Lag (The boys of RDA #2)(11)
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.