Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (5 page)

“Your lunch is ready, sir.” His head tilts to the tray and even though his lip curls up in a short smile, he doesn’t laugh or comment on our compromising position.

“Right, thanks.” Trey answers him but doesn’t move from his position over my body.

I push on him with the hand still on his chest. “Um, Trey.”

He rests his forehead on mine. “I need a minute.” He moves his hips. They don’t touch me, but it’s enough to fill me in on the situation contained in his thin swim trunks.

I meet the waiter’s eyes and shrug a shoulder. When he raises an eyebrow in return, I cover my mouth with a hand, but my body shakes with laughter.

“Well, if you laugh at him.” Trey’s slow movements take him away from me and he sits crossed legged on the towel waving his hand for the waiter to hand him a plate quickly.

“Nothing like a little PDA to work up an appetite, right?” he asks the waiter before the unflustered hotel staff member shakes his head and turns back to the restaurant with a promise — or a warning — that he’d return in thirty minutes to collect our plates.

CHAPTER SIX

Not even the bright airy living room of our suite chases away the darkness in my heart. The creamy yellow color of our walls paired with the open windows fill our suite with light, but it does nothing for me. Past the wall of windows our view of the ocean is unfettered. A cloudless sky promises a beautiful day past these four walls, but while everyone below us laps up the sunshine, my skin remains cold — the whole suite a sun-filled dungeon.

My eyes follow a couple as they walk on the beach. The woman with long brown hair bends down to grab something from the shore, probably a shell the morning scavengers missed. She shows it to her companion and he tucks it in his pocket. My eyes leave the couple and track a seagull’s flight across the water. I’ve propped a shoulder against the window. The sun’s rays warm the glass, but my skin can’t soak it up.

Today is the day Trey leaves.

“Why do you look like Grandma died?” Elena stands next to me. Her eyes sweep the area outside our fourth-floor window for signs of my distress. Back from her swim, she’s wrapped in one of the hotel’s big white towels, the straps of her suit visible over her shoulders.

I sigh and Elena turns at my obvious distress. “I wish I had found a shell on the beach yesterday. Something to remember the trip.”

She moves from the window and throws her used towel on the round coffee table in the middle of the room. “It was a one-night stand, Simone. The point is to not have a reminder.”

“Don’t say ONS where Mom can hear you,” I shush her as she walks back into our shared bedroom.

She stops in the doorway and turns back enough to give me an eye roll to beat all eye rolls. “Mom’s napping.”

Napping? It’s barely ten in the morning. Trey is scheduled to leave the hotel in about an hour and I promised I’d meet him for a quick good-bye. I’d go now to spend every last minute with him, but he never told me his room number and I didn’t want to be clingy enough to ask. Now I wish I had.

I don’t understand where my strong feelings for a man I’ve only known a day come from, but they’re undeniable. I’ve had many boyfriends, but I’ve never felt this powerfully about someone in the past, even after months of dating. Certainly not days. I don’t know what to do with them or him for that matter.

My suitcase and a few clothes are spread out over the white crumpled duvet of the queen size bed I’ve called mine this week, so I flounce on the small chase at the foot of the bed. My feet and head hang off the tiny piece of furniture in a horribly uncomfortable nature, but I was so showy with getting on it, I can’t waste it by moving now.

“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a one-night stand.”

Elena pulls her suitcase from our closet and hurls it onto her bed before she turns to me. Her eyes flash with unspoken questions when she sees my stiff position, but she’s smart and doesn’t comment on it. “What do you mean it wasn’t a one-night stand? You were with him all day yesterday. What did you do if it wasn’t the horizontal mambo?”

“You mean the horizontal tango? Do kids these days call it the mambo?”

She stops throwing clothes from her case to the bed long enough to give me a pointed stare. “Whatever. The point is…well… to be honest I don't know what the point is.” Her eyebrows narrow and she looks down at the mess of clothes in confusion.

“The point is… it was a vacation fling,” I throw an answer out even if it isn’t much better, “and now it’s done.”

“But you didn’t fling. It can’t be a vacation fling unless you fling,” her hands come together and swish back and forth in some demented sign language move for that horizontal mambo she was talking about earlier.

“We did other… stuff.” I try to defend myself but realize I don’t want to go into it and wish I had kept my mouth shut.

Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. After our lunch on the beach, we wandered the shore for a few miles. We left the resort to shop at this big open air market elsewhere on the island. Locals with tiny booths made of island wood sold everything from blankets to small toys for children. I picked up a few small bobble head turtles for the girls at work.

Outside the stalls an artist sat on the street corner in paint splattered shorts and t-shirt painting ocean landscapes. They were simple in nature, but Trey was taken by them. The clipped pace he’d been leading down the main road slowed until we passed the area with small canvases lining the street. At the last piece, Trey turned and started back toward the artist with me on his heels.

The painting he selected featured a beach in the foreground with tall grass to the right and a few reeds blowing in the breeze. Rudimentary waves crash on the shore with a cloudless sky and a blue green ocean acting as a background. It was a simple piece for the $10 asking price, but Trey’s expression took on the look of someone who’d walked away with the Mona Lisa.

“Are you packing this blanket?” Elena snaps out the dark blue Mexican style blanket from the floor where it fell between our two beds during the night.

I jump up to grab it from her. “Yes.”

Her smile says more than a simple facial expression should. “I thought so,” she says and moves back to her packing as if her word is law.

I start to fold the blanket into the smallest square possible and stick it in my empty suitcase first. Last night Trey and I shared a candlelit meal at The Seashell Restaurant for dinner. The fact we were both severely underdressed didn’t faze Trey as he sat across our small table and woofed down his sand-free steak in his green swim trucks and grey tank top. With my beach bag resting on the floor between us, I at least had a shirt with sleeves to put on over my black bikini top.

