His father cocked his lips into a ruthless grin. “Probably even better these days. Back in mine, we had to be a bit more diligent.”
“Ah, but now we have social media and more technologically advanced paparazzi. So while women are sexually freer than ever, everyone else knows about it too.”
They toasted their drinks to that.
“Don’t have any illegitimate siblings out there, do I?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Isaiah lowered his voice. “But between you and me, I hear I have a half-sister out there somewhere.”
“No way. Not Pop spreading his seed like a dandelion.”
Isaiah shrugged. “I never heard more than a few whispers growing up. If she exists, she’s either dead or so hidden away she may not even know who she is.”
What a blasé way to say that about his own supposed sister. “Does Uncle Roy know?”
“Ah, your uncle…”
‘He’s in town, you know. Got in about a week ago. Have you seen him yet?”
“I can’t say he’s stopped by the house.”
Zack rolled his eyes. While both of his parents had blue eyes, everyone told him that his more resembled his mother’s light sky blue ones instead of his father’s deep cerulean blues. Can’t say I’ve ever stared at them for myself. “He’s not going to, either. You could send a whole parade to grab him off his yacht and he would go down with the biggest fight you’ve ever seen.”
Isaiah’s lip twitched. “Yes. He is rather stubborn like that.”
“You should go down to the marina and see him. Besides! You haven’t seen the changes I’ve made to the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.”
“I’m sure she’s delightful, son.” Isaiah left it at that. Like with art, he didn’t share the same passion for the marina life. He was far more likely to go to the opera with Daniel or an antique car show with Evan. Boating had skipped a generation and fell upon Zack’s shoulders.
And Isaiah was as stubborn as his big brother Roy. Except where one was too stubborn to give up on the family business, the other was too stubborn to ever go back. Sometimes I swear I will never forgive my uncle for abdicating his rightful inheritance and making my father the supreme ruler of Feldman Steel. What kind of life would Zack have lived if he truly grew up the youngest son of the youngest son in a world where only the oldest truly mattered?
“Whatever happened to the young woman you were dating in undergrad?”
Zack, who had almost finished his sandwich, suddenly lost his appetite. “Why are you bringing her up?”
“Because she’s the last woman I remember you being serious about.”
“You’re sounding more like Mom right now.” Who was this man? Since when did Zack’s father consider himself that invested in his youngest son’s love life?
“I’m guessing by that tone that it didn’t end well.”
“She cheated on me, Dad.”
Isaiah sighed. “I seem to recall now.”
“Yeah, bit of a sore spot, huh?”
“Son,” Zack’s father continued to shake his head. “Enjoy your youth, but don’t let your past hold you back from embracing your future.” He stood up, coat slung over his arm. “I need to go.”
Zack was left to stare at the wall after his father showed himself out. A lunch discussing his past, his future, and all the shit in between? Sounded like the kind of thing he needed a friend to help recover from.
Usually, he would have called Seth and demanded they go out drinking. That day, however, he had other ideas.
Chapter 13
“Three… two… one… go!”
Rachel’s voice was lost to the gathering crowd in the bar, but Zack heard her well enough to know when to knock back their second drink of the evening.
He had texted her Sunday night to suggest they go out. Too bad I conveniently had an excuse to avoid him. Rachel went out of town to visit her mother and only got back Tuesday night. She told him that the reason she couldn’t get back to him was because she had shit reception at her mother’s place. In reality, she had been avoiding the awkwardness speared between them.
They could hardly call themselves just friends anymore. Did platonic friends sleep in the same bed together? Wake up in each other’s arms like it was the most normal thing in the world? How many women can say that they’ve slept with him without having sex with him?
Not many, probably.
She couldn’t put off responding to him by Tuesday night, though. So she responded with a cheery Hey! and agreed to go out for food and drinks with him Wednesday night, assuming she was caught up with her work.
