If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

Farrah stared out the window. Between the noise in the diner and her inner turmoil over Blake, she’d missed the near-apocalyptic scene outside. The gray skies had escalated into a harsh downpour worthy of hurricane season. Angry bolts of lightning streaked through the sky, chased by the furious roars of thunder, and the rain fell so fast and heavy she couldn’t see their car parked right in front of the diner.

“There’s a severe storm warning until tomorrow. You’ll have to hunker down in town,” their waitress chirped, like they were discussing a picnic instead of a rainstorm. “There’s a nice B&B just down the road. Their owner dropped by earlier and mentioned one of their guests canceled last minute, so they should have a room open. I can call them if you’d like.” She whisked their plates off the table.

Dread settled in the pit of Farrah’s stomach. The last thing she wanted was to spend a night here with Blake—not when he was acting so weird, and not when her body was a live wire waiting to explode. He was like the chocolate milkshake she’d ordered—delicious and nice to look at, but oh-so-bad for her.

Unfortunately, the waitress was right. It was too dangerous to drive back to the city.

A loud boom of thunder rocked the diner, underscoring the need to stay put in town for the night.

Farrah forced a smile. “Thank you. That would be great.”

Across the table, Blake turned ashen. “I can’t drive in this rain.”

“It’s ok. We’ll check into the B&B.” This day was not turning out the way Farrah had expected. “Hopefully, the storm passes before morning.”

“No.” Blake gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned whiter than his face. “I mean I can’t drive in this rain. We have to wait it out here.”

“What?” Farrah laughed. “We can’t wait this out here. The storm doesn’t look like it’s going to pass anytime soon.”

“Farrah, I mean it.” He bit out each word like they were poison-coated pills. “I’m not driving in this rain.”

Farrah had never seen Blake so shaken. The sight of his turbulent eyes and trembling shoulders awakened a part of her that was infinite times more dangerous than her body’s craving for him. It was the part that wanted to dig into his darkest secrets, extract the bloodied bullets, and nurse him back to health, even if saving him meant losing herself.

It’s not your job to piece him back together.

“I’ll drive,” Farrah said softly. She could handle the rain. They weren’t going far. “Okay?”

Blake’s jaw clenched. After a few seconds, he jerked out a nod.

The waitress returned with their check, confirmation there was one room left at the B&B, and a piece of paper that Farrah was sure contained her phone number, which Rachel Bilson 2.0 slipped to Blake.

He didn’t notice. His head bowed, all traces of sunny, irreverent Blake gone. In its place was a darker, brooding version of himself that had Farrah’s heart aching and wondering what, exactly, had happened to him in the time they were apart.

Chapter Fourteen

“For God’s sake, Joy, I said I’ll try. Look, I have to go. I’m with someone.” A pause, then a grudging, “Love you too. Talk to you later.”

Farrah tried to focus on her Kindle app and not eavesdrop on Blake’s conversation.

She failed. Miserably.

A second later, Blake stepped out of the bathroom, wearing sweatpants and...nothing else. An orange Syracuse T-shirt sat balled in his fist instead of covering his sculpted chest and six-pack abs. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, eliciting wicked fantasies about what would happen if they inched down just a bit.

Farrah gulped. She pulled the covers up to her chest, hyperaware of her hard nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her own T-shirt, which was so large she wore it as a dress.

She and Blake arrived at the B&B with no incident but had gotten soaked during their run from the car to the inn. Since neither had planned for an overnight trip, they didn’t have a change of outfits. Fortunately, the owners were kind enough to lend them clothes for the night. Unfortunately, Farrah’s bra was tumbling in a washer somewhere along with the rest of her clothes instead of hiding her obvious and unwanted reaction to the man standing in front of her.

“Is everything ok?” The question came out breathier than she would’ve liked. Farrah cleared her throat. “You look upset.”

“I’m all right. Family stuff.” Blake tossed the shirt onto the chair in the corner. “Shirt’s too small,” he explained. “Hope you don’t mind.” Apology and a hint of mischief crept into his expression, one that said he knew what the sight of his bare chest did to her and what he’d find if he pulled the covers off her and shoved her panties aside.

Farrah’s thighs clenched. Her mind spun in a million directions, all of them counterproductive to her emotional and, soon, physical well-being. Whatever the female version of blue balls was, she had it. Bad.

“Is it your dad?” She silently applauded her attempt at maintaining a normal conversation when all she wanted to do was run into the bathroom and relieve the ache between her legs.

Blake rubbed his jaw. “Sorta. I was talking to my sister. My dad’s fiftieth birthday is in August, and she wants me to fly back to Austin for the party.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible.” Farrah’s brows drew together. Blake didn’t have the best relationship with his father, but… “He can’t still be mad at you for quitting football.”