Chapter 11
“She’ll be fine,” Roy said with a dismissive shrug. “Let her sleep it off while I order us some lunch. She ain’t a vegetarian, is she?”
Zack continued to look after Rachel, currently laid out on the bed in the depths of his yacht. Not unusual for a woman to make herself nice and cozy in his marina-based bed, but it rarely happened under these circumstances. “I don’t think so,” Zack finally replied. “Thanks for helping me get her down here.”
“Son.” A wrinkled, calloused hand slammed upon Zack’s shoulder. “If you’re going to lose your mind over a woman, try picking one that isn’t terrified of a little bit of water.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
Roy waved on his way back up to the deck. He closed the door behind him, leaving Zack alone in the cool quiet of his floating bedroom.
The interior of his yacht was arguably nicer than most of the exterior. It might as well be, for as many people he entertained in there. The oak panels on the walls brought in a bit of the outdoors even when they were in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. Plenty of windows brought in the beautiful sunlight, although most of them were currently curtained to keep things cool in the summer heat. The bed was a relatively modest queen-sized, but Zack made that concession so he would have room for the large flatscreen TV (complete with satellite streaming), the leather couch, and the light box shoved into the corner. Oh, and the bar, he supposed. Always fully stocked, although most of the other yachts around there had more bar space than he did. Not a big drinker when I’m on the water. I know! I’m crazy. For some reason Zack preferred to stay sober when he captained sea vessels. The drinks were mostly for his guests.
Rachel lay in the middle of his bed, both pillows stacked beneath her head. Zack sat on the edge of his bed and debated what to do. He wanted to call for a doctor (also named Seth) but his uncle assured him that he had seen stuff like this a hundred times before. “She’ll be back up in about half an hour. Doubt it’s fatal.”
Zack felt terrible.
He hadn’t known that Rachel was scared of water. It had never come up in their few conversations, even when he mentioned his yacht and his love for sailing or hanging out at the marina. How was I to know? When she expressed dissatisfaction for where he had brought her, Zack assumed it was leftover anger from the night before. How was he supposed to know that she was suffering from a genuine phobia?
A phobia he would never, ever understand. People who were this afraid of the water did not often come down to the docks. I’m so stupid. Why did I make her do that?
Rachel stirred behind him. Her grumbling was enough to make Zack look behind him and hope for the best.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “What a terrible nightmare.”
“Hey.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, “Shit.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Zack leaned toward her. “You passed out. You’re in my bed. Er, I mean… my yacht’s bed.” There. Did that sound better?
Rachel slowly pushed herself up and gave him a heated glare. “I hate water.”
“Really? Thought maybe you were reacting to bad shellfish.”
He grinned at her. Eventually, Rachel was compelled to snort and smile back at him.
“I’m sorry about this,” Zack continued. “I had no idea it would be such a problem.” He cocked his head. “What made you so scared of the water?” In his experience, people didn’t have these kinds of phobias for no reason. Usually, there was something sinister in their pasts. When it came to hydrophobia, it was probably mother nature being a bitch.
Rachel pulled her hair out of its ponytail. Somehow, her hair being down accentuated the features of her face more than pulling it back. Dark brown hair shrouded Rachel’s cheeks, drawing Zack’s attention to her dainty pink lips and frosty blue eyes. Damn. I mean… damn. This was the kind of image missing from his work.
She spoke, drawing him out of his fantasies.
“Fell in a pool when I was a little kid. I almost drowned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You ever almost drown before?”
“Not really.”
“It sucks. You also never forget it. It’s scary as hell.”
“I believe you.” Zack pried his eyes away from the angelic image gracing his bed. “I also want to apologize again. I should have picked up on your energy.”
“I should be the one apologizing. I’ve been a bitch since I got here.”
“No you haven’t.”
“After last night…” Rachel cut herself off. “Never mind.”
We should probably talk about it. Was he nuts? Zack was the first one to say that guys did not simply talk about their romantic feelings for women. Especially to those women!
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” they both said at the same time.
The pause that ensued was filled with stifling laughter. Zack puffed his into his cheeks while Rachel released her giggles into her hair. “Don’t worry about it,” Zack said. “I won’t.”
“Let’s put it behind us, right?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“You know.” Rachel curled her hands into her lap. “If we’re really going to do this friends thing, we should test it.”
“How so?” This would either be brilliant or petrifying. Zack might be game for either.
“First of all, I want to get far away from this boat.” Rachel pointed to both walls on either side of her. “Second of all, we need to have a sleepover.”
Zack wasn’t sure he heard that right. “Come again?”
“Take me back to your proper place, Zack.” Was she drunk? She had to be, to suggest this. “We’re having a sleepover. With movies. And popcorn.”
He grinned. “Sounds great.”
The smile he got back was the best one yet. And also the most damning.
***
“Hold on to your sweatshirt,” Zack said, key in hand. “Because my place is awesome.”
