Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) Page 7

  Aspen chokes on air and I use the time to peek in at my surprise brunch. Inside the white bag is a Styrofoam container and black spork wrapped with a napkin. As Marissa pats Aspen on the back, all three girls stare at me in silence while I open the container to one of the most wonderful sights I’ve ever cast my eyes on.

  Two or maybe three pieces of thick toast take up the space. A cinnamon smell hits my nose and I breathe in deeper. A banana — split down the middle — lays on top and the entire thing is covered in syrup and something else sweet. A quick taste confirms it's caramel and I might die a little. I’ve always dreamed of eating sugar for breakfast.

  “You’re my new favorite person in the entire world. Tell us the whole story of this elbow job,” Aspen prods.

  The story isn’t as exciting as they seem to think it will be, but I do my best to relay the first day Trey and I met. I fill in the rest of our short time together and, as if we’ve been best friends forever, they ask more questions to pry the gritty details from me. I try to keep it simple and glaze over the good stuff, but Marissa has a natural ability to see right through my weak answers.

  “So Trey was sweet? It’s hard to process it. Sometimes he’ll do something that might be nice, but he does it in such a jerky way. I can't picture just sweet.”

  “Me either,” Amanda concurs with Aspen’s statement. “So are you two dating now?”

  Dating? Are we dating? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. Right? “Um, no. We haven’t spent any real time together and he’s been different here. Intense.”

  “Yeah, intense. That’s a good way to describe Trey.” Aspen hasn’t taken her eyes from me, but she closes her mouth.

  I’ve finished my sugary bread and put the plastic fork and Styrofoam container back in the bag.

  Marissa does the same with hers. “Isn’t the Tahiti French toast spectacular? We’ve been eating it for months. We need to branch out, but it's so good and I’m so lazy. Why give up a good thing?”

  “I suggest we find somewhere indoors this winter when it gets cold. It’s already too cold if you ask me.” Aspen wraps her hands into the sleeves of her pink parka.

  “Hmm,” Marissa mulls over her comments in thought. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, Simone. In case you decide you want to do more than elbow Trey in the balls, I’ll help you move the body. All of us are only a phone call away.”

  Aspen laughs and rolls her eyes at the spunky brunette. “Marissa, don’t scare her away. She’ll think you’re serious.”

  “I am serious.” She turns back to me and in the most no joke manner says, “True friends will always help move the body."

  “I would.” Amanda doesn’t look up from her task of collecting her breakfast remnants but answers too quickly and a bit too excitedly if you ask me. "Plus, Aspen’s brother is a cop. He’d help us get away with it. I bet he knows more than one great hiding place in the city.”

  Marissa claps her hands together once. “See? Amanda gets it. I knew there was a reason I liked you right away,” she says to the blonde who perks up even more at her words.

  “They’re kidding,” Aspen promises me. “Except for my brother. He is a cop, but there is no way he’d help hide a body.”

  Amanda lies back on the blanket but sits up immediately when her head hits the dewy grass. The fog over the city has started to lift, but there are still large parts covered by the low lying clouds. I’m taken by the view from our vantage point and promise myself to spend time enjoying everything San Francisco has to offer.

  “So what are we doing this afternoon?” Aspen asks the group and the conversation turns to various options available on a Sunday in the city.

  As the girls, my first friends in San Francisco, debate the merits of ice cream when it’s only fifty degrees out to indoor shopping, I sit and take in the open friendship they all share. I haven’t had a close relationship like theirs since college and even then they were more superficial. I lost contact with my roommate after graduation and never made close friends with any of my coworkers in New York. There was never time.

  Indoor activities win out over anything outside, and Marissa and Aspen argue over which season of Supernatural they finished last weekend and if they should pick up the new one today. I wouldn’t mind some Dean time, but before I throw in my two cents, my phone dings.

  The noise doesn’t interrupt either of them as they continue to argue, but I reach for the phone in my back pocket to read the text message.

