If We Ever Meet Again (If Love Book 1)

Blake rolled out of bed at eight. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up this late, but Disneyland took him out. He forgot how tiring amusement parks were.

Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to get ready, and he was out the door by 8:15.

Blake’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. The jianbing from the street vendor behind campus was the highlight of his mornings. He’d passed by the stand multiple times his first two weeks here, tempted by the smell but wary of buying street food, before he caved. It was the right decision. Those savory, crisp-fried crepes were some of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Blake was so busy fantasizing about the jianbing he didn’t notice the girl walking in front of him until they were in the courtyard.

Long, dark hair. Slim, curvy figure. Posture Emily Post would be proud of.

Well, he’ll be damned. “Farrah!”

Farrah stopped. When she turned, she wore an exasperated look on her face. “Hi.”

“You’re up early.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“I usually get up earlier, but we had a late night.” Blake smiled, remembering how adorable Farrah looked when she was sleepy.

Wait. Adorable? Where the hell did that come from?

Girls his age weren’t adorable. They were beautiful (relatives) or sexy (non-relatives). Adorable did not figure into the equation.

Not that Farrah wasn’t beautiful or sexy, but—

Dude. Stop while you’re ahead.

Blake cleared his throat. The hunger must be getting to him. “So, where are you off to?”

Farrah wore an orange dress that was far too nice for a quick breakfast run. She held a milk tea in one hand and had a sketchbook tucked beneath her other arm.

“I’m going to explore a little.”

“Without your girls?”

“They’re sleeping. Well, Olivia isn’t, but she’s working on internship applications.” Farrah paused. Sipped her drink. Then, “Do you want to join me?”

Blake nearly fell over at the invitation. He wasn’t sure Farrah even liked him, and now she was inviting him to hang out with her.

He shouldn’t. He was hungry as hell and he had a date with the gym. He hated going there after 10 am, when it filled up with guys who were more interested in gym selfies than working out. Besides, Blake didn’t like the way his body reacted around Farrah. It was different than the typical sexual attraction—though that was certainly there—and it freaked him out.

“You don’t have to,” Farrah said. “If you have other plans—”

“I’d love to.” I hope I don’t regret this. “As long as we make a quick detour for breakfast.”

“Making demands already,” she teased. “Why am I not surprised?”

Blake led the way to the back gate. He’d walked this path so many times he could do it with his eyes closed.

“Breakfast is a reasonable request. More reasonable than bubble tea at 8:30 in the morning.”

Farrah clutched her drink to her chest as they approached the jianbing stand. “Don’t judge. This doesn’t have boba, so it’s technically not bubble tea. Even if it is, bubble tea is appropriate at all hours of the day.”

“Fine. But we’re also getting you a proper breakfast.” Blake turned to the vendor, whose eyes brightened with recognition. “Liang ge jidan, wei la.” Two eggs, mildly spicy. No need to specify the jianbing part in your order—that was a given.

He wasn’t fluent in Chinese yet, but he was fluent in the language that counts: food.

Blake paid the vendor and handed Farrah one of the jianbings. “This will change your life.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m Chinese. I’ve had jian—oh my god.”

“Told ya.” They walked to the metro. “Is it good or is it good?”

“It’s amazing.” Farrah took another bite and hummed in bliss.

Blake’s body reacted viscerally to the sound.

I need to get laid.

The last time he had sex was…holy fuck, in July, right before he broke up with Cleo. Two whole months. It was his longest dry spell since he lost his virginity to the most popular girl in the senior class when he was fifteen.

Shauna Smith. She’d been something. And she earned her title as head cheerleader in more ways than one.

“I can’t believe I’ve never had this before.” Farrah tossed her empty wrapper and milk tea container in the trash. “I usually go to Cinnamon for breakfast. Kris insists.”

“This is better than cafe food, and cheaper too.” Blake tapped his metro card on the reader. “Don’t say I never bought you anything.”

Her silvery laugh sent another wave of awareness rippling through his body.

Correction: I REALLY need to get laid.

