Greg was gone.
Farrah frowned. Her eyes fluttered open to see Blake towering over them with a face like thunder. He gripped Greg’s shoulder so hard his knuckles turned white.
“You’ve made your point.” His voice was calm but edged in steel. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I’m not making a point. I’m making out.” Farrah giggled at her play on words. “Now let him go so we can continue making out.”
“Yeah, man, you’re hurting me,” Greg complained. He tried to twist out of Blake’s grasp.
Blake clamped down harder. “I’ll give you to the count of three before I rearrange your face,” he said, still in that deadly calm voice.
Greg looked at Blake, then at Farrah, then at Blake again. He held up his hands. “Don’t need to shoot me twice.”
He scampered off.
Pussy.
“Look what you did. Happy now?” The room tilted to the right. Farrah shook her head until it corre
cted itself.
“Not even a little bit. You’re drunk.”
“No shit. We’re in a bar.”
“That guy had his hands all over you!”
“So? If I didn’t want his hands all over me, I would’ve taken care of it myself.” Farrah shoved Blake’s chest, her buzz giving way to anger. Blake didn’t budge. It was like trying to shove a tree. One with stupid dimples and stupid blue eyes the color of crystals. Only now, the dimples were nowhere to be seen, and his eyes had darkened to a furious shade of sapphire. “You had no right to scare him away like that.”
“I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need your help!”
“Guys.” Sammy stepped in between them. Olivia must’ve put him up to it because he looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. “Let’s take it down a notch. Why don’t we—”
“Shut up, Sammy,” Farrah and Blake said in unison.
“Yeah, ok.” Sammy returned to where Olivia stood with the rest of their friends. She glared at him. “What? I tried.”
“We’ll discuss this outside,” Blake said through gritted teeth. “Everyone’s staring.”
He was right. A crowd had formed, and people were watching the drama play out with wide eyes. She half expected one of them to bust out a bucket of popcorn.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Farrah, please.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She followed Blake out of the VIP room to the exit. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Maybe the fresh air would do her some good.
“No re-entry after you leave,” the bouncer warned.
“VIP.” Farrah flashed her purple wristband as proof.
The bouncer squinted at it and nodded.
There was no one near the exit except for a handful of cabbies smoking and chatting by their cars. Farrah gulped in a breath of fresh air.
Blake faced her. “You’re not acting like yourself.”