by Kelly Myers
It was sweet really, how protective he had been.
No. I don’t want to think about how sweet and protective he used to be. That’s the kind of thinking that leads to flirting. And that is in violation of Rule Number 1.
I pull my black coat on and scoop my keys up from the table near my door. It’s a short walk to the restaurant, so I’ll be a bit early, but that’s fine. It’s not a date. I don’t have to overthink my arrival time.
I could even show up fifteen minutes late. I won’t, but I could. Because it’s not a date.
Nodding firmly to myself, I skip down the steps of my apartment building and head out.
Chapter Seven
Zach is waiting for me outside the restaurant. He has his hands shoved into his pockets, and he’s leaning with casual grace against the side of the building. He’s turned away from me, so I take the chance to observe his profile. There’s something strangely fox-like about Zach. He looks out at the people rushing by on the sidewalk as if he knows a million tricks that they don’t.
I’m surprised to see that he fits in. He doesn’t stick out in the city. I have only ever been able to picture him in Torrins, so I never thought he could blend so easily with a different setting. It makes sense though. Zach was always comfortable in his own skin. He always knew how to belong.
When he turns and sees me, his face lights up with an eager smile.
“You showed up.” He reaches out and gives me the quickest of hugs. I pull away as fast as I can without being rude.
“You sound shocked,” I say. “I didn’t know you thought of me as such a flake.”
“Not a flake.” Zach pulls open the door and waves me into the restaurant. “Just elusive.”
The hostess shows us to our seats, tucked into the corner of the small but crowded Italian restaurant.
I pull off my coat and pick up the menu.
“I like Lincoln Park,” Zach says. “It’s pretty.”
I nod. “I wanted to live here as soon as I moved to Chicago after graduating.”
“Well, you found the polar opposite of Torrins.” He takes a sip of his water. “Like you always said you would.”
I hide my cringe at his mention of Torrins by flashing a saucy smile. “You’re not so predictable. I never would have guessed you’d run a contracting business.”
Zach shrugs. “I like to build things, and I like being my own boss.”
That made sense. Not the building things, I had never known that about him, but being his own boss fits with his personality. He hated being told what to do. That’s why he resented his father.
“The photos on your website look pretty swanky,” I say. “How does it feel to spend all your time in fancy suburbs?”
“Honestly, I’d like to say something snarky about them,” Zach says. “But they’re pretty idyllic.”
I laugh at that. Once again, I’m struck by how easy it is to be with him. I understand him. The rhythm and cadence of his voice is so familiar.
The waiter comes over, and we order. Chicken for me and pasta for Zach. I get a white wine, and he opts for a beer.
My nerves resurface when my wine comes. Ordering a drink is a date thing to do.
I don’t have time to fret over that because then Zach starts talking about Torrins, and I have other things to worry about.
“I still live in Torrins,” he says. “My plan is to build a house in every fancy suburb, and then decide which ones are perfect for the most boring retirement ever.”
“I can’t imagine you still living in Torrins.” I don’t mean to sound condescending or snobby, but I can’t help but speak the truth.
“I can’t imagine you living there either.” Zach’s voice is soft. He’s being honest as well. “You never did fit in.”
“Thanks for reminding me what a nerd I was,” I say. I need to keep it light and teasing. I need to talk about school to avoid dangerous territory.
“You did have an extreme fear of cutting class,” Zach says. He shakes his head as if he’s still disappointed in me for refusing to skip PE to meet him for ice cream during the last week of junior year.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know I’m still like that,” I say. “I haven’t taken a sick day in two years.”
Zach cocks his head. “And you work in sales, right?”
“Yeah, for an online advertising program.” It’s not an interesting job, I know that. It usually doesn’t bother me, but I don’t want Zach to think I’m lame.
Then I remind myself that I shouldn’t care what a former (and possibly current) drug dealer thinks about my career choices.
“How’s your dad?” I ask. It’s breaking my rule about not discussing the past, but I’m suddenly desperate to know if he’s still involved with his father’s shady lifestyle.
“Dead.” Zach shrugs and speaks as if he’s commenting on the weather. “A few years ago actually.”
“I’m sorry.” My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I didn’t hear.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Zach says. “You don’t really keep in touch with anyone who would have told you, like your mom, right?”
I frown. How on earth did we get to talk about my mother? It’s my fault. I’m the one who asked about his dad. I deliberately baited him.
“Well, I’m still sorry for your loss,” I say with a breezy air to my voice. “I’m sure he was proud of you for starting your own business.”
Zach’s dad was never proud of him, even when Zach did all the awful stuff David asked him to, but I’m just trying to get to a safer topic. Our current jobs are tame enough to steer us out of these choppy waters of the past.
“You think you’ll ever talk to your mom again?” Zach asks.
I’m tempted to snap at him, but instead I twist my lips into a brittle smile. “Sorry, I only talk about my mommy issues with my shrink.”
“You go to therapy?” His eyes are wide, and he looks truly floored.