Rachel stood in the twenty-fifth floor hallway of one of the nicest – yet so nondescript – luxury apartment buildings downtown. The sign downstairs cordially invited guests to inquire about monthly rental units or purchasing one outright. Zack had let slip that he purchased his apartment, because his father made it clear that it was fine to rent an art studio, but a man should own the bedroom he slept in. This place already feels more expensive than my parents’ old house. The sconces on the walls burned a low, romantic yellow. The carpet was as plush as clouds beneath Rachel’s feet. Even the doors to luxury apartments, were freshly painted, their golden numbers glistening like heirloom jewelry. Rachel was afraid to touch the door handle.
Then Zack opened the door.
“Oh my God.” Rachel refused to cross the threshold. “It’s a fucking museum!”
“Don’t know if I would go that far.” Zack tossed his keys onto a minimalistic table in the entryway. “But I do keep it pretty clean.”
That was the exact opposite of what Rachel imagined. Zack was the kind of guy she figured would never clean up after himself. That’s why he was rich enough to hire people to do that for him. In the meantime, he would leave his clothes on the floor, dirty dishes on tables, and with any luck he would throw away the used condoms. Ew. Don’t go there, Rachel. Come on.
Zack had read her mind. “Fun fact!” he called over his shoulder as he entered the main room of the apartment. “You’re the first woman besides my mother to come in and not have sex with me!”
“How kind of you to absolve your mother of that crime.”
Rachel gently closed the door behind her. She also removed her shoes, even though Zack hadn’t bothered – and he had done way more walking around the marina docks than she had! How many barnacles had he tracked on his carpet?
“My mother would insist.” Zack flopped onto a leather sofa facing the wide floor-to-ceiling windows. Midday light filtered through the tinted glass and covered the gray carpet in swirls of sunshine. When Rachel’s eyes adjusted to the bright light – and not a single lamp was on – she saw the large entertainment center taking up the one bare wall in the room. The open-concept layout of the living area flowed seamlessly into the stainless steel kitchen, complete with enough digital buttons and devices to give Rachel an aneurysm.
“Do all of the apartments here look like this?”
“Nah.” Zack opened the top of his solid black coffee table to reveal a small ice chest stocked with craft beer. You’re kidding me! This was some shit Rachel would see at one in the morning on those home and gardening channels. “If you’ve bought it, you can renovate it however you want. I haven’t renovated this place much, but the guy who owned it before me made it an open-floor plan. Blue Lagoon?”
Rachel remained standing in the middle of the room. “Huh?”
Zack dangled a beer bottle in front of her. “Beer. The best shit you can get.”
“Oh. No, thanks. Not much for alcohol.”
“Suit yourself.” Zack turned on his huge TV, a million colorful apps appearing across the screen. “So what are we watching?”
Rachel turned her attention away from the city skyline sprawled out before her. Sure enough, there was a healthy view of the marina and the river it served. “Uh… dunno. Sorry. Can I use your bathroom really quick?”
Zack pointed to his left. “Closest one is right there. I’ll flip through Netflix and the like to see if anything good’s available.”
Rachel barely heard him as she dived into a water closet. Granted, it was still bigger than the full bathroom in her apartment, but at least she didn’t have to face a fully-functioning sauna or a decorative waterfall in the corner.
She flipped the lid shut on the toilet and sat down, hands on her face. “What a dumb idea,” she muttered into her palms. Did she really think she could casually come over to Zack’s place and not be overwhelmed by who he was? Sure, the man had a yacht. A nice, expensive yacht that cost more than her college education. But at least the living space hadn’t been more intimidating than a middle-class apartment. This space, however? On another level. It screamed that Zachary Feldman came from means and knew how to spend his money. The view alone was worth a million dollars. He may not have done most of the renovations on his dime, but he had paid to make the most of them after the last owner skipped out of town.
You knew how rich he was… Zack didn’t act that rich, however. He may not have had many responsibilities, but he dressed casually and was content to blend in with the everyday crowds. Sometimes it was hard for Rachel to remember who he really was when she was wrapped up in his sandalwood-infused sweatshirt and remembering what it was like to kiss him.
This is ridiculous. This is like… some fucking romance novel fairy tale! Rachel didn’t read many contemporary romance novels, but she was pretty sure this was the template: a man who was rich as shit but magically had all the time in the world, a woman with little money who didn’t know what it was like to take a vacation in her young life, a chance meeting in otherwise ordinary circumstances… and now the prince’s castle, complete with all the amenities.
“You almost slept with him.” That’s what she told her cell phone as she texted Parvati. “You almost took him up to your shitty apartment and let him do whatever he wanted to you…”
Good thing she hadn’t done that! Wait…
Oh, what the fuck was she supposed to do? Rachel hadn’t thought things through this far. When she suggested they do this, it had been on a lark. A stupid joke she didn’t think was going to mean anything. But the fact remained that she was attracted to Zack. A lot. Like rubbing myself to sleep thinking about the way he touches and kisses me…
How were they going to be nothing but friends? Could they actually be friends? Or were they doomed simply because of their class differences?
Rachel splashed some cold water on her face before going back out into the living room. Zack was off the couch, the TV still stuck on the welcoming app screen that invited them to check into Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, HBO, Showtime… he probably had a subscription to all of them.
