All Chapters of Boys of RDA: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

VOLUME TWO: LAGLag:A noticeable time delay between a player's actions and the reaction of the server.I was promised paradise, but no one warned me it would come with extraParadise 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

Elena slips down the hallway from the suite we share with our parents. Her short green dress shifts with each step and I worry for a moment about letting her out like this. How often do cute, blonde, American girls get kidnapped on vacation? I can't let anything happen to my baby sister."Elena! Hold up. I'll come with you," I call to her as loudly as I'm comfortable with, which isn't much since I don't want to risk one of our parents hearing.Elena turns back to me and cocks her head to the side as she sizes me up. "You aren't dressed for the club and Dad will figure it out if you go back in now," she loudly whispers back.I steal a quick peek at my outfit as if I've forgotten what I have on. Am I in pajamas? My dark colored skinny jeans with sandals and a pink tank top isn't horrible, but maybe not dance club material either. Not that I have any desire to go to a dance club. God, am I that old? I sound like a twenty-six-year-old grandmother."I'll sit at the regular bar, it'l

The white sand from the open beach in front of us crunches under my feet with each step, my flip-flops sending the tiny shell particles flying behind me. Trey walks a few steps in front with my big white SeaBag tote slung over his shoulder, and a pink beach towel flops against the blue and green stripes on the bag with each of his steps.We continue for a few more paces before Trey stops and turns back to me. "I'm pretty sure our guy will meet us along the beach over there." He points to his right at some unknown landmark in the distance. We hit the edge of the water and begin to head in the direction he pointed, my steps easier now on the dense wet sand."A pretty ride for a pretty lady?" A heavily accented voice comes from behind causing Trey and me to turn together.Behind us a shorter dark-skinned man stands a few inches into the water. The surf pushes past his calves as each wave comes ashore. His jean shorts are wet on the hem, but the bright blue Hawaiian button up shirt h

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-

The stench of warm hotdogs and sweat follows me from the New York City street into the building lobby. Are we all too busy running around from one location to another to notice the smell New York carries on her back? Maybe things are more pungent for me today after my week with ocean breezes and Trey's spicy cologne. New York looks the same, but it doesn't feel the same. Some of the city's glow, the spark, the presence that keeps the city alive seems to have fizzled out while I was gone. Or it could be Monday, and who doesn't hate a Monday? Especially a Monday after a vacation.The elevator stops on the sixth floor and the walk to my yellow-walled office is quick so I don't have to greet anyone or give out the details of my vacation. The whole communication thing is too daunting a task this morning. I plan to sink into my computer chair and answer the hundred and fifty emails I didn't get to from my apartment last night.New York City might not make my veins sing as it did a week a