speak. “Nice to meet you, Jessica. I’m Nate.” He reintroduced himself even though he was the last person who needed a reintroduction.
Jessica smiled. “I know who you are.�
� No fangirling, no blushing. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“She just arrived in New York. She couldn’t make it to the opening yesterday because she had a court case,” Sammy explained.
“Oh. Are you a lawyer?” Kris’s tone indicated she couldn’t care less about the answer.
“Technology law, which is why the Bay Area is my stomping grounds. You can say a lot of things about Silicon Valley, but it’s never boring.” Jessica smiled.
Kris yawned. “Fascinating.”
Farrah snuck a peek at Olivia. She’d wiped the expression from her face, but Farrah could read the tense set of her shoulders and the way she fiddled with her watch strap. Olivia was pissed.
Nate cleared his throat. “Hey, why don’t we eat before the food gets cold? Hot dogs are on the grill, but the burgers are done. Let’s dig in.”
The clatter of plastic utensils and light chatter broke the tension, but an undercurrent of unease remained.
“Looks like I’m not the only person Olivia wants to drop into the middle of an axe-throwing competition,” Blake murmured. “I thought she and Sammy have been over for a while.”
“It’s complicated.”
Olivia was not the type who liked to discuss her feelings in public, so Farrah spared her friend the third degree for now.
Reminder: stock up on Ben & Jerry’s before I go home.
“Complicated, I get. But you know what’s simple?” Blake wiggled his eyebrows. “A nighttime walk through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Not a date, I swear. Just two friends with floral benefits, smelling roses and shit.”
Maybe it was the sunshine, the giddiness of being surrounded by old friends, or Blake’s boyish smile. Either way, Farrah threw caution to the wind.
What could it hurt?
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to the garden.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next month flew by. Farrah still hadn’t landed an interview at any of the design firms she’d applied to, not even after she’d dropped off copies of her resume and cover letter in person and called to follow up.
As a result, she’d started looking for more individual clients, à la her previous arrangement with Blake. It wasn’t ideal—she wasn’t ready to go full-time freelance yet—but it gave her a sense of purpose amidst rising panic over her career.
Meanwhile, Blake helped distract Farrah from her nagging worries. Their night at the garden, post-Sammy’s barbecue, proved to be the first of many non-carnal activities Blake persuaded her to indulge in. Farrah didn’t know how he did it, but she found herself picnicking in Central Park, taking day trips to Coney Island, and going on midnight strolls across the Brooklyn Bridge with the man she’d once sworn she’d never allow back into her life.
What was worse, Farrah enjoyed their non-dates. Very much. Each one aimed some sort of special Godzilla ray gun at the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to grow larger and larger until they threatened to take over her entire body.
“How long are you going to be in Miami?” she asked, shivering as the night chill skimmed over her skin.
August was the hottest month in the city, but it was eleven p.m. and they were 100 stories above the ground. Farrah wished she’d worn a jacket over her dress and sandals. Then again, she hadn’t planned for their lunch date—er, non-date to stretch this late into the night.
“A week. Lots of meetings and walkthroughs planned.” Blake pulled her to his chest and rubbed her arms, flattening some of her goosebumps. Warmth trickled into her stomach and she shivered again, this time for a whole other reason than the cold. “Don’t miss me too much.” His voice contained his signature cocky, teasing lilt.
“You wish.” Farrah buried her face in his chest and breathed in his crisp, citrusy scent. “You better bring me back pastelitos or I’ll be pissed.”
Blake’s chuckle vibrated through her. “Noted. How’s the job search going, by the way? Liv mentioned you’ve been dropping off your resumes in person?”
Blake and Olivia had reached a truce in the past month. Apparently, that truce had evolved from Olivia not killing him on sight to divulging information about Farrah’s professional woes.
Farrah didn’t want to hide her job search problems from Blake; she just found it embarrassing. She’d charged him a ton of money to design his apartment, and now she couldn’t even get a phone screen from a reputable firm. Or any firm, for that matter.
“Not great, but I’ll keep trying.” Farrah pulled back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “In the meantime, I’m looking for more clients so if you know anyone whose house needs an overhaul…”
“I’ll let you know.” Blake examined her with a sober expression. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you have what it takes to go it on your own. Fuck these studios who aren’t smart enough to hire you. They’re a few knives short of a full set, and you’re better off without ‘em. You can use all that time you spend chasing down those idiots to start your own firm. You have the talent, and you have the contacts. Look how good a job you did on my place. Everyone that comes by loves it.”