Zack was in the kitchen sniffing through his fridge while on the phone. “Sounds good,” he said. “Make it a full order and put it on my tab.” He lowered his phone. “You like Chinese?”
“Uh, sure. We’re having Chinese?”
He scoffed. “Of course we’re having Chinese. It’s not a friendly pajama party sleepover without Chinese. So, what’s your favorite? And do you want brown or white rice?”
“Beef and broccoli.” Rachel leaned against the marble countertop. “And white rice. Can’t have Chinese without white rice, right?”
He grinned and pointed in her direction. “I like the way you think. Make that two full orders of white rice, thanks.”
Rachel didn’t know which restaurant he ordered from. Could’ve been Mushu’s down the block or Golden Dynasty on the other side of town. Mushu’s was closer and okay, if someone didn’t mind their Chinese food distilled through non-Asian chefs for plainer American palates. Golden Dynasty was considered king of Chinese food in that city, however. The Wangs had run the place for over a hundred years, with each generation achieving a new nirvana nobody else could compete with. But that also made them more expensive and less likely to deliver in a timely manner. Zack was lazy enough to order Mushu’s but also rich enough to spring for Golden Dynasty’s.
“Who did you order from?” she asked, while he pulled plates from a cabinet and forks from a drawer. “Mushu’s?”
He cringed. “If I wanted bland food that can barely be called Chinese,” he muttered, “I would make my own. No, I ordered from Forbidden City.”
“Forbidden City?”
“Yeah. You must know them.” Forks clattered against the plates. “From New York.”
“You ordered… from New York…”
“Yup. Should be here in a few hours. In the meantime, I’ve got some cold pizza in the fridge. You like pineapple on your pie?”
Rachel was still too dumbstruck to properly reply. “I… no. I don’t. Like pineapple in general, that is.”
“Oh! Well. I’ll pick it off yours. More for me!”
The rest of the afternoon continued as strangely, and part of the reason it was so strange was because Zack constantly showed how out of touch from real life he was, even though he came across as such a blasted normal guy. The “cold” pizza was fired up not in a microwave, but an oven that had a specific “wood” setting, somehow replicating the exact taste and texture of a traditional wood fire pizza – without flames, even. And the pizza itself? Leftovers, but from the expensive gourmet place that was considered a birthday splurge to someone like Rachel, and not a typical Wednesday night for Zack.
The movie he suggested they watch was still in the theaters, but movie companies sent him complimentary screeners because he went to Cannes when he dated an indie actress. The couch was deceptively state of the art, complete with individual massage components, heated cup holders (for all that hot tea Zack supposedly drank in front of his TV) and docks for handheld electronics and recharge stations for PlayStation controllers – oh, and he could play any game at any moment. Had Rachel tried out the Nintendo Switch yet? Zack had received an advanced copy of Breath of the Wild, but hadn’t had the chance to play it yet. He got it a year ago! When he asked her if it had even come out yet, she was almost afraid to tell him that it had.
A coffee table that was part ice chest for beer and soda, part neatly organized library of art history books and Zack’s archived sketchbooks. Windows that were controlled with the same remote that turned down the overhead lights and futzed with the AC. A voice that sounded a lot like Siri responding to Zack’s requests to turn on this and adjust that – assuming the remote didn’t control that, too.
Rachel felt like she was in a futuristic movie. Not even Star Trek had shit like this!
“I know that guy,” Zack said halfway through the movie. “Went to art school with him. Huh. How about that? Got to be a fancy actor and everything.”
Rachel couldn’t take being gobsmacked anymore. “That’s Sal Louis!” The guy on every magazine cover at the moment? Is he shitting me? “He won a bunch of newcomer awards!”
“Did he? No idea. I don’t keep up with entertainment and celebrity stuff.”
“Neither do I.” Rachel stood in grocery store lines and read Facebook headlines. How could Zack be so involved in these intersecting worlds yet know nothing about them? How could he be in the same class as Sal Louis and not know that he was Hollywood A-list? “But… guess that’s the difference between us.”
This had been so stupid. Rachel didn’t even care that the Chinese food arrived perfectly cooked and tasting so good, textured so perfectly that it was like every dead emperor rose from his grave to sample it for themselves. I should go. Rachel wasn’t meant to be a part of Zack’s world. She couldn’t even handle his technologically advanced apartment in the middle of the city. He was probably neighbors with the mayor. Assuming the mayor lived in a high-rise…
“We’re two friends hanging out and… are you actually using the chopsticks?”
Rice slipped back onto Rachel’s plate. “Yeah? Why? Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?”
“Uhhh.” Zack looked at the fork in his hand. “Forks are easier?”
His childish smirk that suggested he knew how sad he was made Rachel laugh for the first time in hours. “I learned how to use them the first time I lived in Japan. So, high school.” She picked up a single pea with her pair of disposable chopsticks. Zack whistled in admiration. “When you live there as often as I have, you figure out how to use chopsticks pretty quickly. Even though most of the restaurants are trying to shove forks into your hand.”
“See? You’re better than me at lots of things.”
