God, tequila shots were gross. On the bright side, it didn’t take long for her buzz to return and smooth her frayed nerves.
This was it. Time to ask him. “Who’s the girl?”
Wait. That wasn’t the right question.
Blake tilted his head. “What girl?”
“The girl I saw coming out of your room the night we went to Moller Villa.” Farrah had avoided asking or thinking about Mystery Girl since that night, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about her. It didn’t take a genius to realize what Blake and Mystery Girl had been up to.
Was it a onetime thing, or was he still seeing her?
Farrah fought the urge to dry heave. Yep, the post-jump high was 100% gone.
Discomfort filled Blake’s face. “She’s a girl I was seeing.”
“Seeing,” meaning more than once.
“Was,” as in past tense.
“Oh.” Farrah fiddled with her empty glass. “What’s her name?”
“Mina.”
“She’s really pretty.”
The discomfort deepened. “I guess.”
“Are you still seeing her?”
“She’s leaving Shanghai next week. I might say goodbye.”
“Wow, that’s romantic.” It came out more sarcastic than she intended. What was wrong with her?
Farrah’s head swam. The tequila shot was not a good idea.
Blake scowled. “Ours isn’t a romantic relationship. We knew going in that it was going to be purely physical. I know that’s hard for you to understand—”
“Wow.” Farrah sucked in a breath. “Why is it hard for me to understand? Because I’m a virgin? That doesn’t mean I grew up in a nunnery, Blake. I know what hookup buddies are.”
“No! You’re taking this the wrong way.” Blake raked a hand through his hair, his face taut with frustration. “I meant you’re a romantic. You said it yourself. You believe in The One and epic love and all that. I don’t. That’s not what I came here for.”
He was right. He’d said it all along. Blake didn’t believe in love. Farrah was a fool to forget that. She’d been so caught up in her daydreams she ignored what was right in front of her and read too much into every glance, every word, every action. When Blake took her to dinner and gave her that pep talk on the tower, it wasn’t because he liked her. He was just being a good friend.
Good friends had their place, but Farrah was sick of falling for guys she couldn’t have. They were always either emotionally unavailable, like Blake, or literally unavailable, like Leo.
She needed to stop living in the clouds and return to reality.
“Maybe it’s not what I came here for either.” Farrah grabbed the drink nearest to her and chugged it. Vodka. Blech.
“Hey!” the owner of the drink protested.
The buzz intensified. Her heart beat fast with adrenaline.
“I can have casual hookups,” Farrah said. “I’ll prove it.”
Blake’s brow knit into a frown. “Farrah…” His voice carried a warning.
Farrah ignored it. She grabbed the drink owner’s shirt. He was young. Decent-looking. He’ll do. “You. Are you single?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good. Let’s dance.”
Farrah dragged him onto the dance floor without sparing Blake another glance. She bypassed her surprised friends and wrapped her arms around the guy’s neck.
The music segued into another, even sexier R&B song. Farrah ground her hips against Drink Guy’s, gyrating to the beat of the music. He was wearing too much cologne, and his breath smelled like cheap vodka.
Luckily, she was drunk enough to overlook both of those things.
Fuck Blake. Farrah wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d find him during study abroad. Her mistake was tunnel vision—focusing on one guy she liked and ignoring the rest of her options.
It was time to give other guys a chance. She didn’t need butterflies and skipped heartbeats to have a good time.
“Wow.” Drink Guy’s eyes glazed over. “I’m so glad you took my drink. I’m Greg.”
“Greg, I’m Farrah. Now shut up.”
“Ok.” A minute passed. “So, where are you from?”
Farrah groaned. Instead of answering, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. That’ll shut him up.
Greg wasn’t a great kisser, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. His lips moved eagerly over hers, and his hands cupped her bottom—
Greg was gone.
Farrah frowned. Her eyes fluttered open to see Blake towering over them with a face like thunder. He gripped Greg’s shoulder so hard his knuckles turned white.
“You’ve made your point.” His voice was calm but edged in steel. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I’m not making a point. I’m making out.” Farrah giggled at her play on words. “Now let him go so we can continue making out.”
“Yeah, man, you’re hurting me,” Greg complained. He tried to twist out of Blake’s grasp.
Blake clamped down harder. “I’ll give you to the count of three before I rearrange your face,” he said, still in that deadly calm voice.
Greg looked at Blake, then at Farrah, then at Blake again. He held up his hands. “Don’t need to shoot me twice.”
He scampered off.
Pussy.
“Look what you did. Happy now?” The room tilted to the right. Farrah shook her head until it corrected itself.
“Not even a little bit. You’re drunk.”
“No shit. We’re in a bar.”
“That guy had his hands all over you!”
“So? If I didn’t want his hands all over me, I would’ve taken care of it myself.” Farrah shoved Blake’s chest, her buzz giving way to anger. Blake didn’t budge. It was like trying to shove a tree. One with stupid dimples and stupid blue eyes the color of crystals. Only now, the dimples were nowhere to be seen, and his eyes had darkened to a furious shade of sapphire. “You had no right to scare him away like that.”
“I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need your help!”
“Guys.” Sammy stepped in between them. Olivia must’ve put him up to it because he looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. “Let’s take it down a notch. Why don’t we—”
“Shut up, Sammy,” Farrah and Blake said in unison.
“Yeah, ok.” Sammy returned to where Olivia stood with the rest of their friends. She glared at him. “What? I tried.”
“We’ll discuss this outside,” Blake said through gritted teeth. “Everyone’s staring.”
He was right. A crowd had formed, and people were watching the drama play out with wide eyes. She half expected one of them to bust out a bucket of popcorn.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Farrah, please.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She followed Blake out of the VIP room to the exit. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Maybe the fresh air would do her some good.
“No re-entry after you leave,” the bouncer warned.
“VIP.” Farrah flashed her purple wristband as proof.