“So, where are we going?”

“Have you heard of M50?”

“Sort of.” Blake had never heard of M50 in his life.

“It’s Shanghai’s contemporary art district. There’s a ton of galleries—and design inspo.” Farrah waved her sketchbook in the air.

“For the competition.”

She looked surprised. “You remember.”

“Of course.” Blake couldn’t forget the way Farrah’s eyes lit up when she talked about the competition. She was studying interior design because she loved it, not because everyone said she should. Her passion was refreshing…and depressing. Blake had never felt that way about football or anything else in his life, really.

He knew what he didn’t want to do. Now he had to figure out what he did want to do.

After ten minutes in M50, Blake scratched “artist” off his potential careers list. As a neighborhood, M50 was cool. It featured old warehouses and factory buildings-turned-galleries for every type of art Blake could imagine, and some he couldn’t.

There were confounding multimedia neon and LED light installations and a terrifying exhibit of monstrous spider sculptures. There was also a weird-ass garden where everything—trees, grass, flowers—was made of knitted yarn.

Blake appreciated the creativity, but…he didn’t get it. He understood paintings. That was art. Boring art, but art. He did not understand the point of knitting a tree (seriously, what the fuck?) or why someone would pay thousands of dollars for a twisted piece of metal.

Rich people needed to find better ways to spend their money.

Farrah, on the other hand, was so busy examining the exhibits and scribbling notes she stopped speaking to him once they started gallery hopping. He didn’t mind; watching her work was way more interesting than any of the exhibits on display.

Soon, Blake could identify her every micro-expression. The way her brow furrowed when she was thinking hard; the way she tilted her head an inch to the left when she was confused; the way her eyebrows shot up and her mouth parted in excitement when she came across a revelation. He knew it was a revelation because she’d open that notepad of hers and scribble like crazy.

Perhaps he should be an anthropologist, though Blake suspected his interest in studying people was limited to Farrah. He’d never been this engrossed by anyone else before.

By the time they wrapped up their self-guided tour, it was almost three. Blake’s stomach growled with anger—they’d blitzed through the galleries without stopping for food.

Blake and Farrah settled for the first cafe they could find. The airy industrial space doubled as a gallery and studio, and customers drifted through the loft, admiring the art displays with their coffees in hand.

Despite the bustling crowds, they snagged a table in the loft-like seating area upstairs. Their “meal” comprised of coffee, paninis, brownies, and cheesecake.

Healthy? No. Delicious? Hell yeah.

“Thanks for coming with me today.” Farrah sipped her drink. “Sorry if I ignored you. When I get in the zone, I tune out everything else.”

“It’s ok.” Blake wasn’t used to being ignored, but it was nice being able to do his own thing without other people breathing down his neck. At TSU, he couldn’t take a shit without others talking about it.

That was the great thing about FEA. People left him alone. He received a lot of stares and questions the first week or two—why did he quit football? Was he ever going to play again? Why was he in Shanghai?—but soon, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to pay him much mind. The questions tapered off, and Blake felt like a regular student for the first time in a long time.

“Did you like the art?”

“Ummhmm.” Blake wolfed down half his panini to avoid answering her question.

“Sorry, I don’t speak caveman.” Farrah’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Blake swallowed his food and tried to think of something nice to say. “It was cool. The yarn garden was, uh, interesting.”

Farrah burst into laughter, and Blake’s skin tingled with pleasure.

“You hated it. You were falling asleep in the yarn exhibit.”

So she’d noticed. A grin tugged at Blake’s lips. “You can’t blame me. It was like being inside a giant blanket.”

Another laugh, another tingle of pleasure.

Farrah leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret? I thought that was weird too.”

Blake clutched his chest. “Is it possible? Do we…have something in common?”

“I guess we do.” Farrah’s eyes flickered with something he didn’t dare name, and his heart slammed against his ribcage in response.

The noise and the people surrounding them fell away. All Blake could focus on was the girl sitting across from him—her eyes, her scent, her lips. She smelled like orange blossoms and vanilla, and she was so damn close. If he leaned forward juuuust a few inches, their mouths would touch.

