Farrah stared at her hand, then at Blake’s face, where a bright red palm print marred his perfect cheek.
His chest heaved; his jaw clenched so tight she could hear his molars scream in protest. Other than that, no reaction to her slap.
It was the first time she’d slapped someone in her life.
“What the fuck!” Paul shoved Blake’s chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Paul never cursed.
Looked like tonight was bringing out the best in all of them.
“Paul, let’s go.” Farrah was tired, so tired she couldn’t stand straight. “He’s not worth it.”
After a second’s hesitation, Paul released Blake with a scowl. Blake didn’t retaliate. He just stared at the other man blankly, like he wasn’t sure how they got there.
Farrah and Paul left him standing there beneath the bright lights of his bar, a lonely king in front of his empire.
Once they were out of Blake’s presence, the vindictiveness that’d sunk its claws into Farrah’s skin melted away, replaced by shame.
“Paul—”
“Don’t.” Paul walked on the far side of the sidewalk, like he couldn’t stand to be too close to her. “Let’s talk after we’ve both had some rest.”
They both knew how the talk was going to go.
Even though Farrah had debated ending things with Paul herself, she hated how this all happened. Paul was a sweet guy who did nothing wrong. He deserved better than to feel like a cheap rebound.
She stared at the ground, angry tears searing her eyes.
Once again, Blake Ryan had to ruin everything.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“He shoots, annnnd he scores!” Justin crowed. He made a throwing motion with his hands as the ball swished through the net, breaking the tie and bringing his and Sammy’s score up by two points. “Good job, man.” He slapped hands with Sammy and grinned at Blake. “You’re off your game today, Ryan.”
“Whatever.” Blake watched Landon fetch the ball with zero interest. He was a competitive person by nature, but today, he didn’t give a shit who won their two-on-two basketball game.
“Whatever?” Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “What crawled up your ass and died? You’ve been acting like a moody sonofabitch all day.”
Blake glared at him. He regretted inviting Justin to join their game, and he regretted hiring him away from The Egret to Legends even more. Justin was a good bartender but a major pain in his ass, and now he had to deal with his smart mouth day in and day out. “Is that any way to talk to your boss?”
“Boss, my ass,” Justin said cheerfully. “Fire me if you’d like. I’m still right about the moody bitch part. Right?” He looked at Sammy and Landon, who shrugged in agreement.
Traitors.
“How was the grand opening?” Sammy lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Sorry I missed it. Had to deal with bakery stuff in San Fran.”
A passing group of girls ogled his bare abs through the chain-link fence of the Tompkins Square Park basketball courts.
“It’s cool.”
“Really?” Sammy eyed Blake with suspicion. “Because you look like you want to snap my head off and feed it to those stray dogs.”
“It’s not because of you.”
No, it was because of him. Paul whatshisface, with the stupid blue jacket and stupider face. What kind of fucking name was Paul, anyway? They lived in the twenty-first century, not 1900s England.
Of all the moments Blake could’ve chosen to step outside for fresh air, he had to choose that one. The one that ruined his night and month and the rest of his fucking year. He had to walk outside and see her. With him. Holding hands. Her boyfriend.