“Thanks for your help, man.” Blake fist-bumped Sammy. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Sammy unwrapped his scarf. The heat in the dorm was on full blast, turning the lobby into a scorching desert compared to the chill outdoors. “I’m sure Farrah will love it.”
“Yeah.” Blake peeked inside his shopping bag to double-check the gift was still there. It’d taken forever to figure out what to buy Farrah for her birthday and longer to track it down. If it weren’t for Sammy, he’d be stuck deciding between cliché jewelry options. “I hope so.”
“I’m never wrong.”
It was a wildly un-Sammy-like thing to say.
The boys took the stairs two at a time until they reached the second-floor landing. “Olivia’s rubbing off on you.”
“There’s a ninety-nine percent chance you’re right.”
“Don’t tell her what I got Farrah,” Blake warned.
Sammy clutched his heart. “I can’t believe you think I’d spill the beans. I—”
“You were going to tell her, weren’t you?”
“Well, she already knows.”
Blake opened the door to his room and shoved the shopping bag under his bed. “Unbelievable.”
“What, you think I came up with that gift idea on my own? Don’t worry. Liv won’t tell.”
“If Farrah finds out before her birthday, I will kill you in the most painful way possible.”
Sammy didn’t seem concerned. “You are so gone. It’s adorable. Really.”
“Get out of my room.”
“Maybe you should’ve bought her a diamond instead.”
Blake shoved the other boy into the hall and slammed the door in his face.
“You’re welcome!” Sammy shouted through the door.
“The most painful way possible!” Blake reminded him. He waited until Sammy’s laughter and footsteps faded before he flopped onto his bed and opened his laptop. He had a movie date with Farrah in a few hours, but first things first: email.
The search for a home for the bar was in full swing. There wasn’t a lot Blake could do from Shanghai, so Landon was scoping out potential rental spaces while Blake sorted out their business registration.
His stomach fluttered as he looked over the documents. Even after he created his business plan, owning a bar seemed like more of a dream than reality. Now, that dream was becoming more concrete by the day.
Take that, dad. Blake couldn’t wait to see his father’s face at the grand opening. It was going to be epic.
A new email notification popped up. Landon. The subject line: round three.
Blake opened the dozen or so attached images. Landon had been busy scouting places. He wished he could’ve been on the ground with his friend, but for now, photos would have to do.
Blake dove into dissecting the layouts, the lighting, the square footage, and whether it fit what he envisioned for the space. The one with the loft intrigued him. It was the most expensive of the lot, but the upstairs area would make a sick game room. He could deck it out with a pool table, darts, shuffleboard, the works. The beer pong tournaments at Gino’s were always popular. Maybe he’d use the space to host weekly bar sports Olympics. People who liked sports were competitive—they would eat that shit up.
Blake was so engrossed in the blueprints time slipped away. When he checked the clock again, two hours had passed.
“Shit!”
Farrah would kill him if he were late. Movie previews were her favorite part.
He was about to shut his laptop when another notification popped up. This time it was an iMessage from Cleo.
Are you busy?
Blake’s heart stopped. He hadn’t heard from Cleo since New Year’s. He’d thought of reaching out to her a few times—more out of hope she’d change her account of what happened than an actual desire to talk to her—but something stopped him each time.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could ignore the message. He was already running late for his date with Farrah.
No. I’m free, Blake typed.
Morbid curiosity compelled him to stay. What prompted Cleo to contact him after weeks of radio silence?
Great. I’ll Skype you.
The unease in Blake’s stomach grew as he accepted the Skype call.
Cleo’s face filled the screen.
“Long time no see.” He attempted to lighten the mood. They were thousands of miles apart, but the air between them crackled with tension.
“That’s because you’re in Shanghai.” Cleo looked paler than usual. She’d tossed her hair into a messy ponytail—a sure sign she wasn’t feeling well—and tension lined her mouth.
“I’m well aware.”
They fell into silence. Funny. If they hadn’t dated and ended things the way they did, they’d be talking as often as Blake did with Joy. Part of him wished they could go back to the way things were. Another part recognized that was impossible, no matter what they’d agreed to over New Year’s (before they slept together).
Things change. People change. But they never change back.
“What happened on New Year’s—” They spoke at the same time.
“You go first—”
Blake and Cleo looked at each other and laughed in a rare moment of normalcy.
“You go first,” Cleo repeated. She fiddled with her sleeve. With her oversize sweatshirt and bare face, she looked like she was fourteen.
That was the year it all changed. Blake was sixteen, caught up in the throes of high school stardom. Meanwhile, Cleo began looking at him the way girls always looked at him.
Blake wished she hadn’t. He missed the simple, early days of their friendship, before hormones and family and society got in the way.
Regret gnawed at him. “I’m sorry for running out like that,” he said. When Cleo told him they’d slept together, he shot out of the room like there was a pack of hellhounds in pursuit. “I remembered I had to be somewhere.”
It was a lame lie, and they both knew it.
A strained smile touched Cleo’s lips. “It’s ok. You always run.”
Blake frowned. Before he could ask her what she meant, Cleo added, “I’m sorry too. We agreed to put the past behind us and be just friends, and, well, we kinda messed up.”
“Yeah. Tequila’s a bastard.” Blake drummed his fingers on his thigh. Nervous energy zigzagged through his veins. “I’ve never seen you drink so much.”
“I’m not going to drink alcohol for a while, I’ll tell you that much.” Cleo cleared her throat. “How’s…”
“She’s good.” Speaking of Farrah, he was running late for their date.
Funny how that was the thing he focused on when there was the bigger issue of him sleeping with his ex-girlfriend while he and Farrah were together.
The cramping intensified.
Cleo watched him closely. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“I really do.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who didn’t control myself. I could’ve stopped drinking. I could’ve—”
“That’s not what I meant.” Cleo took a deep breath. Her eyes swam with regret and apology. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say.”
Shit.
That didn’t bode well. At all.
Blake gripped the edge of his laptop. The drumbeat of dread mounted in his chest, growing louder and louder until he thought he’d go deaf from the sound.
Cleo bit her lip, which she always did when faced with a hard decision. He’d seen it when she had to decide between attending STU or Texas A&M for college, and when she wasn’t sure whether to break up with her ninth-grade boyfriend or not.
This time, the stakes were far higher than college and fleeting high school relationships, but Blake didn’t know how high until Cleo opened her mouth and upended his entire world.
“Blake, I’m pregnant.”