“Didn’t realize we were having a contest…”
“Things are always a contest with friends.” Zack tossed his empty plate onto his coffee table. They were officially done watching the boring movie. “My best friend is also an artist. He and I are always trying to one-up each other. He gets a critically acclaimed collection, I get a world tour… he starts dating the most expensive courtesan in America, I start dating an Italian supermodel… I’m sure women do the same thing.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ah. Oh, well. I’m sure you do. You’re probably more subtle about it.”
“Not sure about that.”
“Well…”
Rachel stood up. “It’s been fun, Zack, but I think I should be heading out now.”
“You’re leaving already?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him. He was still dressed in those easygoing shorts and T-shirt like they were about to go lounge on the deck of his yacht. Bet he’d like to do that. Probably would like it even more if Rachel were in a bikini while they did it. Not gonna lie, if he went shirtless… Nope. She wasn’t going there.
“Look.” Zack always stood up, hands out in a silent appeal to get her to stay. “I’m sorry this day has been so screwy. But you did promise me that we would have a proper sleepover like a couple of nine-year-olds. So what do you want to do, Rachel? What will make you stay?”
She sucked in her breath as if his words cut her. Not in pain, but in pleasure. Can you even be cut in pleasure? I don’t wanna find out! “I dunno. I guess coming here reminded me how different we are. I can’t believe you almost saw my tiny little apartment the other day.”
“Rachel, come on. I know I’ve got fancy stuff, but it’s not a part of me.”
“What is, then?”
His eyes widened. His finger tapped against his chin. He looked away, deep in thought. “Let’s go to my art studio. You can see what’s really a part of me there.”
“Right now?”
“It’s not far. Easy enough walk, and it’s highly secure. You can leave your bag here.” Zack grinned again. “That way you’ll have to come back for that sleepover. I had planned on breaking out the sleeping bags in here and everything.”
He marched straight for the entryway and grabbed his keys. Rachel went after him.
“Do I need my jacket?” She snatched it off its hook.
“Nah. We’re not even going outside.”
“We’re… not?”
Zack opened the door. “When I said it was an easy walk, I wasn’t kidding. It’s next door.”
She dropped her jacket.
“Come on. You wanna see where I spend my days when I’m not down at the marina? I’m not shy about showing off my workspace. It’s a lot messier than this place, anyway.”
It was those kinds of winks that made Rachel want to kiss him.
He hadn’t been kidding about the easy walk. He also hadn’t been kidding about his studio being next door. Literally. One of the doors they had passed on the way to his apartment was the door to his large, spacious, well-lit studio.
And when he said that whoever owned their apartments could do whatever they wanted with them… well, he hadn’t lied about that either.
It was like walking into a completely different space. Gone was the functional furniture, the electronics, and the art hanging on the walls. The only thing Rachel saw when she walked beyond the entryway were sheets, tarps, and paint splatters on the concrete floors and walls. “Little mishaps,” Zack called them when she pointed them out. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
The only reason it didn’t smell so strongly of craft materials was because of the great ventilation and carefully controlled temperatures – Zack hadn’t foregone the technology on that. He also had different lights he could adjust with different colors so he could replicate exactly how he wanted his works to be shown on gallery floors.
He didn’t have many works in progress in his studio, and even fewer completed works, but what he did have blew Rachel away. Especially since she had never bothered to look up his artwork after finding out he was a full-time artist. Why would I? I assumed he was a hack, like every other rich person who has the luxury to do their hobby full time. Rachel had met many such types while studying abroad. Hell, in college…
“Oh, that?” Zack practically turned sheepish when he caught Rachel looking at a carved marble statue of a woman lounging on a couch. Isn’t this like… really hard to do? Making marble look like fabric? While Zack wasn’t on the same level as some of the greats, at first glance Rachel was tricked into thinking that the woman was covered in silk instead of smooth, rippling marble. “It’s not finished. Not sure I’ll ever get around to finishing it. It’s too big to put into any of my current collections, and private buyers don’t like statues with features too fine.”
Rachel pulled back her hand before she touched the tiny nipple poking through the rocky silk. “You have private buyers?”
“Not gonna lie, most of them are the same people. My agent keeps a mailing list for me. He comes in here all the time to take pictures for it… but yeah. I’ve got buyers in Asia, Europe, New York… used to have a big Argentinian fan, but he died. His daughter said he had a stroke when my last nude painting arrived.”
“Are you serious?”
“That’s what she told me.”
Rachel could hardly believe it. “So you only do statues and paintings of nude women, huh?” She laughed. “And you wanted me to be one of your models?”
Oh, he was definitely sheepish now. “I wouldn’t say that,” he softly said. “I take commissions if I think it’s worth my time. That guy from Argentina commissioned artistic nudes. Sometimes he sent me the model he wanted me to paint. I’m guessing most of them were either his mistresses or women he pined after.”
“Really?” Rachel decided to follow one of her hunches. After all, a man like Zack, regardless of how good of an artist he was, would not pay attention to certain details unless he and the model were engaging in certain acts. “Did he know you were sleeping with them?”
