Farrah forced a smile. She chose not to mention that, if she had her way, she’d have lost her virginity already. Last year, she came this close to giving it up to Garrett Reiss, the hot junior in her Visual Communication class. After their third date, they made it all the way to his dorm room and to the pivotal moment before Garrett realized he was out of condoms. Before their next date could happen, she caught him playing tonsil hockey with another girl at the movies, and that was that.
Farrah didn’t want or need to wait for marriage or true love (although there was nothing wrong with that), but a girl had to have some standards. Sadly, every time she got close to doing the deed with someone who seemed to meet those standards, something came along and ruined it—wrong place, wrong time, no protection, guy turns out to be an asshole. The list goes on.
At this point, Farrah was never going to have sex. She could picture her headstone engraving already: HERE LIES FARRAH LIN, WORLD’S OLDEST VIRGIN, WHO TRIED TO GIVE IT AWAY BUT COULDN’T. MAY SHE REST IN PEACE.
“So how far have you gone?” Nardo looked intrigued. “Second? Third? Or—” He paused. “Wait. Have you gone past first?”
Luke snorted out a laugh that morphed into a cough when Courtney shot him a dirty look.
“Of course I have,” Farrah snapped. “I’m a virgin, not a nun.”
“Let’s move on. We’ve broken the no-follow-up-questions rule enough tonight.” Blake pulled a jack. “Never Have I Ever.”
Farrah exhaled in relief as everyone refocused on the game. She wasn’t ashamed of her lack of sexual experience, but she didn’t want to be grilled about it all night, either.
Farrah looked across the table and caught Blake’s eye. He gave her a discreet wink.
Huh.
Maybe Blake Ryan wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter Four
If Blake’s old teammates could see him now, they’d laugh their asses off.
Blake Ryan, studying on a Friday night instead of hitting the town? Unheard of.
While he’d been one of the few football players at TSU who chose a “serious” major (Business Administration) and took academics seriously, he’d never stayed in on Friday nights. Back then, he had appearances to keep up.
But Blake wasn’t a football player anymore, and he was in Shanghai, not Texas. Not to mention, FEA’s curriculum was hard as shit. Four-hour language classes four days a week, on top of daily homework and vocabulary lessons, weekly written/oral exams, and two elective classes conducted all in Mandarin. The teachers, or laoshis, were patient with Blake, who spoke zero Mandarin coming into this program, but he still had no clue what was going on half the time.
He tapped his pencil against the table. “Duibuqi. Dui. Bu. Qi,” he muttered, trying to imprint the characters in his mind. “Sorry” in Mandarin. He could pronounce it fine; writing it out was another matter.
Blake covered the characters in his textbook with one hand and attempted to write them based on memory. He got through the first two and guessed the third. A quick check told him it wasn’t close.
“Dammit.” His mom was right. He should’ve studied abroad in an English-speaking country like England or Australia.
But no, he had to choose China, home to one of the hardest fucking languages in the world.
Blake slammed his textbook shut and rubbed his eyes. His vision was blurry after hours of staring at the lines, curves, and squiggles that made up the Chinese written system. Meanwhile, the clock’s deafening tick echoed in the otherwise empty library, taunting him. Reminding him he’d been at it for two hours and still couldn’t get the easiest vocabulary words right.
“I need a break.”
Now he was talking to himself. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Blake blamed Daniel Craig for his predicament. If Shanghai hadn’t looked so dope in that Skyfall scene, which he watched right before he submitted his study abroad application with his city choice, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be in Sydney, hooking up with surfer babes and living his best life on the beach. Australia was even farther from home than China. It would’ve been perfect.
Stupid Bond fight sequence.
Blake stood to stretch his limbs. He rolled his neck and shrugged out his shoulders. Nothing better than movement after hours of sitting.
The library door opened. Farrah walked in with what looked like a sketch pad and a stack of magazines tucked under her arm.
Now there was trouble. Farrah was beautiful, and Blake got a kick out of riling her up, but she was off-limits. Not only was she in FEA—which meant he had to see her every day if things between them went south—but she was a virgin.
Blake slept with a virgin once, in high school. Granted, he didn’t know Lorna was a virgin until after the fact, and when he declined to make things exclusive between them, she took a key to his beloved Chevy until it resembled Freddy Krueger’s face.
Fun times.
Then Lorna’s father found out Blake slept with his precious daughter and tracked him down after football practice with a shotgun in hand. Luckily, Blake’s coach saw them and called the police before Blake found himself eating dirt six feet beneath the ground. The police let the man off with a stern warning, since he technically hadn’t tried to shoot Blake (yet), but Blake still filed a restraining order against the girl’s entire damn family.
Even funner times.
Lorna transferred schools soon after, and Blake swore never to hook up with a virgin again. That didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt with Farrah, though. Flirting was harmless.
He retook his seat, laced his hands behind his head, and kicked his feet up on the table with an insouciant smile.
Farrah arched an eyebrow at his unorthodox position. Instead of commenting, she sat at the table next to him and opened one of her magazines.
Blake stretched his arms over his head in a way that showed off his abs—one of his best assets. Along with everything else on his body.
It ain’t cocky if it’s true.
To his annoyance, Farrah didn’t look up. She continued to read, serene as a monk.
Blake swung his feet to the floor. He walked over to her table, plunked his ass in the chair opposite hers, and rested his chin in his hands.
The clock ticked. The A/C hummed. The pages rustled as she turned them.
Finally, Farrah slammed her magazine shut with a huff. “Can I help you?”
Blake grinned. Success!
“Now is that the proper way to greet someone?” he drawled. Austinites don’t have strong accents, but he could lay it on thick when he wanted to. “Didn’t your mama teach you manners?”
“She did. That’s why I left you and your vanity in peace. It would’ve been rude to interrupt.”
Blake placed a hand over his chest. “Vain? Me? You break my heart.”
“I doubt anyone can break your heart.” Farrah fluttered her lashes. “If they do, the proofs from your solo photoshoot earlier will ease the pain.”
His body vibrated with laughter. “You know, I’m down-to-earth once you get to know me.”
“Is that your favorite thing about yourself?”
“Favorite, as in one? I can’t pick just one.” He frowned. “Oh. I see.”
“Uh-huh. Now that we’ve established the obvious fact of your vanity, can you be quiet? I’m trying to work.”