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That was the great thing about FEA. People left him alone. He received a lot of stares and questions the first week or two—why did he quit football? Was he ever going to play again? Why was he in Shanghai?—but soon, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to pay him much mind. The questions tapered off, and Blake felt like a regular student for the first time in a long time.
“Did you like the art?”
“Ummhmm.” Blake wolfed down half his panini to avoid answering her question.
“Sorry, I don’t speak caveman.” Farrah’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
Blake swallowed his food and tried to think of something nice to say. “It was cool. The yarn garden was, uh, interesting.”
Farrah burst into laughter, and Blake’s skin tingled with pleasure.
“You hated it. You were falling asleep in the yarn exhibit.”
So she’d noticed. A grin tugged at Blake’s lips. “You can’t blame me. It was like being inside a giant blanket.”
Another laugh, another tingle of pleasure.
Farrah leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret? I thought that was weird too.”
Blake clutched his chest. “Is it possible? Do we…have something in common?”
“I guess we do.” Farrah’s eyes flickered with something he didn’t dare name, and his heart slammed against his ribcage in response.
The noise and the people surrounding them fell away. All Blake could focus on was the girl sitting across from him—her eyes, her scent, her lips. She smelled like orange blossoms and vanilla, and she was so damn close. If he leaned forward juuuust a few inches, their mouths would touch.
His throat dried at the thought. It was a bad idea. She was a virgin. She was in FEA. But dammit, he wanted to know what Farrah tasted like, and whether her lips were as soft as they looked.
The flare of awareness in her eyes told him the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Her lips parted. His pulse beat double time. Should he—
Then she blinked, and the moment was gone.
They leaned back.
“We should go—”
“It’s getting late—”
Blake and Farrah laughed, their awkwardness mingling to cover up something neither wanted to acknowledge.
“We should head back,” Farrah said. “I need to work on my portfolio. I got some good ideas today.”
“Yeah, and I, uh, need to go to the gym.” Blake winced the instant the words left his mouth. They did not help the “meathead” image most people had of him. He lived by the philosophy “other people’s prejudices aren’t my problem,” but he cared what Farrah thought of him.
He didn’t dare ask himself why.
Fortunately, Farrah didn’t say anything. They left the cafe and wound their way through the maze of galleries to the main street, where it took her less than two minutes to hail a taxi.
“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here.” Farrah gazed out the window as building after building whizzed by. “I’ve seen so many photos of Shanghai that when I look at it in person, I feel like I’m in the middle of a postcard and I’m not actually here.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, I k
now what you mean.” Blake stared at the skyline. The jungle of high-rise chrome and glass looked like a scene from a science fiction movie.
He, Blake Ryan, was in Shanghai. He’d been so busy with classes and settling in that it didn’t hit him until this moment.
He’d up and left Texas to spend a year in a country where he didn’t know the language, didn’t know the customs, and didn’t know anyone when he first arrived. Until now, he’d never been farther east than New York.
Blake wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. He enjoyed the freedom of being far from home, but China took some adjusting to. He wasn’t a fan of the squat toilets, the pollution, or how fucking hard Mandarin was. He had to communicate with hand gestures ninety percent of the time outside FEA, unless there was someone there to translate for him.