“Please.” Zack turned around. “Only about a third of them. Many of them aren’t exactly my type. Or they’re taken. Or they’re gay.” He waggled his eyebrows in her direction.
“Must be nice to be a big bad artist who gets all the ladies he wants.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Zack sat on the stool in the middle of the room. A workspace was setup before him. Looked like two pieces of marble sitting side-by-side, a chisel and brush left on the ground. “I get a few, though.”
“Let me guess.” Rachel continued her lap around the room. The natural light was superb that time of day. Perhaps not for getting work done, but certainly for enjoying it. That went double for the half-finished works. Sometimes it was the imperfections that showed best in the setting twilight. “You bring them, they take off their clothes, and pose for an ungodly amount of hours while you toil away over canvas and stone. Then you both take out your pent-up aggressions next door in your apartment.”
“Nah.” Zack picked up the brush and dusted off his small work in progress. “I’ve got the master bedroom still set up back there. We do it in there. Way easier. Less personal.”
“Heaven forbid art be personal.” Laughing, Rachel hopped into the empty reading nook. I bet a bunch of naked women pose here. Angels in the daylight, succubi in the moonlight. “What’s it like getting laid whenever the hell you want?” She reached the window, tracing the carvings that had probably been there since the building went up decades ago.
“What are you talking about?”
Rachel swung her legs, sneakers barely grazing the concrete floor. “You’re handsome, you’re rich, you’re an artist who sets his own schedule… you must be drowning in pussy.”
“I don’t know if I’d say drowning… and I don’t get laid whenever I want.”
“When’s the last time you got some?”
Yes, Rachel was aware that she was swimming into dangerous territory. On one hand, it was friendly banter. On the other, Rachel risked setting herself up for jealousy. This was, after all, a man she was attracted to. A man she had been willing to sleep with when her body begged her to have him.
Yet hearing about his sex life might help her decide that she had dodged a bullet. At best, it would tell her that they were not compatible anyway. Better off friends. Or maybe better off never hanging out again, depending how this went.
Zack took five seconds to think about her question. “Two and a half weeks ago? I honestly don’t keep track.”
“That long, huh?”
“I go through dry spells. Honestly, I don’t think I get as much as you think.”
“Suuure.”
“When was the last time you got some, Ms. Taylor.”
Rachel kept her face turned toward the window. From that high up, traffic looked like tiny ants scuttling in line. Planes blinked on their way in and out of the local airport. A window cleaner had almost made his way to the top of the building across the street. “Last weekend.”
She could’ve sworn there was a beat before he responded. And his voice cracked. I swear that, too. “See? You’ve gotten some more recently than me. Not a big deal. It’s just sex.”
Rachel drew her feet up into the nook. Behind her, Zack hopped off his stool and rummaged through a bin of discarded canvases. “Is that what we would have been doing last night? Just sex?”
Zack paused his rummaging. “Anyway! Do you like painting?”
“Hm?”
Zack laid a large square canvas flat on the floor. It had a nice tear going down the center. Had the artist done that in a fit of creative rage? Or was it one unfortunate mishap out of many that happened in a studio? “Painting.” Zack placed a large mason jar of water next to the canvas. Next, six oil paints appeared, most of them almost to the bottoms of their containers. “You wanna fool around?”
“Uh…”
“With art, Rachel.” Zack pulled his phone out of his pocket and used it to turn on the speakers lining the studio. “What’s your creative poison? Classical?” A rendition of Beethoven’s 2nd blared over the speakers before he turned the volume down. “Pop?” Britney Spears stepped out of 2001 to tell them how lucky she was. “Maybe some adult contemporary?” Sting spent most of his time in fields of gold.
“Got any metal on there?”
Zack laughed. “What’s a good band? Can’t say I listen to a lot of metal.”
“For me, it’s either that or Bollywood soundtracks.”
“Let’s stick with metal for now.” Zack must’ve found the most generic metal playlist he could summon on Spotify, for the songs that played were the gateway drugs, not the hard stuff. “Get over here and paint with me.”
Rachel reluctantly hopped off the nook and approached the canvas laid flat next to a line of colorful paints. Zack was already mixing some together on a palette. The shade of green he created with the bright blue and neon yellow was impressive. I could do that. Come on. How hard is it? Rachel loved playing with colors as a kid. A little red, a little white… such a nice pink…
“I’m warning you,” Rachel said, picking up the nearest paintbrush. “I’m not a good artist. I can’t draw for shit.”
“You don’t have to draw anything. Close your eyes and…” He looked up at his speakers the moment a Norwegian man shouted death grunts over the thrashing guitars. “That you, Satan?”
It sounded like Rachel’s everyday soundtrack to her. What kind of music does this guy regularly listen to? Reggaeton? Country? Oh my God, him listening to country…
“Anyway!” Zack tucked his legs beneath him and gestured for Rachel to get started. “Start painting whatever you want. Doesn’t have to be anything in particular. This is some scrap canvas I can’t use for my main projects, so we can do whatever we want with it.”
