Blake tightened his grip on Farrah’s hand. It was his rock, the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a puddle of regret on the ground.
God, I’m an asshole.
“How are you feeling?” Farrah sidestepped an adorable toddler who was staring up at one of the pig installations in awe. Her mouth curved into a small smile before she turned to Blake, and her brow wrinkled with concern. “We can go back to FEA if this is too much.”
“No, it’s New Year’s. Besides, you want to see the fireworks.”
“I’ve seen fireworks before.”
“Really, I’m ok. I feel much better.” Blake squeezed her hand again, this time in reassurance.
“Ok. But if you don’t feel well, tell me.”
“Yes, mom.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Don’t call me that. It’s creepy.”
He laughed. Some tension eased. The rest remained—a lead ball of worry, self-loathing, and guilt that had plagued him for weeks.
His mind flashed back to Landon’s New Year’s party over winter break. It did that a lot these days.
Blake should’ve known better than to drink that much when Cleo was there. Granted, Blake could usually hold his alcohol. Until last month, he’d blacked out only once, when he was a college freshman trying to keep up with his older teammates at his first frat party. The morning after the party, he woke up in the bathtub with penises drawn all over his face in black Sharpie. It was embarrassing and a bitch to get the marker off, but harmless.
Waking up naked in a hotel bedroom with no recollection of the previous night while Cleo waltzed out of the shower? Far less harmless.
The urge to throw up rose again. Blake drew in a deep, shaky breath. He couldn’t think with all the noise and commotion around him.
That was probably a good thing.
The group paused to watch one of the lion dances. The massive costumes were decorated in bright red and gold, the luckiest colors in the Chinese culture. Red for joy and good fortune, gold for fulfillment and good luck. There were two performers per lion—one to manipulate the head and one the tail. Their agility and coordination would make Blake’s old football coach drool.
Despite their heavy costume, the dancers twisted and turned and jumped from pole to pole with nary a stumble. The audience’s gasps and applause drowned out the drums and cymbals in the background when the performers somersaulted off the 20-foot-poles and nailed a rock-solid landing.
Blake watched without watching. Any other time he’d be right there with his friends, cheering the dancers on, but he couldn’t shake what happened on New Year’s—the American New Year’s—out of his mind.
Blake downed his drink and took in his surroundings. The Zinterhofers’ duplex occupied the top two floors of their flagship hotel in downtown Austin. Blake had been here more times than he could count, but its magnificence never failed to impress. With its polished wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and panoramic views of the city skyline, the penthouse was a far cry from the Ryans’ comfortable but modest home in the Austin suburbs.
Blake swept his gaze over the attendees. It was an eclectic mix of their high school friends and the Zinterhofers’ rich associates. Landon was in the corner, speaking with an older woman in a tight gown that showed off an abundance of cleavage. She touched his arm and laughed too loudly at something he said.
Cougar central.
Blake set his empty glass on the bar and moved to rescue Landon from the cougar’s grasp. He made it two steps when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey, Blake.”
His throat went dry. He turned. “Hey, Cleo.”
The two childhood friends stared at each other. It was their first time speaking since their breakup. He’d avoided her all night—damn Joy for bringing her—but seeing her there right in front of him made Blake’s chest hurt. Their romantic relationship may not have worked out, but Cleo was a huge part of his life. They’d been friends since they could walk.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed her as a friend until now.
“It’s good to see you.” Blake ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck. “You look great.”
Cleo’s green dress matched the color of her eyes. Her skin gleamed beneath the lights and her hair fell in glossy dark curls past her shoulders. In fact, he noticed several guys checking her out from the corner of his eye.
“Thanks. So do you.”
There was an awkward pause.
Cleo cleared her throat. “How’s Shanghai?”
“It’s great!” Blake winced. That came out more enthusiastic than he’d intended. “Different, but…”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
He couldn’t take it anymore. If he had to dance around the elephant in the room one more time, he’d scream.
It was time to man up and look that damn elephant in the eye.
“I’m sorry about the way I handled things before I left,” Blake said. “And for being MIA since then.”
“You’ve been busy.” Cleo fiddled with her clutch. “I hear you’re dating someone in Shanghai.”
His jaw tightened. I am going to kill Joy.
“I am.” This conversation was getting worse by the minute. “Cleo, I care about you. You’re one of my oldest friends. But we never worked as a couple. We both know that.”
Cleo’s cheeks paled. Her eyes swirled with a mix of sadness, resignation, and—panic? No. That didn’t make sense.
“I know.” Her smile looked forced. “I don’t blame you. You’re a good person, Blake, and it was good while it lasted.”
Relief fizzled through him. “Yeah, it was.”
“Why don’t we start over? Put everything behind us and toast to our friendship.” Cleo waved down the bartender. “Two shots of tequila,” she ordered.
Blake’s eyebrows shot up. Cleo rarely drank, and she hated tequila.
Nevertheless, his relief outweighed his surprise. He could tell Cleo wasn’t 100% over their breakup, but at least she was willing to try. She could have her pick of guys. She’d eventually move on, which meant his family would have to move on.
A two-ton boulder eased off his shoulders.
“Here’s to friendship.” Cleo raised her shot glass.
“To friendship.” Blake clinked his glass against hers and knocked back the drink. He laughed at Cleo’s grimace. “We could’ve had something other than tequila.”
“It’s fine.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s do another one. For old times’ sake.”
“Maybe we should pace ourselves.” His suggestion was as much for his own benefit as it was for Cleo’s. He should’ve eaten dinner before the party, but he lost track of time Skyping with Farrah. Now, his stomach turned at the thought of another shot.
Cleo clucked her tongue. “Shanghai has made you soft.”
Oh, hell no.
“Soft?” Blake narrowed his eyes. Yeah, his head was starting to spin, but his reputation was at stake here. “Soft, my ass.” He turned to the bartender. “Another round of shots. Make ‘em double.”
The lion dance ended to enthusiastic applause from the crowd.