I have to laugh at his shock. “No, it was a joke.”
“Ah, good one.” Zach leans back in his chair, the picture of relaxed ease. “You’d probably eat any therapist alive if they tried to tell you how to feel.”
“I wouldn’t eat them alive,” I say. “I would just ask for my money back.”
The food arrives, and the tension leaves my shoulders. We’re back to joking with each other.
There’s a knot of discomfort in my stomach though. I don’t like how he mentioned my mom, and I definitely don’t like that he still lives in Torrins. He seems so wholesome and put together with his crisp white button-down, and his large manly watch that I can tell is not cheap. And he definitely looks healthy, so he can’t be addicted to anything, I don’t think.
But I can’t ignore red flags. He hasn’t left Torrins. He talks about my mother with too much familiarity. He could still be dealing.
“What’s it like working in the Merch Mart?” Zach’s attempt to change the subject isn’t exactly subtle, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
“I love it,” I say. “It’s an easy commute, and all the food options are great at lunch.”
“But what about the job itself?” There’s a line in between his brows.
“I’m good at it,” I say.
“I dunno.” Zach looks up from his pasta and flashes me an endearing grin. “I always thought you would be doing something to change the world.”
I snort. “I don’t remember being much of an activist in high school, are you sure you haven’t confused me with someone else?”
“I would never.” Zach makes a mock offended face. “You’re the only red head I’ve ever met.”
“First of all, my hair is auburn.” My hair is light red, but I think “auburn” sounds nicer. “And second of all, you’ve definitely met other gingers, you liar.”
Zach shrugs. “I mean you’re the only redhead I care about.”
There it is. That charm that always hits me like a punch to the gut. I momentarily lose my breath, and my mind goes blank.
He’s right. I had forgotten how passionate I had been about a tutoring program. I had volunteered at the local library, but I had felt like some of the kids I tutored deserved more resources. So many of them had single parents or parents who had to work all the time. They couldn’t learn to read if no one was helping them at home.
“I was into programs that helped kids stay in school, that’s how I got out in the end.” I shrug. “Anyway, I’m still young, I can change the world later.”
I resolve that if he tries to bring up Torrins or the past or anything relating to my mother, then I’m going to walk out. I don’t care how dazzling his off-kilter smile is, and I don’t care how captivated I am by the hint of scruff along his jaws, I don’t want to talk about Torrins. And I also really don’t want him to be a drug dealer.
“Do you drive a truck now for your job?” I ask. “I keep picturing you with a truck.”
“I do, and it’s just like some cheesy country song.” He winks at me. “You want me to take you down some back roads?”
“Only if you wear a cowboy hat and bring some cheap beer.”
“The beer I can manage, not sure about the hat,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll wear the hat.” I smile over the rim of my glass as I take a sip of my wine. I don’t like country music, but all of a sudden the image of me and Zach taking a road trip in a truck has enormous appeal.
We have returned to a safe area. Our back and forth banter flows from one easy topic to the next. It’s a little bit flirty, a little bit joking. I relax.
The more he talks about his job, the more I start to doubt he’s involved in anything illegal. He tells me he’s working on about four projects at once, and he lists nice neighborhoods as construction sites. His real business is too time-consuming. Surely, he doesn’t need to deal on the side.
For a moment, I wonder if I’m just seeing what I want to see. If I’m telling myself there’s no way he deals because I don’t want this dinner to end.
Instead of dissecting that thought, I just suggest we order dessert. When given the choice, I will always choose to have a good time.
I’m having too much of a good time to question Zach.
That being said, I make sure we split the bill when the check comes. It’s not a date. Not a real date, anyway.
When we grab our coats to leave, I’ve made up my mind. I want to see where this night goes.
“Wanna walk around a bit?” Zach asks.
“It’s too cold.” I look him straight in the eye. “We could go to my place for a nightcap though.”
He holds my gaze for a loaded heartbeat before smiling. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Eight
If I weren’t so attracted to Zach, I might wonder if it’s a good idea to bring him back to my apartment.
The problem is, I am attracted to him. I’m not a self-denying person. Zoe would tell me it’s a risk to flirt with him. Elena would fret over any emotional consequences. But Marianne would tell me to go for it. Tonight, I’m listening to my inner Marianne.
Zach and I have an undeniable chemistry.
When I open the door to my apartment, I feel a rush of shyness. Zach knew me as a teen, but this is my adult space. Everything in my small apartment, from the couch with the floral pattern to the slightly battered coffee machine to the watercolors on the walls, represents me and my choices. I made this life for myself. I’m proud of it, and I weirdly want him to be proud too.
We’ve been chatting the whole walk from the restaurant, but as he steps through my door, I fall silent.
Zach sweeps his gaze slowly over the living room. It’s not big, but I don’t have a roommate, so it’s the right size for me.
“I like it,” he says. “I figured you would be the type to keep your place clean.”
I shrug and bite back an ecstatic grin. “Most of the mess is in the closet.”
