If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

“I don’t blame you. I saw him in Forbes.” Kris yawned again. “He’s still looking mighty fine.”

“Excuse me, but have we forgotten what he did to her in Shanghai?” Olivia huffed.

The Filipina waved off the concern with a dismissive hand. Her Wollman-rink-sized engagement ring glittered in the dim lighting. “That was years ago.”

“Love has made you soft,” Courtney teased. “There was a time when you would’ve been first in line to pin Blake’s balls to the wall.”

Kris shrugged, not bothering to deny it.

It had come as a shock to all of them when Kris announced her engagement to Nate. She was the last person they’d expected to marry first. Kris—who’d deemed the male species uninteresting, unprincipled, and unworthy of her time—hadn’t dated or hooked up with anyone during their year in Shanghai.

Then again, Farrah would break her rules for Nate Reynolds too. The action star looked like a taller, better-looking hybrid of Liam Hemsworth and Theo James, and from what she could tell, he treated Kris like a queen. Which was good, because Kris considered herself a queen, and not in the modern empowerment kind of way. More like a Harry-Winston-crown-wearing, everyone-bow-before-me kind of way.

Besides, Kris and Nate met the summer Kris returned from China. Five years of dating and jet-setting around the world together. They were already practically married, and their upcoming nuptials were just a formality.

“So.” Courtney’s blue eyes glittered with mischief. “How’s Blake in bed? Has he learned any new tricks?”

Australia-sized red blotches blossomed on Farrah’s face and chest. That was her cue.

“As much as I would love to discuss my sex life, I’m afraid I have to cut the night short. There’s have something I have to do,” she announced. “You guys will be in town until next weekend, right?”

“Yes,” Kris said at the same time Courtney asked, “Something or someone?”

“We’ll hang out during the week.” Farrah ignored Courtney’s question and Olivia’s disapproving stare. “Liv, see you at home later. Try not to blow a gasket before then.”

“That’s going to be tough considering my best friend insists on tangoing with the devil.” Olivia’s brows knotted together. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will.” Farrah slung her purse over her shoulder. “Love you guys. Venmo me the bill.”

“She’s totally going to bang Blake,” she heard Courtney say as she left. “Speaking of bang-worthy guys, we should invite Sammy out. I miss him.”

Olivia hissed. “Over my dead body.”

“Hey, whatever you’re into…”

Farrah’s friends’ voices faded. The door to Elysian jangled closed behind her as she poured herself into the sticky summer heat of late June New York. By the time she arrived at Blake’s building, a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, and her orange sundress clung to her chest and thighs.

The concierge recognized her on sight and waved her up without calling Blake, even though it was well past business hours.

Farrah was grateful for the extra time to change her mind, though it didn’t say much about building security.

You’re already here. Might as well go through with it.

She got off the elevator, heart pounding, and knocked on Blake’s door before she lost her nerve.

Silence.

Maybe he wasn’t here. It was, after all, Friday night.

Relief and disappointment fizzled in Farrah’s veins. This was stupid. She should—

She heard low voices, then footsteps. A second later, Blake opened the door, his eyes brightening with surprise when he saw who was on the other side. His hair was damp, and he wore a soft gray T-shirt that molded to his sculpted shoulders and well-defined arms.

“Farrah? What are you doing here?”

Farrah’s response died in her throat when another set of footsteps approached and a willowy, auburn-haired beauty appeared by Blake’s side. She wore an oversized black Southeastern Texas sweatshirt.

Blake’s sweatshirt.