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.