They lapsed into silence.
Farrah was beginning to think aliens had kidnapped the real Blake and replaced him with a robot version of himself. He was never this quiet. She felt like she was in the backseat of an Uber with a driver who didn’t particularly care to converse with his customers.
“I didn’t do this for the money, by the way.” Farrah tried to fill the silence.
Blake arched a questioning eyebrow.
“The road trip,” she clarified. “I found the trunk on the store’s website and it seemed so perfect for your living room. All the other trunks I found were off. Weird color, wrong size, ugly details. I didn’t specifically choose an item that couldn’t be shipped so I could bill you more hours.”
His laugh boomed against the chatter in the diner. “It’s okay. I didn’t think you were trying to swindle me.”
That was it. No teasing. No banter. Just, “it’s okay.”
Frustration coiled in Farrah’s gut. Why? She had no idea. This was what she wanted. A relationship in which they were designer and client, nothing more.
So why did she feel so uneasy?
“Well, thank you for driving me. I know you must be busy, so I appreciate you taking the time.”
“No problem.”
Farrah grit her teeth. She wanted to shake Blake until more words tumbled out of him because he was freaking her out.
Their waitress, a Rachel Bilson lookalike with a toothy smile, swooped in. “How’s the food? Can I get you anything else?” She directed her question at Blake. Farrah might as well be invisible.
Blake’s dimples showed up in their full glory. “The food’s great.” He glanced at Farrah. “Do you need anything?”
“No.”
He appeared unfazed by her curt response. “We’re all good, thanks.” He upped the wattage of his smile, and Farrah swore the waitress nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.
As the other woman tottered away on shaky legs, Farrah drained her milkshake with one long, hard slurp. The straw rattled angrily at the bottom of her empty glass.
“Do you want another milkshake? I can call her back,” Blake offered, still so annoyingly, irritatingly polite.
“No, thanks.” The way Rachel Bilson 2.0 eyed Blake, like he was a juicy steak and she hadn’t eaten in months, rankled Farrah more than it should have.
She took a deep breath. She and Blake had cleared the air about his ex-girlfriend at the lounge, and now it was time to address the other elephant in the room. “Look, about the other night. We were drunk and got carried away. I mean, we didn’t do anything, but…” Farrah trailed off, trying to arrange her thoughts into a coherent sentence. “What I’m saying is, I left because, uh, I had to wake up early the next morning.” Lame. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about my feelings for you. Not that I have feelings for you.”
Ugh. Why was she so bad at this?
“It’s forgotten. Don’t worry about it. Like you said, we were drunk. I don’t think you’re in love with me or anything.” Blake went back to eating his burger, a little more aggressively than before.
Farrah gaped at him in disbelief. She’d spent three weeks agonizing over that night only for him to brush it off like it meant nothing. Like they hadn’t almost kissed, and his arousal hadn’t pressed against her thigh, so hard it could’ve drilled a hole through his zipper.
Need slashed through her at the memory, even as she resisted the urge to hurl the rest of her food in Blake’s face.
“We should head back soon.” Farrah gripped her necklace, the anchor to her swirling thoughts. She needed alone time with her vibrating bedside buddy, stat. “It’s a long drive back to the city.”
“Are you talking about New York City?” Their waitress popped up again.
Jesus. Didn’t she have other customers to serve?
“Yes.” Farrah tried not to hol
d the way the other woman ogled Blake against her, but what if Farrah were his girlfriend? Would the waitress still ogle him like that? Didn’t seem smart. “Can we get the check, please?
“Sure thing, but I’d advise against driving back in this weather.” The waitress clucked her tongue, not taking her eyes off Blake. “It’s crazy out there.”