Rachel dunked her brush into the red paint. She kept eye contact with Zack while she drew a thick, wavy line across the top of the canvas.
“That’s right. There you go. Knock yourself out, Rachel.”
“Oh, I will.” She followed it up with the neon yellow, delighting in how orange her line became. “It’s the simple things in life, you know? Like color magic.”
“That’s the spirit.” Zack grabbed his brush and swirled his concocted green in the far corner of the canvas. “Let’s create a masterpiece.”
Rachel assumed they would get bored after half an hour.
They painted for two.
Twilight fell behind the neighboring buildings. Automatic lights came on as the hours grew later. Rachel was so absorbed in the kaleidoscope of colors she painted that she barely noticed that natural light had been replaced with synthetic. The only marker of time passing was the song changing every few minutes. But there was a reason Rachel liked working to heavy metal: the songs were always similar enough that she wasn’t distracted when one stopped and another began.
Rachel barely recognized this passage of time, since she was so transfixed on the colors appearing on the canvas and the empty stories she and Zack shared while they messed around. He regaled her with tales of art school, specifically his master’s program in which he was ambitious enough to create a mixed-material exhibition that his professors told him were foolhardy. “They said it couldn’t be done by someone at my skill level,” he said, his side of the canvas covered in whimsical trees and pink, flowing rivers. Was he following Rachel’s lead? She was, after all, creating a rainbow-colored sky dotted with white stars. “So I told them to fuck off and created four paintings, two statues, and took up the centerpiece myself. The only time I did living art. Don’t think I’m going to do it again.”
“What did you do? Invite people to draw on you?”
“No.” Zack was grim as he cleaned off his brush. His water was almost lack. “My theme was the naked soul. Everything I created represented one of seven sins in myself. A sort of self-reflection. Programs eat that shit up.”
“And you were…” Don’t say lust, oh my God.
“Gluttony.”
Rachel stopped painting. “Gluttony?”
“Yes.” Zack breathed in deeply. “Fuck me, I was dumb enough to think eating food all day would be awesome.”
“You didn’t.”
“You ever see that documentary Super Size Me? That was me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m not. I was so sick by the end of my final exhibition that I’m pretty sure the panel passed me because they felt bad.”
“Wow. That reminds me of when I studied abroad in Japan and got it in my head that I was going to try every fast food chain they had. Some burgers were not meant to be consumed.”
Zack added a flurry of orange fruits to his green trees. “Go on.”
It was Rachel’s turn to regale her friend of embarrassing college times long past. She spent half an hour talking about her semester abroad in Japan. How hard it was to make friends because she wasn’t a big drinker, and everyone knew it was awesome to study abroad in Japan because their legal age was 20 instead of 21. If someone didn’t want to binge drink every other night (or every night,) they were a social pariah. Or at least that’s how it played out in every group of expats Rachel was ever thrust into.
“Even if I were a drinker, and I’m not,” she said, “it’s such a waste of money. You’re better off making fake friends with the people who only wanna use you for English lessons. Free food that way.”
“But not fast food, I hope.”
“To be fair, I would eat Mos Burgers every day for the rest of my life if it was available.”
“Never heard of it. But I’ll take that to heart the next time I’m in Japan for business.”
“How often does your business take you to Japan, though? Is that where all your Asian buyers are?”
Zack pressed his brush against the canvas, his eyes leveled on Rachel. “Family business, mostly. My father does a lot of business with Japanese contractors and investors. Sometimes he takes me with him because his Japanese contacts like me a lot more than either of my brothers. Some kind of cultural thing happening there, I guess.” He shrugged and went back to his painting. “I love sushi, so it works out.”
Rachel yawned, inhaling more than a fair share of paint fumes. “Shit,” she muttered. “I should get going, honestly. I have to get up in…” she finally checked the time on her phone. “Oh my God, I’m supposed to be up in twelve hours to meet with a client!”
Zack scoffed. “Thought we were having a sleepover?”
Rachel winced. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I said that.” The thought of going back to his apartment was a bit too overwhelming. I don’t know if I could sleep in a place like that, even if it was on his couch. Sometimes Rachel had a hard enough time sleeping in her tiny but cozy apartment. She was born and raised in the countryside, content to never see her neighbors and to sleep in utter silence. Moving to the city had been an adjustment in more ways than one. “I really should go home.”
Zack hopped up. At first, Rachel assumed he was going to barricade himself across the door of his studio in an attempt to keep her there. She was pleasantly surprised when he reached down to help her up. “If you really wanna go, I won’t stop you,” he said. “But I think I have a compromise you might be interested in.”
Rachel relished the touch of his warm hand around hers. See? This is why I need to leave. I’m too attracted to him. Rachel knew what she could do to rectify the heat burning in the pit of her stomach. She could go back on her pledge to herself and sleep with him. Sleep with him, that was. Fuck him. Screw him. Ride him into midnight and take that stickshift for a spin. She was a terrible driver. She definitely didn’t know how to drive a stickshift.
“What did you have in mind,” she tentatively asked.
He didn’t release her hand. “This way.”
