Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2)
Read Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) Online
Authors: Megan Matthews
Lag
The Boys of RDA #2
By
Megan Matthews
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.
Copyright ©2016 by Megan Matthews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written person from the author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at
[email protected]
Edited by Amanda Brown
Cover Images from: Thinkstock.com
Cover design by: Megan Matthews
To Trish - For keeping me sane when no one else can
Lag:
A noticeable time delay between a player’s actions and the reaction of the server.
CHAPTER ONE
I was promised paradise, but no one warned me it would come with extras.
Paradise Island is exactly what the brochure guaranteed. Paradise. My body relaxes deeper into my large white lounge chair as the sun travels higher in the sky, heating the surface of my skin.
“Oh, look, Simone. He’s a hottie. Go talk to him.” My mother’s voice carries from her position to my right, but there isn’t enough strength in my body to move my head and give her a good eye roll.
“Mother, he’s way too young for Simone. She needs someone responsible and mature to be dull with.” The perky blonde to my left, otherwise known as my sister Elena, adds her unsolicited opinion.
I lied.
Paradise Island would be perfect if it weren’t for the two blonde, nosy companions on either side of me. There wasn’t a single warning in the brochure about my mother, Sheila, trying to hook me up with every seemingly eligible man within a thirty-foot radius.
My father, absent from our little group once again, has spent most of this vacation on the golf course. Unless his tee times are spent hunting for the perfect golfer for me to marry, he’s the one family member not obsessed with my sex life. Or lack thereof if we’re being honest.
I don’t jump up and try to hump the most recent man my mom’s spotted, and our conversation lulls. To a simple bystander the three of us look the same as we lay out in resort chairs facing the pool. Our blonde hair and blue eyes may match one another, but at 5’9” I tower over my short mother and sister. Height isn’t the single attribute my father passed on. I also ended up with his straight nose, but I think it fits with my big round eyes.
My eyes flutter closed again as I reach the point of relaxation one only finds while palm trees sway in the wind next to you. Nothing back home in New York City is this quiet and calm.
A quick slap to my upper arm stings my already sun-touched skin and I jerk in reflex. The sunglasses fall from the top of my head and land on the bridge of my nose. I rub the sore spot and then turn my head Mom’s direction as I fix the ponytail keeping my shoulder-length hair up. Her hand reaches out again, striking me in the arm with repeated flicks.
“Simone. Look at the guy in the blue shorts at the bar. See him? He needs some body work, but he looks smart. I bet he’s a doctor. Go order me a drink and bump into him.”
I’m not sure what possesses me, but against my better judgment I lift my head and look at the “doctor” Miss Matchmaker points out. His medical status is in question, but he might be a werewolf. He could at least play one for Halloween. Thick curly black hair covers the man’s chest and arms all the way down to his legs. His gut hangs over the top of his blue swim trunks with hair covering the area where a belly button ought to be visible. I send up a silent prayer he won’t turn around and confirm my suspicions about a hair forest on his back as well. None of us need to see that.
“Mom!” There aren’t enough words to express how horrifying her latest suggestion is.
She stops her perusal of the meat selection at the poolside bar long enough to meet my gaze. “What? Sweetheart, we’re trying to help you. It’s possible you might catch more than a tan on this vacation if you put a little work into it.” She flips her striking hand out again and I flinch, but she doesn’t get closer to my already battered arm.
“What about Elena?” I try to throw my mother’s attention in my sister’s direction. “She’s single. Why can’t we hook her up?”
My mother pushes her big sunglasses to the top of her head, but her eyes never stray to my sister. “Simone, your sister’s twenty-one. She has years to provide me with grandchildren. You’re twenty-six with no ring on your finger. What about your clock? I can hear the tick-tocks from over here.”
Elena snickers from her chair beside me but doesn’t jump in to help. I swear if I didn’t love these two so much I wouldn’t go out in public with either of them. Elena plans to live with me in New York City after she finishes her masters in Buffalo and I can’t wait to get her back for all the times she’s incited my mother during this vacation.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask to try and change the topic.
My mom settles back into her chair and places the sunglasses back on her face before she answers, “He left to play some golf while I napped.”
Dad provides a great buffer, but since he’s not at my disposal I’m forced to take option two for relief. Distance. The were-doctor walks away from the bar toward the secondary pool behind us, and it’s time to make my move. I stand from my chair and allow the beach towel to fall to the ground behind me. “What about those drinks?”
At the mention of alcohol Elena perks up. She hasn’t been twenty-one long. “Get me one of those Long Islands with the cute umbrellas. A pink one!”
