by Ana Huang
Farrah stared at her hand, then at Blake’s face, where a bright red palm print marred his perfect cheek.
His chest heaved; his jaw clenched so tight she could hear his molars scream in protest. Other than that, no reaction to her slap.
It was the first time she’d slapped someone in her life.
“What the fuck!” Paul shoved Blake’s chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Paul never cursed.
Looked like tonight was bringing out the best in all of them.
“Paul, let’s go.” Farrah was tired, so tired she couldn’t stand straight. “He’s not worth it.”
After a second’s hesitation, Paul released Blake with a scowl. Blake didn’t retaliate. He just stared at the other man blankly, like he wasn’t sure how they got there.
Farrah and Paul left him standing there beneath the bright lights of his bar, a lonely king in front of his empire.
Once they were out of Blake’s presence, the vindictiveness that’d sunk its claws into Farrah’s skin melted away, replaced by shame.
“Paul—”
“Don’t.” Paul walked on the far side of the sidewalk, like he couldn’t stand to be too close to her. “Let’s talk after we’ve both had some rest.”
They both knew how the talk was going to go.
Even though Farrah had debated ending things with Paul herself, she hated how this all happened. Paul was a sweet guy who did nothing wrong. He deserved better than to feel like a cheap rebound.
She stared at the ground, angry tears searing her eyes.
Once again, Blake Ryan had to ruin everything.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“He shoots, annnnd he scores!” Justin crowed. He made a throwing motion with his hands as the ball swished through the net, breaking the tie and bringing his and Sammy’s score up by two points. “Good job, man.” He slapped hands with Sammy and grinned at Blake. “You’re off your game today, Ryan.”
“Whatever.” Blake watched Landon fetch the ball with zero interest. He was a competitive person by nature, but today, he didn’t give a shit who won their two-on-two basketball game.
“Whatever?” Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “What crawled up your ass and died? You’ve been acting like a moody sonofabitch all day.”
Blake glared at him. He regretted inviting Justin to join their game, and he regretted hiring him away from The Egret to Legends even more. Justin was a good bartender but a major pain in his ass, and now he had to deal with his smart mouth day in and day out. “Is that any way to talk to your boss?”
“Boss, my ass,” Justin said cheerfully. “Fire me if you’d like. I’m still right about the moody bitch part. Right?” He looked at Sammy and Landon, who shrugged in agreement.
Traitors.
“How was the grand opening?” Sammy lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Sorry I missed it. Had to deal with bakery stuff in San Fran.”
A passing group of girls ogled his bare abs through the chain-link fence of the Tompkins Square Park basketball courts.
“It’s cool.”
“Really?” Sammy eyed Blake with suspicion. “Because you look like you want to snap my head off and feed it to those stray dogs.”
“It’s not because of you.”
No, it was because of him. Paul whatshisface, with the stupid blue jacket and stupider face. What kind of fucking name was Paul, anyway? They lived in the twenty-first century, not 1900s England.
Of all the moments Blake could’ve chosen to step outside for fresh air, he had to choose that one. The one that ruined his night and month and the rest of his fucking year. He had to walk outside and see her. With him. Holding hands. Her boyfriend.
He should’ve hit the boxing ring today instead of the basketball court. Pummeling a punching bag, pretending it was Paul’s boy-band face, sounded very appealing.
The rational side of Blake told him he had no right to be jealous. He was the one who’d let Farrah go and told her she deserved better.
The rational side of Blake could fuck right off.
“He’s not lying.” Landon unscrewed the cap of his Gatorade. “He’s pissed at Farrah.”
Blake gaped at his friend.
How the fuck did he know?
“I saw you outside Legends the other night.” Landon took a swig of his sports drink. “When you ran into her and that guy she was holding hands with. You were so busy pissing all over your territory you didn’t notice me. Given that display, I’m guessing you two had a falling out.”
“Seriously?” Sammy groaned. “What did you do this time? How is it possible for one person to fuck up so many times?”
“Shut up.” Blake’s blood pressure neared the red zone. He was this close to exploding from anger all over the basketball courts, and if he did, he was going to make sure every last piece haunted Paul whatshisface’s ass for eternity.
Try dating anyone when you had a ghost fucking you up at every turn.
“She slapped him,” Landon added for Sammy and Justin’s benefit.
“She did?” Sammy looked appalled and amused at the same time. “That’s not like Farrah. What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it was my fault?”
“Was it?”
Blake scowled. Fine. He’d been an ass the other night. He’d been an ass the night he kicked Farrah out of his apartment, too. He was just an ass all around.
But he hadn’t expected to see Farrah with another guy so soon, not when his heart wasn’t even finished breaking. He was responsible for his own torture, but dammit, couldn’t she have waited at least a few months before moving on? Or better yet, a few centuries.
You deserve better.
Looked like she’d taken his words to heart.
If Blake were selfless, he’d be happy she’d moved on. But he wasn’t, so he settled for burning mental voodoo dolls of Paul in his free time.
“Of course it’s his fault.” Justin yawned and addressed his next statement to Blake. “I assume your genius plan to fuck your way back into her heart didn’t work.”