Zack showed her to the master bedroom, probably much more understated than the one in his personal apartment. A king-sized bed, perfectly laid out in sleek, black comforters called to Rachel’s tired body. Who knew fainting on a yacht and painting half the evening away could wipe so much out of her?
There was a TV, but it was the size of her mother’s and not as smart. The adjacent master bath only boasted a large shower and a single sink. Everything was an afterthought in this place. A room to crash in should he be too exhausted after a long night in the studio. A place to bring his models if he couldn’t wait the extra few minutes to get into his usual master bedroom.
Rachel hadn’t forgotten that tidbit.
“So you brought me to your fuckpad where you fuck all your models?” she said with mock disdain. “You expect me to curl up next to you in a bed you’re used to fucking people in?”
Zack rolled his eyes. “You can leave if you want. But this bed is big enough for the both of us. Also, it’s washed. Regularly. I promise you that there are no remnants of women past beneath those covers.
Rachel thought up a new excuse. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“I’ve got lots of spare clothes in the dresser there. Would a size L in men’s be too big of a T-shirt for you to sleep in? Because that’s what I wore in college.”
“Can I wash up in the shower?”
“Absolutely. I’ll find something and tuck it behind the door.” Zack turned on the TV. “Promise I won’t look if you don’t.” He clicked his tongue. “Cause I’ve gotta change too.”
Rachel shed her sweatshirts and shoes, starting a pile at the end of the bed. Five minutes later, she was naked in Zack’s shower, marveling over the hot, soft spray of water that cascaded over her from two different directions. A dark blue towel was already hanging up, ready for her to use when she was finished.
She took her time.
After all, she still needed to decide what she was going to do about Zack.
Had he been flirting with her all day? Or was that a genuine friend shtick? Sure, he said that he was fine with being friends with her, but he had also been open about wanting to sleep with her. Excuse me, let me model for him. He probably said that to every woman he fancied. Wasn’t it convenient for an artist at his skill level? Ask woman out, paint her picture, get her clothes off, paint some nipples, then seduce and fuck her. Not that Rachel would ever fall for it.
“Fuck me.” She didn’t know if she muttered that to herself or to the water caressing her naked body.
She imagined Zack coming in there, as naked as she was, and pretending that they were still just friends while lathering up his toned body. Maybe he’d talk about what games he liked to play while cleaning his thighs and discuss his grandmother’s world-famous pumpkin pie the moment he remembered he had ass cheeks that needed extra soap.
Rachel conked her head against the shower wall. The perfect position to notice that her nipples were hard.
God damnit! Out there, right now, was a man so hot that he might as well be on fire. And so fine that not even the best China in the universe could compare to his chiseled body and the easy way he moved from one place to another. He oozed confidence, charisma, and a natural know-how of a woman’s body. He practically drew them for a living, after all.
Fuck him. To pieces.
And fuck me. Because that’s what I want him to do.
Rachel glanced at the detachable shower head. She could grab it right now and finish herself off before going back out there to Zack and his ready-to-go-at-any-moment regard for life. Maybe this was all a part of his plan, anyway. Rachel didn’t fear that he would force herself on her – although there was a dangerous fantasy to stow away for another day, another shower – but she did fear that he would attempt to seduce her again, and she wouldn’t be able to say no.
A big part of her begged her to let him do it. Have his way with her. Take her in that sterile bed like he had taken a hundred women before her. Who cared? As long as she got the best lay of her life, right? He probably had condoms stored in the nightstand for these occasions.
But the smallest part of her warned her that it was a bad, bad idea. This was how she got into trouble. Men like Zack were trouble incarnate.
She knew one thing, though. This whole “just friends” thing was not going to last as long as they kept seeing each other as available sexual beings. He needed a girlfriend. And she needed a partner of some kind. There. Temptations gone.
Rachel shut off the water before she completely lost her mind. When she toweled off, she took extra precaution to not touch her erogenous zones. That way led to madness.
True to his word, Zack had left some clothes by the door. A plain black T-shirt and a pair of small basketball shorts that looked suspiciously like they had belonged to another woman. Well, Rachel wasn’t a small by any means, but the shorts were old and worn-out enough that they had plenty of give around the hips and thighs. She looked ridiculous, but that was probably for the best. Less temptation for Zack.
Then poor Rachel walked out of the bathroom to find Zack already in bed. Shirtless.
He lay so casually, flipping through TV channels, that this must have been how he spent most of his nights with his female friends. Oh my God, he better not be naked. He barely acknowledged her presence when she walked out. Who was to say he had completely forgotten she was there and stripped down to his birthday suit?
“Uh…” Rachel instinctively crossed her arms over the nipples poking through her shirt. “Nice chest, friend.”
“What?” He put the remote down, leaving the channel on some crime drama Rachel hadn’t seen in years. “I don’t sleep with shirts on. You’re lucky I’ve got boxers on.”
Too much info. “Do you actually want me to sleep in there with you?”
“Yup.”
“Don’t you wanna take a shower now?”
“Nah. I’ll do it in the morning.”
Rachel sighed. It was now or never. And by never, that meant grabbing her shit and running with his old, borrowed clothes still on her.