She wasn’t. Caught up with her work, that was. There were two pages that still needed translating. But for some damned reason Rachel rushed through a shower and bolted out the door five minutes late because she spent more time picking out a blouse than she did brushing her long hair.
Zack had insisted that they chase their Mexican dinner with drinks at a local pub, his treat (like dinner had been.) He had shown up in a red flannel shirt and the same pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts he always wore. The sandals hadn’t changed, either.
But he hadn’t shaved since the last time Rachel saw him. Trimmed the quickly-growing facial hair, but not shaved.
Rachel was not a facial hair woman. Or at least she didn’t think she was. Flannel and facial hair screamed lumberjack, and she wasn’t into it on men or women. She liked her partners clean shaven. Not that Zack was a partner, of course. They had proven that they could be platonic (really, had they?) and now every topic was fair game once a few drinks were in them.
Naturally, they talked about their love lives. The more absurd the story, the better.
“So he said he would call me back if he hadn’t regretted the night we spent together.” Pretzels fell out of Rachel’s mouth as she recalled the last time she bothered to sleep with a man. “Suffice to say, I have not heard back from him, and I don’t give a shit.”
“You dodged a bullet, honey.” Zack shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth and continued to talk while debris fell from his lips. “Bet he had a tiny dick too. Those smug fuckers always do.”
You would know, huh? Rachel propped her elbow up on the table and signaled a catastrophically small size with her forefinger and thumb. “Didn’t feel a thing.”
“Atrocious. If a man is gonna run around fucking women with little peckers, the least they could do is be otherwise excellent.”
“Right? That’s what I’ve been saying.” In her head, anyway. “All right. Your turn. Tell me about the last woman you fucked.”
That was not something she ever thought she would say to a man she was alone with, friend or not. We’re doing this, though, right? Friends who spilled their guts. Friends who interpreted intimacy as sharing their feelings and experiences as opposed to rubbing their genitals together. The more Rachel thought of her relationship with Zack that way, the easier it was to listen to him talk about a woman who held no qualms over spreading her legs for Zachary Feldman. Let alone from his point of view.
“I think her name was Cathy. Or maybe it was Crissie. I honestly don’t remember anymore. Jesus, I’m getting drunk.” A man who blinked that hard was either going to give himself an aneurysm or crack up laughing. Zack chose the latter. “Met her at someone else’s party. I go to a lot of parties. I probably should stop.”
Rachel signaled for the passing waitress to bring them another round of drinks. After that, she was capping herself off. “Go on. You do her good, right?”
“Honestly?” Zack leaned in, voice lowered and breath stinking of the liquor he and Rachel were pumping into their systems. “I don’t remember that well. Maybe I’m too drunk right now. Maybe I was too drunk back then? Woof.” His eyes lowered, sleepiness claiming him. Come on, third drink, wake him back up! How could he get sleepy now? Was this why it wasn’t that good with Crissie, or whatever her name was? Did he fall asleep on her halfway through? “All I remember is that she had breasts carved by God.”
The third round of drinks appeared before them. Rachel snatched hers up, relieved that Zack wasn’t giving himself glowing reviews about how he was in bed. Even if he were playing himself up as the biggest Casanova in the world, Rachel didn’t need to hear that level of self-fellation. Because it would make me too jealous. The drinks weren’t helping that much.
“To us being the coolest people in town.” Zack held up his drink. “Getting laid and getting paid.”
“Uh, sure.” Rachel couldn’t help but laugh as they clinked their glasses together. What was that even supposed to mean? She wasn’t getting laid much. Nor was she getting paid much. Zack held the cornerstone on that. “So, um…” Drinking made her a little bold. Bold enough to ask more personal questions she may not have otherwise asked. “How many people do you sleep with on average?”
“On average? Come on. What does that mean? Every month?”
“Uh, sure.” She was thinking yearly, maybe, but hey, if he wanted to out himself as one of the biggest philanderers in New England, he could be Rachel’s guest. “Every month.”