He didn’t have time to blink before Blake grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the fence. The chain-link rattled in alarm.
“It was your idea,” he growled.
“Someone’s got their panties in a twist.” Justin didn’t appear fazed by the semi-violent turn of events. “You should know better than to take my advice. You also need to take a chill pill and sign up for anger management classes. Stat.”
“And you are begging for a shiner.”
“Don’t take it out on me because Farrah dumped your sorry ass.”
Red flickered in front of Blake’s eyes. He drew his arm back, ready to knock that smug grin off Justin’s face before Landon yanked him off.
“Enough,” he said firmly. “Let’s talk about this like adults, not bickering children.”
“Good thing you didn’t hit me.” Justin brushed his shoulders off. “I’m your employee. I could’ve filed for workplace assault.”
Blake lunged at him again. This time, both Landon and Sammy had to hold him back.
“You’re fired,” he hissed.
“Okay.” Justin smiled, cheerful as ever. Crazy motherfucker. Blake was beginning to think he’d hired—and fired—a psychopath.
“Calm the fuck down,” Sammy ordered, sounding like a different person from the easygoing, good-natured Sammy Blake remembered from Shanghai. “Do you want to tell us what happened so we can figure out a solution, or do you want to fight like a temperamental child?”
Blake counted to three and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Let go of me.”
“Only if you promise not to beat Justin to a pulp.”
“I promise. Now let go,” he gritted.
Once Landon and Sammy released him, Blake brushed his shoulders off and gave his friends an abbreviated version of what happened, minus the Cleo part. He didn’t want to, but they’d hound him to the ends of the earth until he did.
By the
time he finished, all three of their jaws hung open.
“Wait. Let me get this straight.” Justin held up a hand. “You broke up with a girl you’re still in love with because…you’re afraid you’ll hurt her one day? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Reliving the night of the breakup had sapped Blake of his energy, and he was too tired to snap at Justin. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. It’s simple. You. Are. An. Idiot. Of the highest degree.” Justin shook his head in disgust. “Congratulations, Sir Idiot, you win the award for Most Fucked-Up Reasoning of the Year.”
“Thank you, Sir Syphilis, your input means so much to me.”
“I do not have syphilis. I get tested every two weeks.”
Blake grimaced, trying not to think about how many women Justin had to sleep with to warrant such frequent testing.
“I agree with Justin,” Sammy said. “Man up and tell Farrah the truth about what’s got you all twisted up inside. Pushing her away because of a hypothetical is, in fact, idiotic. It should be her decision whether she stays or leaves.”
She already left. And moved right the fuck on with someone who looked like a reject member of One Direction back when they were still a thing.
“She’s better off without me,” Blake muttered.
“Do you hear yourself?” Sammy threw his hands in the air. “Stop trying to decide what’s best for her! She’s in love with you, you freakin’ doofus. You’re in love with her. Don’t make this so hard. Figure it out.”
“She’s not in love with me. And I don’t want to hurt her.”
Sammy, Landon, and Justin groaned at the same time.
“Moron,” Justin said. “I have a moron for a boss.”
“You’re fired,” Blake reminded him.
“Thank God. Otherwise, your stupidity might bleed into me by osmosis.”
“Blake.” Sammy grabbed Blake by the shoulders and shook him. Actually shook him. “What do you think you did when you pushed Farrah away? You hurt her. We both know how stubborn she can be. She wouldn’t have tried so hard to get you to open up if she didn’t care. She gave you a second chance. She trusted you again even though you broke her heart the first time around. And how did you repay her? By letting her go instead of letting her in. You didn’t even give her a chance to be there for you.”
Blake opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“You done fucked it up this time.” Justin yawned again. “Good luck finding another girl who’ll put up with your shit.”
“Shut up, J,” Landon said.
Meanwhile, dismay crept through Blake’s veins, slow and insidious, until it swallowed him whole. “I’m an idiot,” he realized.
His friends let out another collective groan.
Landon pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a massive migraine.
Justin dribbled the basketball he’d grabbed from Landon, looking like he was on the verge of throwing it in Blake’s face.
Sammy sank onto the floor and rubbed his eyes with a tired hand. “I need a drink.”
The image of Farrah leaving his apartment flashed through Blake’s mind.
FUCK.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The doorbell rang, a loud, unexpected chime that caused Farrah to jump and knock her coffee to the ground. The ceramic mug hit the carpet with a loud thud.
She issued a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
“Coming!” She checked to make sure none of the liquid had spilled onto her sketches. It hadn’t, thank God. She would die if she had to start all over again.
Farrah had finished Yuliya’s apartment and was now designing the magazine editor’s Soho flat. The editor, a French woman so glamorous she gave a young Brigitte Bardot a run for her money, had relocated from Paris to take the editor-in-chief position at…well, Farrah wasn’t sure. She hadn’t asked. But it must be a high-profile publication if she could afford an apartment in Soho. Magazines weren’t known for their lucrative paychecks.
The doorbell rang again.
