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The wall moved. “Are you ok?” it asked.
A walking, talking wall. She must’ve hit her head harder than she thought.
Farrah peeked out from beneath her hand and found herself staring into a pair of crystal blue eyes. She recognized those eyes. They’d stared back at her from the cover of Sports Illustrated last year, along with the accompanying high cheekbones and cocky grin.
Now, they examined her with a mix of amusement and concern.
“You’re not a wall,” she blurted.
“No, I’m not.” The not-a-wall cocked an eyebrow. A hint of a smile played over his lips. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but that’s a new one.”
Farrah fought the flush of embarrassment spreading across her face. Of all the people she could’ve run into, she had to run into Blake Ryan.
Even though she wasn’t a sports fan, she knew who he was. Everyone did. A hotshot football player from Texas who caused a national uproar when he quit the team at the beginning of the year. Besides the Sports Illustrated cover, Farrah remembered Blake from an ESPN documentary about the most talented college athletes in the country. Farrah’s roommate last year forced her to watch it because she was obsessed with the point guard on CCU’s basketball team, and she needed someone she could gush to.
It’d been the most boring seventy-five minutes of Farrah’s life, but at least there’d been plenty of eye candy, none of whom were dishier than the Texan standing in front of her.
Six feet two inches of tanned skin and chiseled muscle, topped with golden hair, glacial blue eyes, and cheekbones that could cut ice. He wasn’t Farrah’s type, but she had to admit the boy was fire. Blake looked the way she’d pictured Apollo looking when she learned about Greek mythology in seventh grade.
“Well, you’re really hard.” The words slipped out before Farrah could catch them.
I did not just say that out loud.
The flush traveled from her face to the rest of her body. No matter how hard she prayed, the floor didn’t open up and swallow her whole, that bastard.
Blake’s other eyebrow shot up.
“I mean, your chest is really hard. Nothing else. Although I’m sure it could be hard if it wanted to.”
Kill me.
The hint of amusement blossomed into a full-fledged grin, revealing twin dimples that should be classified as lethal weapons.
“It sure can,” Blake drawled. “Especially when I’m around someone as beautiful as you.”
Farrah’s mortification screeched to a halt. “Oh, please. Do they actually work for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your cheesy pickup lines. Do they actually work for you?”
“I’ve never had any complaints. Besides, look at me.” Blake gestured at himself. “I don’t need pickup lines.”
“Wow.” Farrah shook her head. Typical jock. “It must be difficult walking around with such a big head.”
“Babe, that’s not the only part of me that’s big.”
Farrah couldn’t help it; her eyes dropped to the region below Blake’s belt. An image of what hid behind the denim flashed through her mind’s eye. Her mouth went dry.
“I’m talking about my chest, of course.” Blake shook with laughter.
Farrah’s gaze snapped up to his face. “I knew that.” The mortification crept back up her neck.
“Sure. Since you’ve already undressed me with your eyes, we should—”
“I did not undress you—”
“Properly introduce ourselves.” He held out his hand. “I’m Blake.”