“Ah, so you’re not totally perfect.”
“Don’t do that.” I blurt it out as I hang my coat up.
Zach raises his eyebrows. “Don’t compliment you?”
“You know I’m not perfect,” I say. “Come on, this isn’t a first date where you have to lay on the sweet talk.”
Zach hangs up his coat and then leans against my kitchen counter as I grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. He lowers his lids in a way that sends a shiver up my spine. “It feels like a date.”
“How would you know what a date with me feels like?” I plop myself down on the couch and tuck my feet under me. Zach joins. He settles in with total ease. I marvel at his ability to always look so confident and composed. He raises his eyebrows, silently urging me to clarify.
“I wouldn’t?” he asks. His eyes are teasing, and I fight back a blush.
“We were friends with benefits,” I say. My tone is direct and clear. I’m impressed with myself. Zach’s not the only one with composure.
“Is that what we were?” Zach asks. A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead, and I want to push it back. Usually, when I see guys with hair past their ears, I roll my eyes and call the Shaggy or Rocker Wannabes. But I can’t joke about the way Zach’s hair falls in thick waves past his ears and onto his neck. It’s too tempting to run my fingers through it.
“You definitely weren’t my boyfriend,” I say. “Not unless I’ve mysteriously blacked out the memory of our prom night.”
“You never wanted to go to prom,” Zach says. “You said the punch bowl always got spiked and everyone acted like neanderthals.”
Does he have a photographic memory? How can he quote me word for word after all this time? I barely remember saying that, but as he speaks, I know I did. I also know I probably said it just so that Zach would think I was cool. He was out of high school by then, and I didn’t want him to think I was some babyish girl who still cared about who was voted a prom queen.
I turn away to pour the wine into the two glasses on the coffee table. His intense gaze tracks my every move. As if he’s an alleycat who just locked eyes on the mouse it’s going to devour.
Not that I’m a mouse. If anything, my teeth are just as sharp as his.
I turn and give him a slow and sensuous smile, never once taking my eyes off his face. “Well, maybe tonight you could make up for never taking me to prom.”
The flash of Zach’s white teeth exposed by his grin causes an eruption of butterflies in my stomach.
My whole core starts tingling, and I know what we’re about to do. We can take our time, but I’ve just clearly stated my agenda for the night, and Zach is not surprised at all.
He takes the wine from me and stretches one long arm over the back of the couch. I feel tiny and delicate sitting next to his muscled form.
“As long as you don’t expect a limo,” he says.
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m not very high maintenance.”
“I remember.” His hand reaches out, and I hold my breath as he catches a lock of my red hair with his pointer finger.
I would bet all my savings that we’re both thinking about the same thing: stolen kisses against the wall near the dumpster outside my mom’s apartment and sharing candy bars that we could barely afford. No, not very high maintenance at all.
It’s been a while since I’ve slept with anyone. I don’t date a lot because I get easily annoyed. Marianne says my standards are too high. I expect witty banter and sparkling connections on the first date. Maybe she’s right, but after one too many boring coffee dates, I gave up on dating apps. The last time I was with someone was over the summer. He was a friend of one of my co-workers, and he was boisterous and hilarious. We had a good run until I realized that his outgoing persona was due to his overwhelming need to constantly be the center of attention.
I haven’t met anyone I wanted since then. But I want Zach.
I lean forward, and for once Zach’s eyes
aren’t glazed with sarcasm or mischief. He blinks at me as if he can’t quite believe what is happening. Then he moves his hand over so his thumb brushes my cheekbone, ever so gently.
If I were to grab a universal remote and pause my life in this moment, I would have an easy explanation for why I was about to kiss Zach O’Malley. I would say it has absolutely nothing to do with our past or shared experiences. It is purely a result of him being devilishly handsome and me being a bit starved for sex after a long dry spell. That’s it.
Then I would unpause because this is not a time for overthinking or analyzing my psyche.
He presses his lips to mine, and his mouth is hesitant yet firm. He pulls away after the first brush, but only to adjust his hand so that it’s cradling my neck. Then his lips capture mine with more verve. I press my hands onto his sturdy chest and move on my knees, closing the distance between us.
Warmth explodes through my body as he slides his hand around my waist and tugs me onto his lap. I situate my legs on either side of him, and slide my own hands up to his face. The new position allows me to deepen the kiss, flicking the inside of his mouth with my tongue. Zach responds by separating my lips hungrily.
His hands move down my back and grip my bottom, and I let out a little gasp of delight. He’s so strong and sure, and he touches me as if he’s been waiting for an eon to do so.
Maybe he has.
I start to pull at the hem of his shirt, all of a sudden desperate to feel his skin. I slide my cool hands over his flat stomach and up to his chest, delighting in the coarse hair there. He lets out a small groan and mumbles my name. Then he begins to kiss along my jaw and down to my neck, and I smile at the way his tongue flicks and teases my skin.
His hands move to the front of my blouse, unbuttoning it all while sprinkling kisses across my collar bone.