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.”
“So am I.”
“You are not working.”
“I was working until you came in and interrupted me.”
“I didn’t say anything when I came in!”
“You distracted me with your radiant presence. It was like a goddess descended from the heavens. How can I focus on something as mundane as Chinese vocabulary when faced with such an extraordinary vision?”
Farrah’s mouth twitched once, twice, until she caved and doubled over with laughter.
A grin stretched across Blake’s face. There was something magical about seeing someone so composed let loose, and to know he was the one who made her laugh like that.
“I don’t know what to do with you.” She wiped tears from her eyes.
“I can suggest a few things.” Blake pictured Farrah climbing into his lap and straddling him. Taking his shirt off. Taking her shirt off. Gripping his hair and moaning while he feasted on those sure-to-be delectable breasts of hers.
Hey, he was a guy. He couldn’t help himself.
Except this guy now needed a cold shower.
Blake discreetly adjusted himself under the table. He liked having a dick. He and Junior got along great. But sometimes the friend downstairs popped up at the most inconvenient moments.
“Anyway, you’re reading…Vogue?” Blake squinted at the magazine cover. “I can’t imagine that’s part of the syllabus.”
“First of all, this is Vogue China, which means I’m practicing my Chinese reading skills. Second of all, it’s not for FEA. It’s—” Farrah hesitated. “Never mind.”
Blake’s intrigue radar blipped. “You can’t leave me hanging like that. What’s it for?”
Farrah sighed. “Every year, the National Interior Design Association hosts a student competition. The winner gets an all-expenses-paid summer internship at the NIDA member firm of their choice. It’s one of the most prestigious honors in the industry.”
“Sounds fancy.” Blake didn’t know a single thing about design, but he wished he did. Not because he wanted to be a designer, but because of the way Farrah’s eyes lit up when she talked about it. He wanted to know what made her so passionate about the subject. Maybe it’d help him figure out what the hell he wanted to do with his life. “I don’t get the Vogue part though.”
“It’s for inspiration.” Farrah fiddled with the pages. “We have to submit a portfolio with different design concepts, and I’m stuck on what I want to do for the last one.”
“But it’s a fashion magazine.” Blake had heard his sister gush about the overpriced items in Vogue since they were teenagers.
“Design inspiration can come from anywhere. Fashion, travel, food, nature.” A dreamy look took over Farrah’s face. “There was a feature about the actress Marion Lagarde’s house in France. She designed her bedroom after her favorite Chanel couture gown. It’s fabulous.”
A smile tugged at Blake’s lips. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“So you see, it’s important for me to have peace and quiet. I need to work on my portfolio,” Farrah said pointedly.
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
Farrah reopened her magazine, and they fell into silence.
A minute later, Blake’s stomach growled.
She glared at him.
“What? I can’t control the noises my stomach makes.” Blake forgot he’d skipped dinner. No wonder his body was rebelling. He grabbed his laptop from the other table. “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not the one who’s hungry.”
“Come on, you need fuel for your imagination. You said food can inspire design.”
Farrah exhaled sharply. “I’m not going to get any work done tonight, am I?”
Dimples creased his cheeks. “There’s Thai, Indian…oh shit, McDonald’s has 24-hour delivery here.”
“We did not come all the way to Shanghai to eat McDonald’s.”
After some bickering, they settled on Malaysian. Forty-five minutes later, the delivery guy arrived with two bags of steaming hot takeout. Blake met him downstairs and brought the food up to the library, where he and Farrah wasted no time digging into the feast. Beef rendang for him, Hainanese chicken for her, plus chicken satay, roti canai, and sambal fried okra to share. Oh, and mango sticky rice for dessert, because it ain’t a full meal without dessert.
“Where are your girls?” Blake lifted a forkful of beef to his mouth. The rich flavors of lemongrass, ginger, cinnamon, and other spices he couldn’t name exploded on his tongue. Damn. Rendang looked like shit (literally), but it tasted like heaven.
Blake liked simple foods. Tacos, pizza, and burgers were enough to satisfy him, but after two weeks in China he was developing an appreciation for international cuisines.
He drew the line at chicken feet, fish eyes, and yak penis, though. There were some animal parts humans shouldn’t eat. Period.
“Out.” Farrah ripped off a piece of roti canai and dipped the flatbread in curry sauce.