  TREY: How’s it going? Aspen’s friend Marissa is kind of scary. Don’t upset her.

  His warning, not being far off, makes me laugh and shake my head at him even though he can’t see me.

  ME: We’re discussing good places to hide bodies.

  A few minutes pass before his next text vibrates my phone.

  TREY: I leave you alone with her for two minutes and this happens? Whatever you do, don’t tell her about almost taking off my balls. I’ll never live it down.

  ME: Oops. Sorry.

  I don’t need to be beside him to know he’s shaking his head at me and running his thumb back and forth across his jaw in the way I catch him every so often. I love the fact he’s in a more playful mood than he was this morning. I’ve never seen a man so unpredictable before.

  TREY: I have to fix a bug at the office. It could be a few hours. Do you want me to take you home?

  No stranger to work on a weekend, I understand but it still stings a bit. Aspen is great, but I’d hoped to spend some time with Trey today.

  Me: No, I’m okay. I’ll hang out here, figure out the best burial spots.

  Trey: Okay, if you change your mind let me know. And remember, I’m tall so the grave needs to be longer than normal.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The black door to the Escalade closes behind Trey and he clicks his seatbelt into place before our driver, the same guy from Sunday, makes it back to his position behind the wheel.

  “Will you tell me where we’re going now?” I question.

  Around lunch when he asked to pick me up from work and promised to provide me with dinner, I didn’t hesitate in my answer. Now, I’m slightly nervous. Never mind. Slightly nervous went out the window an hour ago. The deadline inched closer and closer, and I sailed right into freaking the hell out.

  Trey leans toward me to look out the window on my side. “We’re going to do a quick touristy thing and then dinner at my place.”

  “Should I change my shoes?” I lift the leg closest to him to show off my bright red Jimmy Choo heel. I’m a New Yorker. I'll walk in heels anywhere when needed, but I’d rather save my feet if I can.

  Trey sighs when he sees my shoe. “Unfortunately, yes. While I hate to see them go, you’ll want to be more comfortable.” His finger presses on the bare skin below the strap around my ankle.

  I grab my prepacked tennis shoes from my big shoulder bag and notice Trey’s dark brown trail boots, which match his tan slacks and green button down shirt. His top button is undone and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows once again. It gives him a classic but business feel to him. He might be the CEO of a company, but he doesn’t do the stuffy attire so many of my New York clients walked around with.

  With my shoes switched for the more comfortable pair, I lean a little closer to Trey as the houses pass by us out the window. If we’re off to do a tourist activity, I assume we’re headed to the shoreline where many of the main attractions are positioned on the water's edge. It doesn’t matter which place he picks. I haven’t done a single thing yet and I want to do them all.

  The black Escalade I’ve named Licorice in my head comes to a stop behind a line of traffic ahead.

  “We can get out here, Jake. I know you need to pick up Aspen.” Trey already has his door open before he’s finished and Jake's eyes narrow in the rear view mirror.

  Trey reaches back into the car and pulls my hand. I follow him even as my eyes stay locked on Jake. The driver’s face tugs into a smile before I lose sight of him behind the p
assenger’s seat. Trey takes my large work bag from my shoulder and drapes it over his own.

  “It’s not a far walk from here.” We follow the sidewalk in front of us, passing by the line of cars that stopped our vehicle.

  A few minutes pass between us in silence, but my curiosity over what we’re doing doesn’t allow it to become awkward. From my small knowledge of the city, we’re still too far from the wharf to visit any of the attractions I visualized during the second half of my day. The bull terrier boss still has me running copies, so I have a lot of time to daydream.

  “You’ve never been to San Francisco, right?” Trey asks before he casually steps closer to me and twines his fingers through mine.

  I squeak out a “Never,” while we turn and continue to follow the line of cars. The grade slowly becomes so steep my legs begin to burn even though we’re headed downhill.

  “You’ll eventually do all the famous junk the city has to offer, so I wanted to show you your first fun night. You’ll never do this once you live here long enough."

