“She’s really pretty.”
The discomfort deepened. “I guess.”
“Are you still seeing her?”
“She’s leaving Shanghai next week. I might say goodbye.”
“Wow, that’s romantic.” It came out more sarcastic than she intended. What was wrong with her?
Farrah’s head swam. The tequila shot was not a good idea.
Blake scowled. “Ours isn’t a romantic relationship. We knew going in that it was going to be purely physical. I know that’s hard for you to understand—”
“Wow.” Farrah sucked in a breath. “Why is it hard for me to understand? Because I’m a virgin? That doesn’t mean I grew up in a nunnery, Blake. I know what hookup buddies are.”
“No! You’re taking this the wrong way.” Blake raked a hand through his hair, his face taut with frustration. “I meant you’re a romantic. You said it yourself. You believe in The One and epic love and all that. I don’t. That’s not what I came here for.”
He was right. He’d said it all along. Blake didn’t believe in love. Farrah was a fool to forget that. She’d been so caught up in her daydreams she ignored what was right in front of her and read too much into every glance, every word, every action. When Blake took her to dinner and gave her that pep talk on the tower, it wasn’t because he liked her. He was just being a good friend.
Good friends had their place, but Farrah was sick of falling for guys she couldn’t have. They were always either emotionally unavailable, like Blake, or literally unavailable, like Leo.
She needed to stop living in the clouds and return to reality.
“Maybe it’s not what I came here for either.” Farrah grabbed the drink nearest to her and chugged it. Vodka. Blech.
“Hey!” the owner of the drink protested.
The buzz intensified. Her heart beat fast with adrenaline.
“I can have casual hookups,” Farrah said. “I’ll prove it.”
Blake’s brow knit into a frown. “Farrah…” His voice carried a warning.
Farrah ignored it. She grabbed the drink owner’s shirt. He was young. Decent-looking. He’ll do. “You. Are you single?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good. Let’s dance.”
Farrah dragged him onto the dance floor without sparing Blake another glance. She bypassed her surprised friends and wrapped her arms around the guy’s neck.
The music segued into another, even sexier R&B song. Farrah ground her hips against Drink Guy’s, gyrating to the beat of the music. He was wearing too much cologne, and his breath smelled like cheap vodka.
Luckily, she was drunk enough to overlook both of those things.
Fuck Blake. Farrah wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d find him during study abroad. Her mistake was tunnel vision—focusing on one guy she liked and ignoring the rest of her options.
It was time to give other guys a chance. She didn’t need butterflies and skipped heartbeats to have a good time.
“Wow.” Drink Guy’s eyes glazed over. “I’m so glad you took my drink. I’m Greg.”
“Greg, I’m Farrah. Now shut up.”
“Ok.” A minute passed. “So, where are you from?”
Farrah groaned. Instead of answering, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. That’ll shut him up.
Greg wasn’t a great kisser, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. His lips moved eagerly over hers, and his hands cupped her bottom—