“I can’t believe it’s midnight.” Farrah stifled a yawn. “At the risk of sounding like a grandma, the last time I stayed out this late was…”
With Blake.
She winced.
Farrah had done a damn good job of pushing Blake into the darkest corner of her mind, and she wasn’t going to unravel that progress now. Not when she was on a date with another man.
“I don’t remember,” she mumbled.
Paul’s eyes crinkled into a smile as he threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m honored you broke your late-night rule for me.”
“It’s not so much a rule as a coincidence,” Farrah decided. “I coincidentally fall asleep around ten every night.”
He laughed. “Regardless, I’m happy we stayed up. I had a great time.”
Paul’s sweetness killed her. They were on their third date. She’d met him on a dating app Olivia forced her to download to “get her mind off Blake,” and he seemed like the perfect man—handsome, kind, and smart, the type who would never break her heart. But as much as Farrah enjoyed hanging out with him, their chemistry was more tepid than a two-day-old cup of coffee. When they kissed, she felt nothing. No fireworks, no butterflies, no racing pulse.
“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Paul asked. “There’s a 24-hour diner around here that’s supposed to be good.”
Farrah’s exhaustion battled with her hunger.
Hunger won.
“Okay.” Nothing eased her worries like a good burger and milkshake.
As they ambled down the sidewalk, Farrah’s mind ran a mile a minute, trying to figure out her next move.
Should she break up with Paul or continue to wait, hoping she’d develop stronger feelings over time? They weren’t dating dating, per se, but they weren’t not dating either. She didn’t want to string him along and prevent him from meeting someone else who could give him the love and attention he deserved.
But Farrah’s selfish side feared what would happen if she let Paul go. It would open up a void in her life, and here was the thing about voids: they must be filled. Good, bad, it didn’t matter, as long as there was something there to appease it.
Farrah had a sinking feeling she knew what would fill that void post-Paul, and she wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.
I’m a terrible person.
“Oh, wow.” Paul sounded awed. “Is that who I think it is?”
Farrah followed his gaze and saw the so-hot-it-should-be-illegal male model Zane stumbling into a taxi with a pixie-faced actress known for playing quirky, offbeat characters in indie movies. But that wasn’t what caught her attention.
No, it was the name of the bar they were stumbling out of: Legends.
Blake’s bar.
She’d known Legends was near the venue where she and Paul caught a late-night standup comedy show, but the sight still threw her for a loop. The building might as well have Blake’s face stamped on it, smirking down at her.
Farrah tightened her grip on Paul’s hand. Tonight was Legends’ opening party. She’d read all about it in the latest issue of City Style, which ran a multi-page feature on Blake, his business, and his lifestyle as a handsome, successful bachelor in New York City.
She’d been ashamed to find herself leafing through Blake’s feature at night, after Olivia had gone to bed, her heart aching at the sight of his smile and confident, relaxed posture. At least, that was what most people saw. Farrah noticed the touch of tenseness in his shoulders and the fact that his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
For all his success, Blake was hurting.
It’s none of my business.
If Blake wanted to run and suffer alone, far be it from Farrah to stop him.
“C’mon, let’s go.” She tugged on Paul’s hand. “I’m starving.”
They made it five steps before a deep, familiar voice stopped them in their tracks. “Farrah.”
Her name drifted through the air, whispered with the reverence of one who had seen the ghost of a loved one.
Farrah was tempted to keep walking, but Paul gave her a gentle nudge. “I think he’s talking to you.”
Coincidence, you’re a bitch. You know that?
Farrah steeled herself and turned around. All the breath rushed out of lungs when saw Blake standing there, looking so earth-shatteringly gorgeous she wished she had paints and a canvas so she could immortalize him for all eternity.
Blake wore a pair of dark blue jeans, a tailored black blazer, and a crisp white dress shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and trim waist. His tousled blond hair shone beneath the lights like a halo, but his eyes were pure sin: pools of blue crystalline that entranced you, sucking you under their spell without you realizing until it was too late.
He was a god descended from the heavens, Apollo made flesh, and no matter how much time had passed, Farrah’s body reacted the same way it always did: whimpering, purring, straining, like a needy animal desperate to return to its owner.
Her mind, thankfully, shut it down before her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed on the sidewalk in a pool of lust and heartbreak.
“Hello.” Her cold, formal tone displayed zero emotion. Farrah silently congratulated herself on the feat. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“This is my bar,” Blake drawled. His gaze flicked to her and Paul’s entwined hands; a muscle ticked in his jaw. “You didn’t attend the opening party.”