  “Okay.” My curiosity hits a new level with his words, but I don’t have time to question him more before he steers us to the side of the road to a yellow canopy perched on the sidewalk.

  “Reservation for Trey Good,” he directs to the young kid behind the table under the middle of the cover.

  His head peeks down to the large book until I presume he finds Trey’s name. “Okay, everything is ready to go. Right this way, Mr. Good. Tina will take you to the car.

  We follow his outstretched arm to the left where another teenager in a yellow company polo meets us on the sidewalk. The three of us walk together still following the blocked traffic.

  “Have you ever walked or ridden down Lombard, the most crooked street in America, before?” she asks.

  “We’re going down Lombard Street?” I jump a little before I stop myself and grab on to Trey’s arm.

  “Surprise,” he deadpans and then shoots our guide a face with eyebrows much too furrowed to be friendly.

  I squeeze his arm tighter to gain his attention again. “I am surprised. This is going to be awesome.”

  We pause as we’re about to pass a mini yellow car. It’s slightly larger than one of those Power Wheels cars I was always begging my Dad for growing up. There is no roof and a black stripe breaks up the yellow color from the back end, over the top, and to the front. A black circle with the number thirty-two in the middle adds decoration to the front hood and side door.

  Another employee exits the car leaving the driver’s side door open, and Trey hurries to take his place behind the wheel. We have a saved spot in the line of cars, but I still can’t see the top of Lombard Street as I sit in the passenger side. The steering wheel isn't a wheel at all, but rather a set of handlebars like a dirt bike. It’s an odd machine.

  “I’d let you drive, but I’ve seen you on a jet ski and the cement is harder than the dip we took in the ocean.” He laughs at his own joke.

  I slap Trey on the arm. “That was so not my fault and you know it,” I counter but am secretively okay he’s taking the lead on this one. I'd be a little worried about my ability to navigate the tight turns.

  “Don’t forget your helmets.” The man who gave up his seat in the car produces two black simple helmets with straps underneath.

  Trey cocks his head at the helmet and frowns, but I elbow him in the arm, and he reluctantly grabs both passing one to me before he puts his own on. Satisfied we’re both properly geared up, the employee nods once. With one hand on the side of the car, he walks along with us as Trey slowly edges the vehicle forward as traffic moves.

  When we’re stopped again, the employee leans closer to the car forcing Trey to retreat into my space. “Up ahead you’ll see Lombard Street. I suggest you allow the car in front of you to make it mostly past the curves before you begin down. This will allow you to gain more speed as you take each of the eight sharp turns that comprise this section of road.”

  He pauses in his memorized speech while Trey inches the car forward with traffic again. “Lombard Street was built in 1922 after being suggested as a way to reduce the hill’s natural twenty-seven percent grade by property owner Carl Henry. The curves allow for a shallow incline which is safer for pedestrians and vehicles. Although this isn’t the steepest incline in America, it is the crookest street in the world.”

  The ten or so cars in front of us seem to drop off as one after another slowly falls down past my line of sight.

  “Please keep your helmets on at all times and obey the five mile an hour traffic guideline when making your way down the hill.” Our guide smiles and winks at Trey with his parting words and then walks behind our car to stand on the sidewalk.

  “Thank God. I didn’t think he’d ever leave. Are you excited?” he asks.

  The car in front of us moves ahead. “Yes, I’m so excited.” My hands clap together in anticipation. “Do you think little L.D. will make it?”

  “Little L.D.?” Trey looks to me with an up turned eyebrow.

  I try to play it off cool, but my face turns red at being outed in my car naming game. “Yeah, I named him Lemon Drop, but it was too long so we’re going with L.D.” I shrug and try to wear my best “no big deal” expression.

  He laughs anyway. “Are all your names after food or is it a recent thing?”

  Two more cars make the drop as we get closer and closer to the famous crooked street ahead and I think about the answer to his question. “I’ve never noticed. It’s a recent thing, I guess. Not many of us had cars in New York. I named the Escalade Licorice earlier, so it must be new.”

