by Ana Huang
Farrah softened. “Thanks. For the presents and cake and…everything. You guys are the best, even if you act like thirteen-year-olds.” She tried to laugh but got choked up again.
“Oh, no. No crying on your birthday. Go put your presents away and have sex.” Courtney waved her off. “You deserve it.”
“Let’s be honest, they’re not making it to 808,” Farrah heard Kris say.
Farrah’s and Blake’s shoes echoed in the stairwell as they made their way to the third floor. The rest of FEA was at 808, but Farrah had wanted to have her cake and gift unwrapping in the dorm. It was easier than going out, hauling the presents back to her room, and going out again.
To her surprise, she opened the door to an empty room. Farrah invited Janice to the pre-birthday celebration, but Janice declined, saying she had work to do. She’d expected to find Janice on her laptop, but her roommate was nowhere in sight.
Farrah wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. It was possible Janice lied about having work to get out of attending her birthday, which sucked. At the same time…
“Looks like we have your room to ourselves. A birthday present from the universe, perhaps?” Blake placed her presents on her desk and winked. Even in a simple white shirt and jeans, he caused her heart to flutter.
“If it is…” Farrah added her haul to the pile and walked over to Blake. She hooked her fingers through his belt loops. “Far be it from me to refuse.”
Their lips met in a long, deep kiss that drove every other thought out of her mind. She parted her lips and he swept his tongue inside, increasing the heat until she smoldered with need.
Blake lifted her up. Farrah expected him to carry them to her bed. Instead, he slammed her against the wall, eliciting a gasp of surprise and anticipation from her. He kept one hand on her waist while he used the other to unclasp her dress and bra. His movements were jerky, almost desperate as he eased the material down her body.
Her nipples hardened in the cool air. Blake brushed an open palm over them and she shuddered, an all-too-familiar ache blossoming between her legs. He played with her breasts for a while longer, tugging and twisting so expertly he might as well be in her head. Farrah had always assumed this level of sexual connection and expertise was unrealistic, concocted by romance movies and novels to give the female population hope, when in fact a majority of guys were like the ones Farrah encountered in the past—quick, clumsy, awkward.
Not Blake. He knew exactly what to do, when to do it. By the time he lowered his head to suck on her sensitized nubs, Farrah was ready to fall apart. Her body was a live wire of sensations, crackling and scorching hot. Every nerve ending was sensitive to the touch.
Blake slipped a finger between her slick folds and found that spot, and she did fall apart. Farrah exploded with pleasure so intense she saw stars. It went on and on, and just as she came down from the high, Blake tossed her on the bed. She heard the rustle of a condom being unwrapped. A second later, he was inside her, filling her to bursting.
Farrah clutched his shoulders and cried out. The heat surged until the flames consumed her once more. She arced up, pressing her chest against Blake’s. His hand slipped down between their bodies. His fingertips brushed her clit as he pounded into her, taking her higher and higher to a place where she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The sensations ran wild through her system, so intense and all-encompassing she nearly wept. Farrah craved release yet never wanted this to end. All she could do was ride the wave of pleasure until her body detonated, and her cries of ecstasy mingled with Blake’s as they crashed back to earth together.
After twenty years, she’d found the guy who could take her to heaven and back.
Farrah collapsed on the bed and tried to catch her breath. “Best. Birthday. Present. Ever,” she wheezed.
Blake chuckled. He rolled onto his side and smoothed her hair from her face. “Better than the markers?”
“It’s close. I really like the markers.” Farrah ran her hand up and down his arm. Kris’d been right. They weren’t making it to 808. She had zero desire to get dressed and sweat her ass off in a crowded club. She’d much rather stay here with Blake in their own little world. “But I like you more.”
She expected him to reply with a smartass remark. When he didn’t, she looked up to find him gazing at her with such love it hurt her heart. Not because of the love, but because of what hid behind it—a sadness that reawakened her earlier sense of foreboding.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Blake played with the ends of her hair. “How does twenty feel?”
“It’s fine, and don’t change the subject. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Farrah propped herself up on her elbow so that they were at eye level. “Is it your dad?”
“No. I’m stressed about the bar, is all. There’s so much left to do.”
He’d said that the last time she brought up his strange behavior. She believed him then. She wasn’t sure she believed him now.
“Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to be a downer on your birthday.”
“You can talk to me about anything anytime. You know that.”
There it was—that melancholy that shouldn’t have been there. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
Farrah smiled even as her heart clenched with unease. “You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“Well, I do. I love you so, so much.” Blake cupped her cheek. She detected a slight shake in his hand. “Never forget that.”
“I won’t.” She leaned in for a kiss.
“Farrah.” The fierceness in his voice startled her. “I mean it. No matter what happens, never forget how much I love you.” Blake’s eyes darkened with emotion. “I am totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you. I always will be.”