“Why aren’t you with them? I thought the four of you were joined at the hips.” Blake didn’t understand why girls traveled in packs like wolves, even to the bathroom. Especially to the bathroom. What did they do in there, throw a party?
“My throat hurts so I sat tonight out. Better safe than sorry.”
“If you said something earlier, we could’ve ordered some chicken noodle soup.”
A small smile touched Farrah’s lips. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Their gazes lingered on each other. Farrah’s eyes resembled pools of melted chocolate. Beautiful, delicious melted chocolate.
Blake’s heart did a weird skip.
Farrah looked away. “What about you? Why are you holed up in the library on a Friday night?”
He didn’t bother lying. “Homework.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I did not figure you for the studious type.”
Her tone rankled him. Blake was used to people thinking he was a stupid jock. He usually shrugged it off—who was the one with a 3.8 GPA, bitches?—but Farrah’s assumption stung.
“Why not?”
Farrah appeared taken aback by his cool tone. “I don’t know. I guess it’s because you’re a football player and the athletes at my school aren’t exactly familiar with the library.”
“I’m not an athlete at your school, and I don’t play football anymore.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Blake’s ire melted at the chastised look on her face. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” He shoved another forkful of beef into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before adding, “I wasn’t getting much done, anyway. Foreign languages are not my strong suit.”
“What do you have problems with? Grammar? Pronunciation?”
“Everything, but mostly the characters. I can’t get them right.” How the hell was he supposed to learn a language with no Roman alphabet? There were thousands of Chinese characters, and they all looked the same.
“They’re hard,” Farrah acknowledged. “I have problems with them myself, but mnemonics can help. Here, give me your textbook. Did you learn radicals yet?”
“Yeah.” Depending on how you defined “learn.” Classes started so early Blake found it hard to stay awake.
“If you memorize them, they can be really helpful. Take kou, for example. You see how it sort of looks like a mouth? It’s part of most characters whose meanings have to do with the mouth, like jiao, to call, or chi, to eat.” Farrah wrote the words out. She went through a few other examples before moving on to the next radical.
Blake followed along, trying his best not to stare at her mouth. Farrah’s lips looked like they were made for—
Don’t go there, buddy. She’s a virgin. She’s probably never even given a blow job before.
He refocused on the lesson at hand. To his surprise, the characters made more sense. Not a lot, but more. It was a start.
Every once in a while, Blake broke up the monotony with random stories from his childhood and questions about Farrah’s life back home. He told her about the time he donned a bear mask and scared the hell out of Joy during a family camping trip at Big Bend, and how Joy tricked him with fake adoption papers as retaliation. That was messed up. To this day, a tiny part of Blake wondered if he was adopted.
Farrah told him about “borrowing” her mother’s lipsticks and using them as crayons on her family’s freshly painted walls.
Blake smiled at the mental image. A budding creative at age six. Farrah really did have her life figured out.
By the time they finished the first chapter, it was close to one in the morning. The food was long gone, and Blake’s eyes were bleary from staring at the text.
“We should call it a night,” he said. His brain wanted him to stay, but his body screamed for sleep. “Thank you for helping me with this.” He gestured at his notes.
“No problem. Consider it my apology for thinking you’re, you know.”
“A dumb jock?”
Farrah blushed. “Well, yeah. You’re different from what I imagined.”
“I am awesome,” Blake agreed. He scooped the empty food containers into a bag.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
She helped him gather up used utensils and napkins. “Now, the arrogance part, I got right.”
“I’m blessed with an abundance of confidence. Besides, I know you think I’m awesome.”
“Oh, really? How?”
Blake pointed at the clock. “You spent the whole night with me.”
Farrah’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s.
After Blake stopped laughing and dodged a swat from a red-faced Farrah, they disposed of the trash and collected their belongings. He turned off the library lights and followed Farrah into the stairwell.
He paused on the third-floor landing outside the girls’ hall. In the distance, a car door slammed, and laughter filtered through the stairwell window.
“Good night.” Farrah’s gaze tipped up to his. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, and Blake’s heart did that weird skipping thing again.
“Good night.”
She was so close. If he moved forward a few inches…
No. Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it, buddy. One kiss is not worth ruining your year over. Even if it’d be a helluva kiss.
Blake cleared his throat and stepped backward, breaking the spell. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yes.” Farrah, too, stepped back, widening the gap between them. “See you later.”