He’d invited her months ago, before everything fell apart, along with Olivia and Sammy. Farrah didn’t go tonight, so Olivia didn’t either. Sammy took a quick trip to San Francisco to check up on his bakery there, according to Olivia, who shut down when Farrah asked her how she knew Sammy’s whereabouts.
“I had something else to do.” Farrah took perverse pleasure in the storm brewing in Blake’s eyes. They weren’t crystalline anymore; they were sapphire, dark and furious. Still beautiful, but blazing with a raw, hot jealousy that sent shivers of triumph down her spine.
The dark part of her—the petty, vindictive part—wanted to break him the way he broke her. She wanted him to see what he was missing and drown in regret.
“I had a date with Paul.” She inclined her head toward the man next to her, who looked mighty uncomfortable. Farrah didn’t blame him. The tension in the air was so thick you could snap it in half. “I don’t believe you’ve met. Paul, this is Blake, one of my old design clients. Blake, this is Paul, my boyfriend.”
Paul wasn’t her boyfriend—they’d only been on three dates—and she could feel him shift in surprise. He didn’t correct her, though, bless his heart.
Guilt swirled in her gut at using him like this, but she’d deal with that later. Right now, Farrah could only focus on the displeasure radiating from Blake in waves, both at her clinical description of their relationship—old design client—and the word “boyfriend.”
Like he had any right to be upset. He was the one who’d pushed her away without warning because she “deserved better.” Well, here she was, deserving better.
Take that.
Yes, she was being childish. No, she didn’t care.
“Nice to meet you.” Paul released her hand to shake Blake’s with an affable smile. “Blake Ryan, right? I read about you the other day. Congrats on your bar.”
“Thank you.” Blake bared his teeth in a smile. He grabbed Paul’s hand so tight the other man flinched, but Blake kept his focus on Farrah.
“Guess who’s inside right now?” His voice dropped an octave to soft and intimate, and her skin warmed in response. “My father. He came.”
Surprise rushed through her. “I’m happy to hear that.”
Farrah really was. She wanted Blake to find peace with his father. What she didn’t want was for her heart to go all crazy on her, like it was doing right now.
“How do you know each other?” Paul’s voice cut between them, and Farrah yanked her gaze away from Blake’s.
She’d forgotten Paul was there.
The darkness returned to Blake’s expression. “We used to date.” He maintained his crushing grip on Paul’s hand.
Paul’s face reddened, and Farrah glared at Blake. He smirked in return.
“So, how long have you two been dating?” he asked conversationally. The soft intimacy was gone, replaced by silk-covered steel.
“A month.” This time, Farrah was the one who smirked when Blake’s eye twitched at the implied meaning behind her words.
It took me no time to move on.
Not true, and she went on her first date with Paul two weeks ago. But Blake didn’t need to know that. Besides, if you rounded up, fifteen days counted as a month.
“Good for you. It takes most people longer than that to find a decent rebound.” Icicles hung from Blake’s barb.
Paul finally yanked his hand away.
The sudden anger in Farrah’s stomach skipped the simmering stage and went straight to full-on boiling. “There was no one to rebound from.”
Blake’s eyes sparked with challenge. “No? It didn’t seem that way when you were moaning my name every night.”
Thwack!
Pain blossomed in her palm.
Farrah stared at her hand, then at Blake’s face, where a bright red palm print marred his perfect cheek.
His chest heaved; his jaw clenched so tight she could hear his molars scream in protest. Other than that, no reaction to her slap.
It was the first time she’d slapped someone in her life.
“What the fuck!” Paul shoved Blake’s chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Paul never cursed.
Looked like tonight was bringing out the best in all of them.
“Paul, let’s go.” Farrah was tired, so tired she couldn’t stand straight. “He’s not worth it.”
After a second’s hesitation, Paul released Blake with a scowl. Blake didn’t retaliate. He just stared at the other man blankly, like he wasn’t sure how they got there.
Farrah and Paul left him standing there beneath the bright lights of his bar, a lonely king in front of his empire.
Once they were out of Blake’s presence, the vindictiveness that’d sunk its claws into Farrah’s skin melted away, replaced by shame.
“Paul—”
“Don’t.” Paul walked on the far side of the sidewalk, like he couldn’t stand to be too close to her. “Let’s talk after we’ve both had some rest.”
They both knew how the talk was going to go.
Even though Farrah had debated ending things with Paul herself, she hated how this all happened. Paul was a sweet guy who did nothing wrong. He deserved better than to feel like a cheap rebound.
She stared at the ground, angry tears searing her eyes.
Once again, Blake Ryan had to ruin everything.
