If We Ever Meet Again - Ana Huang Page 0,76

together.

After twenty years, she’d found the guy who could take her to heaven and back.

Farrah collapsed on the bed and tried to catch her breath. “Best. Birthday. Present. Ever,” she wheezed.

Blake chuckled. He rolled onto his side and smoothed her hair from her face. “Better than the markers?”

“It’s close. I really like the markers.” Farrah ran her hand up and down his arm. Kris’d been right. They weren’t making it to 808. She had zero desire to get dressed and sweat her ass off in a crowded club. She’d much rather stay here with Blake in their own little world. “But I like you more.”

She expected him to reply with a smartass remark. When he didn’t, she looked up to find him gazing at her with such love it hurt her heart. Not because of the love, but because of what hid behind it—a sadness that reawakened her earlier sense of foreboding.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Blake played with the ends of her hair. “How does twenty feel?”

“It’s fine, and don’t change the subject. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Farrah propped herself up on her elbow so that they were at eye level. “Is it your dad?”

“No. I’m stressed about the bar, is all. There’s so much left to do.”

He’d said that the last time she brought up his strange behavior. She believed him then. She wasn’t sure she believed him now.

“Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to be a downer on your birthday.”

“You can talk to me about anything anytime. You know that.”

There it was—that melancholy that shouldn’t have been there. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Farrah smiled even as her heart clenched with unease. “You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“Well, I do. I love you so, so much.” Blake cupped her cheek. She detected a slight shake in his hand. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t.” She leaned in for a kiss.

“Farrah.” The fierceness in his voice startled her. “I mean it. No matter what happens, never forget how much I love you.” Blake’s eyes darkened with emotion. “I am totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you. I always will be.”

A lump formed in Farrah’s throat. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you too.” She examined his face, searching for answers to a question she didn’t know. “Are you sure everything’s ok? Besides the stress over the bar.”

Blake laced his fingers through hers with his free hand and squeezed like he was holding on for dear life. “We don’t have a lot of time left.”

No, they didn’t. They had eight weeks.

Eight weeks, fifty-four days, and one thousand ninety-six hours before they had to reenter reality.

But they didn’t have to do it now.

“We have plenty.” Farrah returned his squeeze. “We have tonight.”

Blake and Farrah kissed again, a deep, searching, passionate kiss that gave her everything her romantic side wanted.

Farrah lost herself in the embrace, letting it sweep aside her worries and the little voice inside telling her that this kiss, loving and tender though it may be, was also the type of kiss you gave someone right before you said goodbye.

Chapter Thirty

Two weeks later

Blake signaled for his check. The End Zone was his refuge these days. No one in FEA knew about this place, which meant he could wallow in self-pity in peace.

The bartender brought the bill. It wasn’t Mina, who left Shanghai months ago. She sent him a short text before she left, and that was that.

Honestly, their short-lived fling seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.

Blake tossed back the rest of his whiskey and scribbled his signature. On the wall, the clock ticked toward six. The group had six-thirty dinner reservations at some hot new restaurant Olivia picked out. Farrah texted him the invite. He didn’t reply.

“See you tomorrow,” the bartender said.

Blake nodded. He shouldered his way through the happy hour crowd and stepped outside. Spring had arrived in Shanghai, and the city burst with color and sunshine. Given Blake’s mood, it may as well be gray and storming.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of avoiding Farrah and making excuses about why he couldn’t hang out.

Two weeks of not seeing her, touching her, hearing her laugh.

Two weeks of hell.

Blake had to tell her about Cleo. He’d told himself to wait until after her birthday, but every time he tried to get the words out, they stuck in his throat like splintered glass, cutting him open from the inside until