His throat dried at the thought. It was a bad idea. She was a virgin. She was in FEA. But dammit, he wanted to know what Farrah tasted like, and whether her lips were as soft as they looked.

The flare of awareness in her eyes told him the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Her lips parted. His pulse beat double time. Should he—

Then she blinked, and the moment was gone.

They leaned back.

“We should go—”

“It’s getting late—”

Blake and Farrah laughed, their awkwardness mingling to cover up something neither wanted to acknowledge.

“We should head back,” Farrah said. “I need to work on my portfolio. I got some good ideas today.”

“Yeah, and I, uh, need to go to the gym.” Blake winced the instant the words left his mouth. They did not help the “meathead” image most people had of him. He lived by the philosophy “other people’s prejudices aren’t my problem,” but he cared what Farrah thought of him.

He didn’t dare ask himself why.

Fortunately, Farrah didn’t say anything. They left the cafe and wound their way through the maze of galleries to the main street, where it took her less than two minutes to hail a taxi.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here.” Farrah gazed out the window as building after building whizzed by. “I’ve seen so many photos of Shanghai that when I look at it in person, I feel like I’m in the middle of a postcard and I’m not actually here.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense.”

“No, I know what you mean.” Blake stared at the skyline. The jungle of high-rise chrome and glass looked like a scene from a science fiction movie.

He, Blake Ryan, was in Shanghai. He’d been so busy with classes and settling in that it didn’t hit him until this moment.

He’d up and left Texas to spend a year in a country where he didn’t know the language, didn’t know the customs, and didn’t know anyone when he first arrived. Until now, he’d never been farther east than New York.

Blake wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. He enjoyed the freedom of being far from home, but China took some adjusting to. He wasn’t a fan of the squat toilets, the pollution, or how fucking hard Mandarin was. He had to communicate with hand gestures ninety percent of the time outside FEA, unless there was someone there to translate for him.

Of course, there were pros to go alongside the cons. The architecture, the cheap prices, (some of) the street foods. Shanghai remained foreign to him, but it also made Blake feel connected to something bigger than himself and the world he’d always known. And sometimes, when he stared out the window at the towering spires of the Shanghai skyline, he thought he might love it enough to never go back.

“I’ve never been in love.” Farrah’s non sequitur jolted Blake from his thoughts. She wore a far-off expression, like she was dreaming of something she knew would happen but hasn’t happened yet. “I think I could fall in love here.”

Her wistful tone made his heart ache in the strangest way. “Aren’t you already in love?”

Blake’s jaw tightened when he remembered the way Farrah looked at Leo yesterday. He had no reason to be jealous, but the green-eyed monster reared its head at the oddest times.

“Leo’s a crush. I want big, crazy, stupid love. The kind that’s worthy of Hollywood.” Farrah sighed. “I just want to know what that feels like.”

Blake eased backward and sank deeper into his seat. “That’s the con.”

“Excuse me?”

“There is no romance like that in real life. Books and movies hype up the idea of a grand love and The One to make money.”

The peaceful atmosphere in the cab shattered. Farrah’s jaw dropped. “Wow. That is so cynical.”

“I’m not cynical. I’m telling the truth.” Blake wasn’t anti-love, but it was overrated. Look at him and Cleo. Childhood friends turned lovers, with plenty of bumps and obstacles along the way. Their story was made for the movies and look how that turned out. Everyone said they were meant to be together, and he did love her, but he didn’t love her the way Hollywood said he should.

Hollywood romance was a load of crap.

Farrah crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m guessing you’ve never been in love.”

“I have.” What he and Cleo had was love, right? “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

She turned her head and stared out the window again. “I’m sorry. That’s really sad.” For once, her tone was devoid of sarcasm.

Blake followed her lead and gazed out the window closest to him. The view wasn’t nearly as nice on this side. It was all old apartment buildings and concrete and smog.

“I’ll survive.”