A lump formed in Farrah’s throat. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you too.” She examined his face, searching for answers to a question she didn’t know. “Are you sure everything’s ok? Besides the stress over the bar.”
Blake laced his fingers through hers with his free hand and squeezed like he was holding on for dear life. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”
No, they didn’t. They had eight weeks.
Eight weeks, fifty-four days, and one thousand ninety-six hours before they had to reenter reality.
But they didn’t have to do it now.
“We have plenty.” Farrah returned his squeeze. “We have tonight.”
Blake and Farrah kissed again, a deep, searching, passionate kiss that gave her everything her romantic side wanted.
Farrah lost herself in the embrace, letting it sweep aside her worries and the little voice inside telling her that this kiss, loving and tender though it may be, was also the type of kiss you gave someone right before you said goodbye.
Chapter Thirty
Two weeks later
Blake signaled for his check. The End Zone was his refuge these days. No one in FEA knew about this place, which meant he could wallow in self-pity in peace.
The bartender brought the bill. It wasn’t Mina, who left Shanghai months ago. She sent him a short text before she left, and that was that.
Honestly, their short-lived fling seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.
Blake tossed back the rest of his whiskey and scribbled his signature. On the wall, the clock ticked toward six. The group had six-thirty dinner reservations at some hot new restaurant Olivia picked out. Farrah texted him the invite. He didn’t reply.
“See you tomorrow,” the bartender said.
Blake nodded. He shouldered his way through the happy hour crowd and stepped outside. Spring had arrived in Shanghai, and the city burst with color and sunshine. Given Blake’s mood, it may as well be gray and storming.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of avoiding Farrah and making excuses about why he couldn’t hang out.
>
Two weeks of not seeing her, touching her, hearing her laugh.
Two weeks of hell.
Blake had to tell her about Cleo. He’d told himself to wait until after her birthday, but every time he tried to get the words out, they stuck in his throat like splintered glass, cutting him open from the inside until he couldn’t speak at all.
He tapped his metro card on the reader, so lost in his thoughts he barely registered the rush hour traffic streaming around him. Office workers, families, and students crowded into the station, their chatter so loud it sometimes drowned out the P.A. announcements.
A little girl, around four or five years old, ran past Blake toward the platform. His stomach plunged when he saw the train pulling into the station. He started to run after her when her panicked father caught up and scooped her up in his arms. The girl laughed and threw her arms around her father’s neck, oblivious to how close she came to danger.
Blake exhaled and followed them onto the train. The relief lasted two seconds before images of all the terrible things that could happen to a child rushed in—kidnappings, bullying, road accidents. Things no parent could control.
His shoulders tensed. More people squeezed onto the train before the doors closed, packing them in like sardines in a can.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Blake wasn’t ready for any of this. Not to go back to the dorm, not to tell Farrah the truth, and certainly not to be a freaking father. He was 22, for chrissakes! Cleo was 20. They had no clue what they were doing.
Blake didn’t know how to change a diaper or soothe a baby to sleep. What if he messed up and ruined the kid for life? How could he be responsible for another human being when he couldn’t get his own life together?
The sweat intensified. Jesus, it was a sauna in here.
The woman next to Blake scooted away from him. No doubt she saw how sick he looked and worried he might throw up on her.
It was a valid fear.
Blake’s head pounded, sharp and heavy.
He could ask his mom for help. He’d told her about Cleo’s pregnancy a few days after Cleo broke the news. Rip the Band-Aid off and all that.
Once she got over her shock, Helen had been ecstatic. She wanted grandbabies more than anything and she loved Cleo. She’d never hid her desire for Blake and Cleo to marry and settle down one day. Now, her dreams had come true, albeit earlier than she expected.
Blake’s father? Not so happy. If it weren’t for Helen, he would’ve disowned Blake on the spot. In his eyes, this latest bombshell proved once and for all what a fuckup his son was.
He was right.
Ever since Blake quit football, his life had spiraled into a hopeless mess. His relationship with Farrah was the one good thing to come out of it, and he was about to lose that too.
The train rolled to a stop at the SFSU station. Blake shoved his way out, ignoring the other passengers’ protests and dirty looks. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached street level and gulped in a lungful of cool, fresh air.
The claustrophobia eased.
The anxiety didn’t.
As he walked toward the dorm, Blake ran through scenarios of how to break up with Farrah. Should he tell her about Cleo at all?
It was only a kiss. Which isn’t great, but at least she didn’t sleep with Nardo. That would be unforgivable.
Farrah’s words from Valentine’s Day haunted him. It was stupid because he was going to lose her either way, but he didn’t want her thinking he’d done the one thing she deemed unforgivable.
So what the hell should he tell her?
Blake entered FEA’s lobby and beelined for the stairs. His head pounded with indecision.
He needed one more night to figure out how to end things with Farrah.
He knew he was dragging out the inevitable. He had to let Farrah go. It didn’t matter if it happened tomorrow or two months from now. It’d crush him all the same.