  “Don’t ever tell Jake you named his car Licorice.” His head turns to mine with upturned lips on one side of his mouth and a devilish gleam in his eye that might sprout him horns. "Or maybe we should. I would love to see him riled up. Let’s get him to drive us somewhere tomorrow and mention it.”

  “No!” I hit his arm, but laugh as his smile grows while he stares into the distance.

  The traffic moves again and provides us with a better view of the street ahead. All conversation with Trey is forgotten as I watch the line of cars make their way down the steep road paved in red bricks.

  The crooked nature of the road creates oxbows of extra sidewalk and yard space with every curve. The inside of each is planted with green bushes and other shrubs to fill in the voids. The blue Explorer in front of us pulls onto the street and begins to take the first turn. Trey moves L.D. into position, but we wait at the top for the cars in front of us to make it farther down the steep incline.

  Once the blue Explorer crosses the halfway mark, Trey lets off the brake and we slowly slide into position. “Here we go.”

  He takes the first turn a little faster than I would have but immediately has to brake to complete the next one. I laugh at his look of concentration before the car is jerked to a stop again. Before we make the third curve, he’s laughing with me at the ridiculousness of the situation. What I was expecting to be a rollercoaster of excitement is actually more like a slow crawl in a city park. It’s still steep and fun, but between all the cars in front of us and our own inability to maneuver at a fast pace, some of the excitement is lost. My hair doesn’t even blow in the breeze.

  I turn to the side and watch the houses as we drive by them. Living on a street continuously full of tourist would be unimaginable. The ride is over before I’ve had time to take in all the sights, and we sit at the base of the hill still laughing. The same guy who passed the car over to us waits as Trey pulls to the side and we exit the car, removing our helmets as we do.

  “Did you two have fun?” he asks.

  “Yes, it was great,” I answer before Trey pulls me off in the direction behind us with my leather bag wrapped over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Trey turns in the opposite direction of L.D. and we start the walk back up Lombard Street. This time our slower pace gives me time to take in the details of the landscaped area and houses on each side of t
he roadway.

  We walk back up past all eight curves of Lombard Street, on the pedestrian steps this time. Once we reach the top of the hill we drove down minutes ago, the need to fill the space starts to claw at me. I try to pretend we’re a normal couple, out for a cute stroll rather than what we are. And what are we? I can’t even answer the question myself.

  My anxiety builds and I start to question what we’re doing here more and more. I’m about to throw out one of the hundred or so reasons I’ve thought of to make my exit when Trey picks up our conversation as if no time as passed. “Do you like pizza?”

  “Of course.” Who doesn’t like pizza?

  “There is a great place a block or so from my house. I’ll order and we can pick it up on the way to my place. What do you like for toppings?”

  We’re walking to Trey’s house? The ability to see his personal space is all the motivation I need to keep this night going. “Anything. I'm not picky.”

  Trey laughs at my answer as we stop at a street corner. “Yeah, you say that now. Girls always say they’re not picky when they don’t want to seem picky, but they don't mean it.”

  Still waiting to cross the road, I flash him a look even my sister would be proud of. “Well I’m serious. As long as it isn’t anchovies we're fine.”

  His eyes widen when he thinks he’s caught me. “See!” His finger playfully points at me while he smiles through his accusation.

  “Were you planning to order anchovies?”

  The crosswalk lights up and we both step off the curb. “No, anchovies are disgusting. What kind of person would eat them on a pizza?”

  I scoff at his answer. “Then why would it matter?”

  “It just does,” he answers with a slight high and mighty tone.

  “But…”

  As we continue to walk on Lombard Street, I stare at Trey and realize regardless of how much I want to argue with him, I have no comeback. Mainly because I can’t remember what we were even arguing about. Anchovies? Pizza toppings? Picky girls? The man has completely talked me in circles. By his smug little smile, he knows it too.