“So I don’t want to know details, because yuk, but if you didn’t have the s.e.x., what did you do?” She spells out the word in the same way we spelled out swear words as kids, as if we wouldn’t get in the same amount of trouble if our mother heard us.

I fill her in with our afternoon adventures and end with our late night on the beach to watch the stars come out over the water.

“But no sex?”

I begin to feel like Elena doesn’t grasp how great of a day I had. “It wasn’t like that, Elena. Life isn’t all sex.” I reach back for my suitcase and tuck the blanket in farther to make room for more clothes. I may need to leave a few shirts behind to get it home, but I can live with that.

She scoffs in my direction. “For men it’s always about sex.”

I don’t bother responding to her for more than a few reasons. I don’t want to think too much about yesterday, especially in a negative light. If I give Elena’s opinion too much space in my brain, she might start to make sense. Trey has been nothing but respectful regardless of his male genitals. Plus, it’s not like we were alone. Besides our time on the beach last night, there was always someone nearby. While there was some heavy petting, we’d already been busted once. Sand is also a problem out there, and I was not going to have sex on the beach.

Sure, it would’ve taken less than five words to talk me into spending the night in his room, but he never asked. Which is fine because, to be honest, I wasn’t in control of all my faculties last night and there is a miniscule chance I'd regret it now. Not the sex, but the fact it would make his exodus today a trillion times harder.

“He’s leaving today, Elena. It was a vacation fling and nothing more. It’s not like we’re soul mates, so give it a break.”

Each word from my mouth is a complete lie. I already feel too connected to a man I met a few days ago. I don’t need sex to muddy the waters more than they already are. It’s not normal to feel so enthralled with someone as quickly as I've become with Trey. Forget that my heart beats faster when he’s near. Or his minty breath as it tickles my ear when he whispers things to me. All of it will be dream fodder for the rest of my life. What has me worried is the way my soul perks up when I spot him. Can a person make you lighter? Happier? If my feelings were a color, they'd be bright yellow whenever Trey is beside me.

The fact my thoughts have taken this route is scary. I mean if feelings had color… what has gotten into me? I don’t think shit like that. No normal person considers their feelings to be yellow. Trey will go back to San Francisco and play his video games. I will return to New York and resume Thursday night cocktail evening with the girls and help the right and humorless in the city buy fancy toys. It’s as simple as that. Sweetest day is in a few months so I have a whole slew of flowers to order for wives.

“If it wasn’t special, why did you look like someone killed your cat earlier?” she questions from between our beds.

I roll my eyes in her direction, but her head is stuck under the bed looking for misplaced items and she doesn’t see. “I don’t have a cat.”

One day I’ll meet a cute guy, we’ll get married, have lots of babies (okay two) and move out to the suburbs where we’ll spend the rest of our days. My life is simple and doesn't involve the West Coast and some video game executive.

“Can I throw this cup away?” Two of Elena’s fingers pinch the top of the neon green cat cup from my first night with Trey.

“No!” I try to jump across the bed to grab the cup she’s taken from the nightstand.

She leans back. “Yeah, sure you don’t have a cat.” She tosses the cup to me and I place it next to my clothes. It’s a thick plastic, but not one I’m willing to risk in my suitcase. I’ll have to carry it on the plane.

**

I leave Elena packing for our early departure tomorrow and make my way to the grand lobby with a heavy heart weighing down my steps. Why didn’t I ask him for a room number? I should have surprised him this morning with breakfast. I should have done something.

At the end of the wallpapered hallway, those large sculpted beams that circle the middle of the lobby become visible. Trey in dark wash jeans and a short sleeve green t-shirt leans against the pole closest to where I exit the suite sections. His hand clasps at a deep groove in the fishy sculpture, making him appear tense but still gorgeous.

My steps pick up, forgetful of why they’re here in the first place. His attention is to his phone. Then, as if he senses my presence in the area, his head rises to meet mine and his lips spread into a carefree grin.

“You came.” Trey doesn’t leave his spot on the column, but he pulls me closer to him when I get within his reach.

Like we’ve been doing this for years, I wrap my hands around his neck and fiddle with the wispy black hair at the base of his head. Our embrace feels natural. To an outsider we must look like more than people who met three days ago. It’s a weird bond we share.

“Of course I came. You weren’t worried, were you?”

My head falls to his shoulder in an attempt get as close as possible. His t-shirt is thin and I rub my head like a cat on the fabric as his muscles flex underneath. With scant minutes before he leaves, I don’t have time to worry about what he or anyone else will think of my behavior. The spicy scent from Trey’s cologne mixes with the breezy air off the ocean, and I wish I could bottle it. Make it into a candle and burn it to get me through the upcoming cold New York winter in a few months.

“Not worried. Hopeful. Why didn’t I make you sit in my room during the conference call? We could have laid on the bed and watched TV. At the least had breakfast together,” he apologizes and the thought of the two of us together on his bed makes me even more regretful that this trip has to come to an end.

His hands wrap tighter around me. He smooths them down my back and they come to rest on the top of my hips, until they move lower and he’s cupping an ass cheek. I guess Trey’s not worried about his behavior either.

I snuggle into his embrace. “I wish…”

“Don’t.” His grip tightens while his words silence mine.

I wish? I wish what? How does he know what I would have wished for? He doesn’t need to say the words for me to know Trey’s right. Nothing I wish for will change our situation. You don’t do long distance with someone you’ve known for three days. I want to lie to myself and say we’d exchange phone numbers to stay friends, but at the first mention of him dating my heart would break. Better to rip the bandage off today rather than slowly peel it back later.

We need to come to an end now. A quick semi-painless end without deluding ourselves there could be more. Yes, it will hurt, more than I expected, but it would be far worse to have misplaced hope.