But for now, he had one more—
“Hey.”
Blake stopped in his tracks. Farrah stood outside his door, arms crossed. She wore a frown and her favorite sheep pajamas.
Blake’s lips tugged up into a brief smile before it disappeared.
“We should talk.”
So much for one more night.
He swallowed and jerked out a nod. He couldn’t put it off any longer.
There was no tomorrow.
Time was up.
Chapter Thirty-One
Goosebumps peppered Farrah’s skin. She rubbed her arms and shivered from a combination of cold and dread.
“You didn’t go to dinner.” Blake unlocked his door, shoulders tense and jaw set.
“No.” Farrah followed him inside and sat down on the empty bed opposite his. Normally she would’ve curled up in Blake’s bed and waited for him to join her, but that no longer felt right.
Blake shoved his wallet in a drawer and tidied the books on his desk. He centered his laptop and lined up his pencils until they sat parallel to each other. Only then did he sit across from Farrah, his face shuttered. Only a few feet separated them, but they may as well be sitting on opposite sides of a canyon.
Farrah’s trouble radar inched closer to the danger zone. “We haven’t talked in a while.”
After her birthday, Blake disappeared off the map. He stopped going out, ate without the group, and answered her texts and invitations with curt excuses. She couldn’t find him in his room or, if he was there, he didn’t answer the door.
Farrah tried to wait it out. If Blake needed time alone to sort out personal issues, she respected that. She would’ve preferred more communication, but everyone handled problems their own way.
However, they were entering the third week of Incommunicado Blake, and she’d reached the end of her patience. Every second they had left in Shanghai counted, and they’d wasted millions of seconds.
Enough was enough. She wanted answers.
Blake rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands together. He stared at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “I’ve been busy.”
Farrah resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him. “With?”
“Classes. Bar plans. That sort of thing.”
That old refrain again. He sounded like a broken record.
Anger sharpened Farrah’s senses. She was tired of his excuses, of the uncertainty, and of feeling like crap because her boyfriend went AWOL. She wanted to know what the fuck was going on. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Blake’s head snapped up. Pain and surprise flickered across his face before his expression shut down.
Despite her irritation, Farrah’s heart leapt at the sight of those beautiful blue eyes, then shriveled like a prune at the lack of feeling in them.
“Tell me the truth.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “You can trust me.”
The bigger question was, could she trust him? Farrah hated doubting him, but it was hard not to lose faith when the love of your life avoided you like you had the plague.
Blake’s shoulders hunched. Tension rolled off him in waves. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were as hard and cold as the walls surrounding them.
Farrah’s stomach plummeted.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was flat and empty. “I didn’t want to do it like this, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Time stopped. Blake’s words swirled around her, threatening to drag her under yet refusing to sink in.
Farrah’s body reacted first, her heart slamming against her chest in double time while her brain struggled to process the implications of Blake’s statement.
“What?”
“It was fun while it lasted, but the year is almost over and I—I’m not interested anymore. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“You’re lying.” He had to be. There was no way. No way she could’ve been so wrong.
The past seven months flashed throug
h Farrah’s mind’s eye like a movie playing at two times speed. Their first run-in in the stairwell. Their first kiss. Their first time having sex. The first time they said “I love you.” The secrets they shared, the places they explored, the nights they spent in each other’s arms.
She struggled to breathe. The air thickened into a dark, ugly ooze, making it impossible for oxygen to reach her lungs. There were so many thoughts running through her mind she couldn’t focus, so Farrah grasped at the easiest one to swallow.
Blake was lying. She’d looked into his eyes and seen the love there. She’d felt it. You couldn’t fake that kind of emotion.
He stiffened. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Farrah didn’t know who she was trying to convince more, him or herself. “You said you loved me.”
“I lied.”
Farrah inhaled sharply. True or not, those two words sliced through her like a knife.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Fucking. Cry.
“You’re full of shit.” Her voice trembled with uncertainty. “Look at you. You’re shaking.”
Blake clenched his hands into fists. His knuckles turned white. “Farrah.” His voice sounded like a bomb going off in the silence. “I got back with my ex-girlfriend over the holidays. I didn’t know how to tell you. I love her, and I made a mistake here. With us. But I’m trying to fix it.”
A sob escaped. The temperature dropped another twenty degrees, and a strange roaring filled her ears. The fist around her heart squeezed, and right as she was about to explode from the pain, it released its grip and shattered everything in its wake.
I need to get out of here.
Yet Farrah’s feet remained glued in place as she tried to comprehend what was happening. The Blake in front of her wasn’t the Blake she knew. He was so stoic, so unsympathetic, she wondered whether this was a nightmare or if the past seven months had been a dream.
“I’m sorry.”
That broke the spell.
“Stop saying that!” Blake’s eyes widened. Farrah gripped her necklace tight with one hand until the metal dug painful grooves into her palm. “It was all a lie then, this past year.”
