If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

Blake grimaced. “Please don’t say ‘shits and giggles’ ever again. You’re a grown-ass man.”

“This grown-ass man will say whatever he wants.” Justin tossed his towel aside and winked at his replacement, a curvy redhead with a pierced lip and no-bullshit attitude. Two minutes later, he was up in Blake’s face again from the other side of the bar.

“We need a new go-to bar until Legends opens,” Blake told Landon, who smirked in response. “Preferably somewhere with bartenders who keep their nose out of other people’s business.”

“Having my nose in other people’s business is my business.” Justin yawned. “Anyway, since I’m off duty, I’m speaking to you as a friend. You’re an idiot. You should’ve had sex with her.”

“I don’t want a friend with benefits. Actually, not even a friend with benefits. She said, ‘one night.’” Nausea churned anew in Blake’s stomach. He hadn’t bothered answering Farrah’s ultimatum. He couldn’t. Instead, he’d put on that ridiculously small shirt the B&B owner’s son lent him, walked downstairs, and drowned his sorrows with wine. Not his first choice, but that was what they had, and at that point, he would’ve drunk rubbing alcohol to forget what happened in their room. He didn’t return to said room until well past midnight, when Farrah was already sound asleep.

“Uh, yeah. That’s your golden ticket, man.” Justin groaned at the confused look on Blake’s face. He turned to Landon. “You get it, right? Back me up here because our man is thicker than a concrete wall. I can’t believe he’s a successful businessman.”

To his credit, Landon tried to stifle his laugh. Too bad he failed.

“I think what Justin is trying to say is, Farrah didn’t say she wants nothing to do with you. She said she only wants to have sex with you. There’s a difference.”

Blake frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Twin blankets of exasperation fell over Landon’s and Justin’s faces.

“Why do you think friends with benefits relationships never work? Because someone always ends up catching up feelings. Personally, that’s why I never do them.” Justin smiled at a gorgeous passing blonde, who smiled back. “One-night stands for me only. But I digress. You can tell Farrah you’re down for just sex, then work on turning it into more. You can’t do that if you shut down your only hope of seeing her on a regular basis.”

“What he said.” Landon jerked his thumb at Justin.

“Turn it into more after one night?” Skepticism coated Blake’s words.

“Yep. If you can’t do it, that’s a problem I can’t help you with,” Justin said, oozing sympathy. “Sucking in bed—figuratively, not literally—is a common affliction amongst ninety-five percent of the male population. Excluding yours truly, of course. I gave you the strategy; I can’t give you the tools, too. You’re either born with it or—fuck!” He cursed when Blake’s fist slammed into his arm.

“Screw you,” Blake said. “I’m ten times better at fucking than you are.”

“You wish, Ryan. I’ve sampled every zip code in Manhattan and most in Brooklyn, and I’ve had no complaints.”

“Classy,” Landon said, tone dry. “But unless you both want to whip out your dicks for a measuring contest in the middle of a bar, I suggest we keep the conversation on track. Blake, J’s right. It’s easier to turn something into something than nothing into something.” He frowned. “That made sense, right?”

It did, in its own twisted, screwed-up way.

Blake’s friends were hardly Dear Abby material, but they made good points. Besides, their earlier advice of playing hard to get—as juvenile as it had been—worked. Sort of. At least it broke down enough of Farrah’s walls for her to admit wanting him.

Hazy memories from the past curled around Blake. The heat, the passion, the breathy screams as Farrah fell apart in his arms. Hell, their make-out session in Syracuse almost set the room on fire, and they’d only hit second base.

For all the years, confusion, and secrets between them, Blake and Farrah’s chemistry could still blow the doors off a nuclear lab.

Turn one night into multiple nights.

Blake could do that.

He hoped.

Chapter Nineteen

Farrah’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she strode toward the elevator bank in Blake’s building. The contractors finished the floors and tiling last week, and she’d hired a company to move the items from the storage unit into the apartment so she could start her favorite part of the design process: arranging the furniture and decor and bringing her vision to life.

The elevator dinged on the twenty-seventh floor. Earlier that day, she’d overseen the assembly and arranging of the large furniture items—the sofa, the bed, the dining table—before she ducked out for a quick dinner, but she wanted to double-check everything before she wrapped up today so she could jump right into work tomorrow.

Farrah fished the spare key Blake had given her to use for the duration of the project out of her purse and let herself in. The apartment smelled of new furniture and lemon-scented wood polish.

Blake had decamped to a nearby hotel while he waited for the project to finish, so Farrah hadn’t seen him at all during her comings and goings.

She brushed away the niggle of disappointment in her stomach and focused on the task at hand.