“I’m not asking the bartender for a specific color, Elena.” I pop a hip out and try to level her with my best big sister look.
“But, Simone. The pink ones make the drinks taste better,” she whines.
“Girls.” Our mother breaks up the disagreement before it gets started with that special mom voice they all seem to have.
Why is it always “girls”? As if I was any part of the problem and need to be chastised as well.
“She started it,” I try to defend myself.
Rather than agree with me, Mom sighs in my direction and raises her hand to her forehead to rub small circles at her temples. “You’re older, Simone. You know better.”
My sister sticks her tongue in my direction and raises a shoulder to her chin in a move only a younger sibling can produce so well. Her “I win” attitude is clear and she hasn’t spoken a word.
“Get me a water, please. I think all this heat mixed with the alcohol is why I’ve been so tired. Charge it to the room, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” I lean down to dig through our beach bag for a room key to use as payment while she settles back into her chair.
“If I fall asleep again, wake me in thirty minutes to flip over.” Mom speaks to no one in particular before her eyes close behind her thick tortoiseshell sunglasses.
I walk around the pool, my feet heating on the tile surface without my flip-flops to protect them. The tiki-influenced bar features a brown palm leaf thatched roof with bamboo stools around a half circle wooden bar. Three round double person tables sit under the thick leafed canopy blocking only a few meager rays of sun, but adding to the island atmosphere.
Bypassing the tables, I slip onto one of the bamboo stools and wait for the bartender to make his way in my direction. The area is mostly empty at noon, and it doesn’t take me long to order our three beverages. I’m sure to pick a girly drink as well so my sister has a greater chance of her damn pink umbrella she’s so desperate for.
A slow breeze kicks up and ruffles the leafed roof above me and the smell of steak and garlic follows. My thoughts move to lunch and how much food I’ll put away on this all-inclusive vacation. I may not go home with a man, but if the amount of bacon I’ve consumed at breakfast is any indicator, I’ll carry an extra five pounds of me on the plane.
The stool to my left is pulled back, and the legs scrape on the tile, breaking my bacon-smothered daydream. I take a quick peek at my new companion and forcibly stop my grimace by placing a hand over my mouth.
“Beautiful day today in paradise, huh?” The were-doctor leans toward me as he uses his cheesy line. One of his black hairy legs brushes against mine and imaginary spiders crawl up my leg from the contact.
Thankfully, the first lesson from my job as an executive assistant was how to feign dumb when someone tries to hit on you. I’ve deflected more advances from hairy old men than the Empire State Building has floors.
Without facing him, I turn back to the bar front and watch the bartender make our drinks. “It is.” I cast my head to the other side to avoid eye contact with the were-doctor.
“What’s your drink? Let me pick it up for you,” he continues. A persistent fellow.
I steel myself with casual indifference, an image my boss made me practice for hours, and turn to address him. “No, thank you. I’ve already paid.” Against my will my eyes fall from his face to the top of his shoulders where pieces of hair flap as the breeze picks up. Is it still called chest hair when it’s growing on the top of your shoulder?
I consider abandoning the drinks in favor of a quick escape, but as I’m about to leave, my salvation comes disguised as the tan dark-haired bartender. He places all three drinks in front of me, one pink umbrella balanced on the side of a cup, and I sign the receipt quickly with a five-dollar tip to thank him for the timely rescue.
With a plastic cup in each palm, I balance the third between the remaining fingers of both hands, creating a triangle of glasses. The seat swivels to the right and I bend my arms to help support my body as I jump off the stool only to come up short. My elbow’s met with resistance followed by a grunt. The liquid from all three cups splashes into one another and on the top of my thigh before it runs down my leg. Oh shit.
A big thick, warm hand grips my knee as a guy in nothing but green swim trunks bends over at the waist, his head almost in my lap. He uses my knee to keep himself up while the other arm is tightly wrapped around his hips. He doesn’t speak, but his breath releases harshly with each exhale.
Even though I’ve absolutely just elbowed this man in the balls and should feel badly, my eyes roam over his smooth back. His shoulders are thick with muscles that continue down to his arms to form the perfect bicep. His skin is dark, but in a natural way not as if he’s tanned well on vacation. The back of his head is full of wet black hair with a slight curl, which hasn’t dried from a recent shower or dip in the pool. He must have been at the pool behind ours because there’s no way I — or my mother — would have missed this had he been within fifty feet of us.
Time snaps back to me as the stranger starts to right himself. Not wanting to be caught with my mouth hanging open, I turn in my seat to place the drinks back on the bar. My fingers are sticky from the spill, but I place one palm on his back for a moment before he rights himself.