“I said I’m coming!”
Farrah skidded across the apartment toward the door, wondering who it could be. Olivia was at work. Delivery guys left their packages in the lobby, and her neighbors never dropped by. Heck, she didn’t know what half of them looked like.
She peered through the peephole. Her heart stuttered when she saw a familiar flash of golden locks and…was that a teddy bear? It was hard to tell, considering the object was so large it filled up half the peephole. Farrah could only make out what appeared to be a furry brown hand holding a red balloon.
Still, there was no mistaking that blond hair. She knew only one person with hair like that.
Farrah’s sweaty palms slipped off the doorknob. She could pretend she wasn’t home. But no, she’d already yelled and alerted him to her presence.
Damn.
Olivia was always berating her for giving away her presence before she saw who was on the other side of the door. Farrah had dismissed it as paranoia, but now she understood where her friend was coming from.
She took a deep breath, rearranged her expression into a mask of indifference, and opened the door.
Despite her vow to remain indifferent, Farrah couldn’t help but gape at the spectacle in front of her. Blake was holding a teddy bear—a massive, adorable teddy bear that covered most of his six-foot-three frame. The teddy smiled at her, holding a shiny red heart-shaped balloon and wearing a white T-shirt that said, “I’m sorry, Farrah” in red script with a little heart beneath the words. Blake’s other hand clutched the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen. The floral arrangement burst with purple hydrangea, lavender roses, lavender spray orchids—her favorite—and large green echeveria succulents.
Blake poked his head out from behind the fur and flowers. His cheeks dimpled nervously. “Hi.”
Farrah slammed the door in his face.
“Farrah.” A plea crept into his voice and seeped through the door, wrapping itself around her traitorous heart, which whimpered with excitement at how close its other half was. “I just want to talk.”
“We have nothing to say to each other.”
There was no way in hell Farrah was opening that door again. Her heart and her body were her enemies. Her mind was the only sane one of the trio, but majority rules, and she didn’t trust herself in Blake’s presence. No matter how many times he broke her heart, he had a way of melting her down like a candle beneath a hot flame.
Farrah was starting to think the organ pumping in her chest was a bit of a masochist.
“I have a lot to say,” Blake protested. “Don’t make me do it through the door. Your neighbor just passed by, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m a crazed stalker. They’ll probably call the police.”
“Good.”
There was a shuffling sound, and just when Farrah thought he’d left, he spoke again. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I acted like such a jerk the other night, and I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry I keep fucking things up. I’m—” Blake’s tone changed. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen anyone apologize before?” he growled.
Farrah’s mouth tugged up into a smile before she squashed it.
Someone said something in the distance, followed by the slamming of a door, and she heard Blake huff before his voice turned pleading again. “I’m sorry for everything. Please forgive me.”
She was a cheap birthday candle, disintegrating into a puddle of wax.
Don’t do it, her brain warned. He has a way with words, but he can’t be trusted.
Do it, her heart urged. He’s right there! Go to him. You know that’s what you want.
Meanwhile, her body purred, choosing to show instead of tell by peppering goosebumps all over Farrah’s skin and stoking the fire in her belly.
Farrah grit her teeth. After an eternity of indecision, she flung open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I want to talk.”
“You
didn’t want to talk when you kicked me out of your apartment. You said I should walk away from you and that I deserved better. So, what changed?” She tightened her grip on the doorknob. “Do I not deserve better anymore?”
Blake swallowed. “I messed up. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But—”
“You were a complete asshole to me and Paul.”
Blake’s lips thinned at the mention of the other man. “He deserved it.”
His foot shot out and wedged itself between the door and doorframe before she could shut it again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I was a complete asshole, but—” His jaw tensed. “Are you really dating him?”
No. Farrah and Paul never had their talk. He’d stopped contacting her after the night they ran into Blake, and Farrah didn’t blame him. She’d been selfish and manipulative and used him to further her own petty agenda. She would’ve kicked herself to the curb had she been in his shoes.
Not that Farrah was going to tell Blake this. He didn’t deserve to know.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Frost wrapped around each word. “You let me go, remember? I can date whoever I want.”
Blake’s shoulders drooped. “I know.” He resembled a puppy who’d just been kicked, and dammit if her heart didn’t squeeze at the sight.
Farrah tapped her foot against the floor. Finally, unable to take it any longer, she opened the door wider. “Come in. The last thing I want is to be my floor’s subject of gossip for the next month,” she muttered. “You already made enough of a scene.”
Blake perked up at the small sign of her relenting. Confidence returned to his eyes, and he flashed her a dazzling grin as he breezed inside and placed the teddy bear and flowers in the living room. The bear was so large it made the nearby armchair look like a piece of dollhouse furniture.
Farrah stroked the bear’s soft fur. “How did you get this here? It’s almost as tall as you.”
Pink stained Blake’s cheekbones. “Uber XL. They closed off your street for construction, so I carried it the rest of the way. I almost knocked over an old lady coming out of your building. I’m lucky I made it here alive—for someone who was probably born before World War II, she’s quite aggressive with her cane.”