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I shake my head. ‘I think he knew. I think he was afraid that if he asked he’d get an answer he didn’t want. But that doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I’d been hating on my dad all these years and, in a way, I was just as bad.’
‘How does your behaviour compare to his?’
‘I was using Patrick—every day I didn’t tell him that I was nowhere near as serious about him as he was me.’ I shudder. ‘I swore to myself after that never to get involved with a guy again. I don’t like the person I turn into when I’m in a relationship. I don’t want to be my father.’
‘I still don’t understand how you think you compare to him.’
‘Because I knew I was hurting Patrick—or that he was bound to get hurt—and I didn’t care. I used him, Zach. I used him for convenience and because I liked being with him marginally more than I liked being on my own. How awful is that? Because of such lukewarm, selfish feelings I strung this poor guy along then broke his sweet heart.’ Remorse sweeps through me. ‘The thing is...’ searching for words ‘... I just don’t have a healthy perspective on relationships. I made a decision, after Patrick, that casual sex is fine, because no one ends up falling in love. Relationships are—a disaster.’
His eyes hold mine and something sparks in the air that hovers between us.
‘I get that.’
I shake my head, clearing the memories of that time, aim for a bright smile. ‘What about you? No girlfriends in your past?’
* * *
‘One.’ Jesus. Where did that come from? I never talk about Emily, not with anyone. Except Dimitrios, who’s been subjected to a few messy, drunken ramblings about the woman I thought I loved—back when I was stupid enough to believe in love. I don’t talk about Emily because she messed me up, and for a long time, and even now I don’t like to open that wound. But something about Jessica’s confession has stirred truths within me.
‘Really?’
Having started on this path, I realise I don’t hate it. Talking to Jessica is easy. Maybe because we’re so similar, both completely independent and self-contained, refusing to rely on anyone else for emotional satisfaction.
‘More recently?’ She leans forward, clearly fascinated. I don’t blame her. My reputation is as incontrovertible as the day is long. I’m not a relationship guy. I’m a ‘bachelor’. ‘Party boy’. All the tags the tabloid press can come up with, I wear.
‘A few years ago.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Mmm.’
‘What happened? Who was she?’
‘She’s a friend of my stepmother’s. I’ve known her since I was a teenager.’
‘So she’s older than you.’
I dip my head in silent agreement. ‘My stepmother is considerably younger than my father was. Emily’s twelve years older than me.’
‘So what happened? Don’t spare the gory details. Make me feel better about the way I screwed up Patrick’s life.’
Her supposition that I was the guilty party is natural. But she’s wrong. ‘I’d had a crush on her for years. A totally inappropriate, forbidden crush—perhaps that was part of the appeal. She’s beautiful, intelligent and off-limits. What teenager wouldn’t be drawn to that?’
Jessica nods, her eyes holding mine without reaction. Had I been hoping for jealousy? Jessica’s way too self-assured to feel something so petty.
‘She was married. Is married.’ Disgust runs through me.
‘So you had an affair?’ she prompts, after a while, a note of something hard to hear in her voice. Something that sounds a lot like judgement.
That we had an affair isn’t an entirely accurate description—at least, it’s not from my perspective, but I nod grimly. ‘We ran into each other a few summers ago, in New York. What are the chances, right? It was such a strange coincidence, I invited her for a drink. To catch up. I was older. No longer a teenager in awe of her, not sure what to do.’
‘Right. You’d had years of screwing your way through the women of the world,’ she asserts evenly. It’s the truth but there’s that tone in her voice again and it ignites a spark of shame inside me.
‘My approach with women had improved,’ I concede.
‘So you hit on her?’
‘Harmless flirtation,’ I amend, shaking my head.
