Perhaps he should be an anthropologist, though Blake suspected his interest in studying people was limited to Farrah. He’d never been this engrossed by anyone else before.
By the time they wrapped up their self-guided tour, it was almost three. Blake’s stomach growled with anger—they’d blitzed through the galleries without stopping for food.
Blake and Farrah settled for the first cafe they could find. The airy industrial space doubled as a gallery and studio, and customers drifted through the loft, admiring the art displays with their coffees in hand.
Despite the bustling crowds, they snagged a table in the loft-like seating area upstairs. Their “meal” comprised of coffee, paninis, brownies, and cheesecake.
Healthy? No. Delicious? Hell yeah.
“Thanks for coming with me today.” Farrah sipped her drink. “Sorry if I ignored you. When I get in the zone, I tune out everything else.”
“It’s ok.” Blake wasn’t used to being ignored, but it was nice being able to do his own thing without other people breathing down his neck. At TSU, he couldn’t take a shit without others talking about it.
That was the great thing about FEA. People left him alone. He received a lot of stares and questions the first week or two—why did he quit football? Was he ever going to play again? Why was he in Shanghai?—but soon, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to pay him much mind. The questions tapered off, and Blake felt like a regular student for the first time in a long time.
“Did you like the art?”
“Ummhmm.” Blake wolfed down half his panini to avoid answering her question.
“Sorry, I don’t speak caveman.” Farrah’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
Blake swallowed his food and tried to think of something nice to say. “It was cool. The yarn garden was, uh, interesting.”
Farrah burst into laughter, and Blake’s skin tingled with pleasure.
“You hated it. You were falling asleep in the yarn exhibit.”
So she’d noticed. A grin tugged at Blake’s lips. “You can’t blame me. It was like being inside a giant blanket.”
Another laugh, another tingle of pleasure.
Farrah leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret? I thought that was weird too.”
Blake clutched his chest. “Is it possible? Do we…have something in common?”
“I guess we do.” Farrah’s eyes flickered with something he didn’t dare name, and his heart slammed against his ribcage in response.
The noise and the people surrounding them fell away. All Blake could focus on was the girl sitting across from him—her eyes, her scent, her lips. She smelled like orange blossoms and vanilla, and she was so damn close. If he leaned forward juuuust a few inches, their mouths would touch.
His throat dried at the thought. It was a bad idea. She was a virgin. She was in FEA. But dammit, he wanted to know what Farrah tasted like, and whether her lips were as soft as they looked.
The flare of awareness in her eyes told him the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Her lips parted. His pulse beat double time. Should he—
Then she blinked, and the moment was gone.
They leaned back.
“We should go—”
“It’s getting late—”
Blake and Farrah laughed, their awkwardness mingling to cover up something neither wanted to acknowledge.
“We should head back,” Farrah said. “I need to work on my portfolio. I got some good ideas today.”
“Yeah, and I, uh, need to go to the gym.” Blake winced the instant the words left his mouth. They did not help the “meathead” image most people had of him. He lived by the philosophy “other people’s prejudices aren’t my problem,” but he cared what Farrah thought of him.
He didn’t dare ask himself why.
Fortunately, Farrah didn’t say anything. They left the cafe and wound their way through the maze of galleries to the main street, where it took her less than two minutes to hail a taxi.
“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here.” Farrah gazed out the window as building after building whizzed by. “I’ve seen so many photos of Shanghai that when I look at it in person, I feel like I’m in the middle of a postcard and I’m not actually here.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, I know what you mean.” Blake stared at the skyline. The jungle of high-rise chrome and glass looked like a scene from a science fiction movie.
He, Blake Ryan, was in Shanghai. He’d been so busy with classes and settling in that it didn’t hit him until this moment.
He’d up and left Texas to spend a year in a country where he didn’t know the language, didn’t know the customs, and didn’t know anyone when he first arrived. Until now, he’d never been farther east than New York.
Blake wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. He enjoyed the freedom of being far from home, but China took some adjusting to. He wasn’t a fan of the squat toilets, the pollution, or how fucking hard Mandarin was. He had to communicate with hand gestures ninety percent of the time outside FEA, unless there was someone there to translate for him.
Of course, there were pros to go alongside the cons. The architecture, the cheap prices, (some of) the street foods. Shanghai remained foreign to him, but it also made Blake feel connected to something bigger than himself and the world he’d always known. And sometimes, when he stared out the window at the towering spires of the Shanghai skyline, he thought he might love it enough to never go back.
“I’ve never been in love.” Farrah’s non sequitur jolted Blake from his thoughts. She wore a far-off expression, like she was dreaming of something she knew would happen but hasn’t happened yet. “I think I could fall in love here.”
Her wistful tone made his heart ache in the strangest way. “Aren’t you already in love?”
Blake’s jaw tightened when he remembered the way Farrah looked at Leo yesterday. He had no reason to be jealous, but the green-eyed monster reared its head at the oddest times.
“Leo’s a crush. I want big, crazy, stupid love. The kind that’s worthy of Hollywood.” Farrah sighed. “I just want to know what that feels like.”
Blake eased backward and sank deeper into his seat. “That’s the con.”
“Excuse me?”
“There is no romance like that in real life. Books and movies hype up the idea of a grand love and The One to make money.”
The peaceful atmosphere in the cab shattered. Farrah’s jaw dropped. “Wow. That is so cynical.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m telling the truth.” Blake wasn’t anti-love, but it was overrated. Look at him and Cleo. Childhood friends turned lovers, with plenty of bumps and obstacles along the way. Their story was made for the movies and look how that turned out. Everyone said they were meant to be together, and he did love her, but he didn’t love her the way Hollywood said he should.
Hollywood romance was a load of crap.
Farrah crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m guessing you’ve never been in love.”
“I have.” What he and Cleo had was love, right? “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
She turned her head and stared out the window again. “I’m sorry. That’s really sad.” For once, her tone was devoid of sarcasm.