Farrah raised her eyebrows. “How many people come by?”
Blake ticked off his guests on his fingers. “You, Landon, Justin, Pat, Sammy, and…” He frowned. “That’s not the point. The point is, there’s no set timeline for chasing your dreams. There’ll never be a day when you wake up and see a flashing neon sign that says, ‘This is the day to go for it.’ You have to make that choice on your own.”
Farrah knew he was trying to be supportive, but annoyance heated her skin, nonetheless. “I told you, I’m not ready. Stop pushing it.” She turned away from Blake and walked toward one of the angled glass partitions. They were at The Edge, an outdoor sky deck suspended mid-air above Manhattan. Included in the price of admission: 360-degree views of the city and a healthy dose of vertigo for those who weren’t fans of heights—Farrah included.
Her moodiness didn’t deter Blake. He followed her, grasped her chin, and forced her to look at him. “Do you know many branches of Legends there are in the world today?” he demanded. “Twelve. Austin, L.A., Chicago, New Orleans, Seattle, Houston, Dallas, London, Boston, Dublin, Barcelona, and Madrid. Fourteen, if you include New York and Miami. And I plan on opening many, many more.”
“Congrats.” Farrah tried to tear herself from Blake’s grip, to no avail.
His fingers burned into her skin, and the intensity of his gaze scorched her soul. “Do you know how many I had five years ago? Zero. I would still have zero if it weren’t for the girl who told me to fuck the haters and go for my dreams. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am today if it hadn’t been for her. She made me into who I am, and I owe her everything.”
Farrah’s pulse careened out of control. An unseen thread stretched between them and tugged at her heartstrings every time he looked at her the way he was looking at her now, like she was the sun to his earth. She was sure Blake could feel her shivers travel across that thread and into his body because he was trembling too, his eyes as dark as the night sky that hung above them.
“I don’t remember using the term ‘fuck the haters,’” she rasped.
Blake’s teeth flashed white in the darkness before he turned serious again. “Maybe not in those exact words, but the sentiment was there. You can do anything. Believe that.”
The sincerity in his voice sent her pulse from careening to crashing straight over the cliff toward a place she never thought she’d go again.
“I know you’re scared. I was, too. I still am. Sometimes I wake up, thinking I don’t know jack shit about what I’m doing, and terrified everything will crash around me. That feeling never goes away. But it’s the ones who push past the fear that succeed.” Blake released her and spun her around to face the city again. He rested his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. “Remember the last time we stood on top of the world?” he whispered. “Macau. Courtney’s birthday. We went bungee-jumpin
g, and you were so scared you tried to back out multiple times. I thought the bungee operator was going to kill us.”
Farrah’s soft laugh mingled with the night air. “I remember. You gave a motivational speech worthy of Tony Robbins.”
“Please. I’m better than Tony Robbins,” Blake scoffed. “The point is, you faced one of your biggest fears and punched it in its ugly face. You can do that again. Whatever your fear is, or however far you fall—you’ll survive. And I’ll be there to catch you.”
Farrah’s breath whooshed out of her. Manhattan lay sprawled at her feet, a glittering, tangled web of lofty dreams and promises. Some broken, some fulfilled, all searching for a sense of purpose in the unforgiving concrete jungle. Nothing except a pane of glass separated her from a thousand-foot tumble over the edge.
Despite the glass and Blake’s secure grip around her waist, Farrah was terrified—because she was already falling. And no matter what Blake said, she wasn’t sure she’d survive if she hit the ground.
Blake flew to Miami the next afternoon, leaving Farrah alone with her thoughts.
Her inner voices were like weeds—expected, fine in moderation, but if there were too many, they’d choke and paralyze her.
Olivia was on another date, and instead of stewing in the silence, dwelling on her dwindling career prospects, and agonizing over her feelings for Blake, Farrah called her mom.
“Follow up with the studios again if they haven’t replied to you by Friday.” Cheryl Lau’s voice crackled over the phone. “Some people are so lazy they probably haven’t gotten to your resume yet. You’re a NIDA competition winner. You graduated top of your class from CCU. They should be beating down your door.”
“I know, I know.” Farrah painted a fresh coat of red polish on her big toe. She’d rather not spend money on professional pedicures until she secured steady employment. Or you could start your own design studio, one of her stray inner voices whispered. Farrah squashed it. “Where are you?”
She could barely hear her mom over the sound of waves and people chattering in Cantonese in the background.