Farrah looked across the aisle to where the guys were watching a video on Sammy’s phone. Blake was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. It was the most genuine smile she’d seen from him yet.
“Yeah.” Farrah rubbed Olivia’s arm. “Today was a good day.”
Chapter Six
Blake rolled out of bed at eight. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up this late, but Disneyland took him out. He forgot how tiring amusement parks were.
Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to get ready, and he was out the door by 8:15.
Blake’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. The jianbing from the street vendor behind campus was the highlight of his mornings. He’d passed by the stand multiple times his first two weeks here, tempted by the smell but wary of buying street food, before he caved. It was the right decision. Those savory, crisp-fried crepes were some of the best things he’d ever tasted.
Blake was so busy fantasizing about the jianbing he didn’t notice the girl walking in front of him until they were in the courtyard.
Long, dark hair. Slim, curvy figure. Posture Emily Post would be proud of.
Well, he’ll be damned. “Farrah!”
Farrah stopped. When she turned, she wore an exasperated look on her face. “Hi.”
“You’re up early.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“I usually get up earlier, but we had a late night.” Blake smiled, remembering how adorable Farrah looked when she was sleepy.
Wait. Adorable? Where the hell did that come from?
Girls his age weren’t adorable. They were beautiful (relatives) or sexy (non-relatives). Adorable did not figure into the equation.
Not that Farrah wasn’t beautiful or sexy, but—
Dude. Stop while you’re ahead.
Blake cleared his throat. The hunger must be getting to him. “So, where are you off to?”
Farrah wore an orange dress that was far too nice for a quick breakfast run. She held a milk tea in one hand and had a sketchbook tucked beneath her other arm.
“I’m going to explore a little.”
“Without your girls?”
“They’re sleeping. Well, Olivia isn’t, but she’s working on internship applications.” Farrah paused. Sipped her drink. Then, “Do you want to join me?”
Blake nearly fell over at the invitation. He wasn’t sure Farrah even liked him, and now she was inviting him to hang out with her.
He shouldn’t. He was hungry as hell and he had a date with the gym. He hated going there after 10 am, when it filled up with guys who were more interested in gym selfies than working out. Besides, Blake didn’t like the way his body reacted around Farrah. It was different than the typical sexual attraction—though that was certainly there—and it freaked him out.
“You don’t have to,” Farrah said. “If you have other plans—”
“I’d love to.” I hope I don’t regret this. “As long as we make a quick detour for breakfast.”
“Making demands already,” she teased. “Why am I not surprised?”
Blake led the way to the back gate. He’d walked this path so many times he could do it with his eyes closed.
“Breakfast is a reasonable request. More reasonable than bubble tea at 8:30 in the morning.”
Farrah clutched her drink to her chest as they approached the jianbing stand. “Don’t judge. This doesn’t have boba, so it’s technically not bubble tea. Even if it is, bubble tea is appropriate at all hours of the day.”
“Fine. But we’re also getting you a proper breakfast.” Blake turned to the vendor, whose eyes brightened with recognition. “Liang ge jidan, wei la.” Two eggs, mildly spicy. No need to specify the jianbing part in your order—that was a given.
He wasn’t fluent in Chinese yet, but he was fluent in the language that counts: food.
Blake paid the vendor and handed Farrah one of the jianbings. “This will change your life.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m Chinese. I’ve had jian—oh my god.”
“Told ya.” They walked to the metro. “Is it good or is it good?”
“It’s amazing.” Farrah took another bite and hummed in bliss.
Blake’s body reacted viscerally to the sound.
I need to get laid.
The last time he had sex was…holy fuck, in July, right before he broke up with Cleo. Two whole months. It was his longest dry spell since he lost his virginity to the most popular girl in the senior class when he was fifteen.
Shauna Smith. She’d been something. And she earned her title as head cheerleader in more ways than one.
“I can’t believe I’ve never had this before.” Farrah tossed her empty wrapper and milk tea container in the trash. “I usually go to Cinnamon for breakfast. Kris insists.”
“This is better than cafe food, and cheaper too.” Blake tapped his metro card on the reader. “Don’t say I never bought you anything.”
Her silvery laugh sent another wave of awareness rippling through his body.
Correction: I REALLY need to get laid.
“So, where are we going?”
“Have you heard of M50?”
“Sort of.” Blake had never heard of M50 in his life.
“It’s Shanghai’s contemporary art district. There’s a ton of galleries—and design inspo.” Farrah waved her sketchbook in the air.
“For the competition.”
She looked surprised. “You remember.”
“Of course.” Blake couldn’t forget the way Farrah’s eyes lit up when she talked about the competition. She was studying interior design because she loved it, not because everyone said she should. Her passion was refreshing…and depressing. Blake had never felt that way about football or anything else in his life, really.
He knew what he didn’t want to do. Now he had to figure out what he did want to do.
After ten minutes in M50, Blake scratched “artist” off his potential careers list. As a neighborhood, M50 was cool. It featured old warehouses and factory buildings-turned-galleries for every type of art Blake could imagine, and some he couldn’t.
There were confounding multimedia neon and LED light installations and a terrifying exhibit of monstrous spider sculptures. There was also a weird-ass garden where everything—trees, grass, flowers—was made of knitted yarn.
Blake appreciated the creativity, but…he didn’t get it. He understood paintings. That was art. Boring art, but art. He did not understand the point of knitting a tree (seriously, what the fuck?) or why someone would pay thousands of dollars for a twisted piece of metal.
Rich people needed to find better ways to spend their money.
Farrah, on the other hand, was so busy examining the exhibits and scribbling notes she stopped speaking to him once they started gallery hopping. He didn’t mind; watching her work was way more interesting than any of the exhibits on display.
Soon, Blake could identify her every micro-expression. The way her brow furrowed when she was thinking hard; the way she tilted her head an inch to the left when she was confused; the way her eyebrows shot up and her mouth parted in excitement when she came across a revelation. He knew it was a revelation because she’d open that notepad of hers and scribble like crazy.