Farrah grabbed water. “Isn’t that how you feel about football?”
The warmth dissipated. Blake leaned back and fiddled with his own glass. “If that were true, I’d still be on the team.”
“You were so good. Or so I heard.” Farrah shrugged. “I don’t follow football.”
A smile touched his lips. “Thank god. I’m the opposite of you—good at what I did, didn’t particularly like it. Not enough to do it for the next ten, twenty years of my life.”
“That’s why you quit?”
Blake swallowed. “It’s part of it.”
Fortunately, Farrah didn’t press him on the issue. Unfortunately, she asked him a harder question. “If not football, then what do you want to do?”
Blake remembered his excitement at The End Zone. He’d thought he could do it—start his own business. After sleeping on it, it seemed ridiculous. Sure, he’d already designed the menu in his mind, and he had a million ideas for marketing and how he wanted the place to look, but dreams don’t require capital. Businesses do.
The only capital he had was a couple thousand bucks in savings. A liquor license alone cost more than that.
Blake forced himself to smile bigger. “I’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Eleven
“He can’t do this to me.” Kris snatched a dress off the rack and tossed it on the growing pile of clothes draped over her arm without glancing at the price tag. “I won’t let him.”
“Be careful!” Olivia winced. “That dress is like a thousand bucks.”
“Good. I’ll get one in every color.” Kris added the red, gold, and blue versions before moving on to the skirt section.
Farrah trailed after her, trying to ignore the fact that the total value of the items in Kris’s arms equaled that of a small country’s GDP.
“She always does this when she’s upset,” Courtney whispered. “She’ll be fine after some retail therapy.”
“Honey, that’s not ‘some.’ That’s a lot of retail therapy,” Olivia said as Kris dumped her haul into a nearby saleswoman’s arms so she could flick through a rack of Maison Margiela skirts. “Besides, I don’t think shopping will cut it this time. Her dad is getting married to someone five years older than her. That’s gotta sting.”
“I can hear you.” Kris yanked a skirt so hard off the hanger the delicate material ripped. Everyone gasped. The saleswoman looked like she was going to have a heart attack. “Calm down. I’ll pay for it.”
“Sweetie, slow down,” Farrah said gently. “We can’t carry all of this back to the dorm.”
“I’ll hire someone to carry it back. Don’t you know? Money can buy anything, including a 26-year-old redheaded bimbo who thinks she can take my mom’s place.” Kris’s lips trembled before she caught herself. She tossed her hair over her shoulder,
her jaw set in defiance.
“Oh, honey.” Courtney’s eyes swam with sympathy. “It’ll be all right.”
“Maybe she isn’t so bad,” Olivia said. “Maybe she really loves your dad.”
“Please.” Kris sniffled. “He’s twice her age, and I love my dad, but he’s not George Clooney. The only thing she loves about him is his bank account.”
“Soo…the strategy is to drain it before they get married?” Farrah joked, trying to lighten the mood.
It didn’t work.
“Hilarious,” Kris said. “I can’t stop the wedding while I’m in Shanghai, but I can strategize. They’re not getting married until next November. In the meantime, I’m going to let Daddy know exactly how upset I am.”
“Oh, I think he knows,” Courtney said. “The entire girls’ hall heard you screaming yesterday.”
Farrah and Olivia nodded in affirmation.
“The only language my dad understands is money, and he has tons of it. What I spend today won’t even make a—” Kris stopped and held up a finger. “Wait.”