“Besides,” Zack continued, turning off the TV. “The show’s about to start next door. You don’t wanna miss it. Trust me.” He raised his eyebrows as if he had another secret to tell her. “It ain’t a show I let any woman in on. Only my friends, Rachel.”
She took a step back. “Uh. What?”
“Get over here and hope you don’t go deaf in the next minute. Trust me. It’s hilarious.”
Rachel had no idea what she was getting into. She couldn’t say it made her feel easy.
Zack clapped the lights off as soon as Rachel had one knee on the bed. “It’s better with the lights off.” She hoped for his sake that he hadn’t realized his double entendre when he said it. He certainly wasn’t apologizing for it!
She slipped beneath the covers and kept to her side of the bed. Too bad the mattress was so nice, the sheets so exquisite that she instantly closed her eyes and dreamed of going to sleep right away. Who knew I was ever this tired in my life? Who knew that a fantastic bed could bring the sleep out of her? Oh, wouldn’t this be convenient? She could go right to sleep and avoid the awkwardness that way!
Or something could smack against the wall and wake her right back up.
“Ah,” Zack said with laughter in his breath. “Here we go. Good ol’ Sunday night.”
“I…” Rachel had no idea what was happening. Not until another thump shook the wall behind them. An ecstatic moan shortly followed.
“My neighbor,” Zack explained, “has an active sex life with her boyfriend.”
“Oh my God!”
“They’re total sluts for each other.” Zack propped himself up on his arm the moment a masculine grunt filtered through the wall. “Kinda romantic, honestly.”
Rachel pulled the covers over her head. “You brought me into this room so we could listen to your neighbors have sex?”
“You don’t get it. It’s hilarious, as long as you don’t want to get any actual sleep on Sunday night. Or any other night of the week they decide to stay over at her place.”
“Unbelievable.” Rachel couldn’t drown out the sordid sounds of feverish, famished sex no matter how hard she clapped her hands over her ears. I have no idea who is over there, and I don’t want to know! “This is too much like college for my liking.”
“If it makes you feel better, they’re pretty people.”
“It doesn’t!”
“Come on! They’re already reaching the finale. You have to admit they’re quite efficient when they have to be up early in the morning.”
Rachel leaped out of the bed and ran back toward the bathroom, hands still over her ears. “Not listening!”
“What do you mean you don’t wanna hear the whiny-ass moan she makes when he nuts in her?”
Rachel closed the bathroom door behind her. To Zack, she probably looked like a prudish nun who hated anything that had to do with sex. Okay, so I’m not a fan of having the neighbors’ sex sessions sprung on me. But that’s not the only problem. Technically, it wasn’t a problem at all. Maybe with other friends it could’ve been hilarious for a few minutes. But with Zack?
The man she shared a mutual attraction with, although they both ignored it in favor of a different kind of relationship? Yeah, right. The last thing Rachel needed to do was go out there and listen to sex, sex, sex, while denying how much she wanted to do that same thing with Zack.
In his bed. In his studio. In his arms.
“There it is!” Zack’s voice echoed. “They’re done! You can come back out now!”
Rachel remained frozen against the sink, arms crossed and head pointed downward. I can’t do this. I really need to go home. The past twenty-four hours had been one mess after another. From kissing Zack – and getting kissed back – to coming to his place and being so intimate with him already… what had Rachel been thinking?
This wasn’t going to work at all!
“Hey.” Knuckles rapped against the bathroom door. “You okay in there?”
Rachel opened it an inch. Bad idea. Under no circumstances was gazing upon Zack in nothing but his underwear a good idea.
“Fine. Forgot to brush my teeth.”
Zack gave her a disbelieving grin. “Geez, Rachel,” he said, tongue-in-cheek, “a guy might start thinking that you don’t want to be around him.”
“Only when he says things like nuts.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Yeah. You know. Guy talk.”
Rachel opened the door wider. His eyes went straight to her chest before looking back at her face. “Let’s get one thing straight, Zack.” She meant to sound strict. Firm. Unwavering in what she believed was something they must hash out before they could continue this farce of a friendship. “I’m not one of the guys. I’m not your buddy. I’m your friend, but I’m still a woman. We can talk about a lot of stuff we talk about with our other friends, but mind how you say it.”
He saluted her with two fingers. “Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at the cursed wall between the bed and the neighbor’s bedroom. “You sure they’re done in there?”
“One of them’s already snoring.”
Rachel pushed past him and approached the bed as if she had planned on sleeping there all night. Might as well see this through now! “You really should look into better soundproofing.” She pulled back the covers and crawled in before Zack fully turned back around, “I would expect way better from luxury apartments that let you remodel one into a studio.”
Zack got into bed next to her. “You’re right. I should look into that.”
She grinned. “But you won’t, because you enjoy listening to the neighbors have sex.”
“It’s like I never left college.”
They lay side by side, careful to not touch while they stared into the darkness and imagined what it would be like to do more than simply lie there.
In the morning, Rachel awoke to Zack’s breath blowing against the back of her neck.
She didn’t tell him to back off.