Rush: The Boys of RDA, #1

By Megan Matthews

Things are heating up in San Francisco for Aspen Adams this summer.

With grad school under my belt I'm ready to start the next chapter of my life. San Francisco is a brand new city. I have an amazing apartment, a new job, family, and friends to keep me occupied. Life in the city will be easy.

 

Keep my head down, don't break any of the ridiculous rules in my lease agreement, get my best friend through her nasty relationship drama, and stick to my five year plan. I've got this. Or at least I would if I could figure out why my heart skips a beat every time I see my hot neighbor.

 

Handsome, funny, and always around right when I need him, Finnegan McRyan is my own personal knight in shining armor. The tousled hair and sexy glasses don't hurt his appeal either. Finn acts like the perfect man, but there's something about him that has me questioning if it's too good to be true.

 

Can I count on him when it really matters or is Finn using his good guy image to hide the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Matthews
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524293147

Book preview

1

It would be impossible for today to get any shittier. I woke up late and had to skip a shower — something not recommended for my dark brown, naturally wavy hair. Day two at my new job included a jammed copy machine, spilled coffee, and a forgotten lunch. I am not a happy person when I haven’t eaten all day. As the new girl, I don’t even have a friend to bum cash for the vending machine.

If that wasn’t enough, I’m only two steps out the office door when the first drops of rain hit my head and begin to soak through my blazer. I’ve been in San Francisco for two weeks, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t supposed to rain in June. I don’t even own an umbrella. I’ll be soaked after the stroll back to my fourth floor walkup.

Who suggested I move to San Francisco? Oh yes, my brother, Ben. This is all his fault. I should call and make him give me a ride home. It’s his big brother duty.

Seven damp blocks later, I’ve mused three different ways to blame this whole situation on Ben and con him into buying me dinner later this week. His wife and I deserve it. We put up with him on a daily basis.

I step off the curb, but my foot slips in a small puddle that’s accumulated on the edge of the sidewalk. The ground rises up to meet me before I do much more than stick both hands out to catch myself. My palms scrape on the asphalt road, my right knee hitting hard as I come to a stop. A hand grips my shoulder while the other wraps around my arm and I'm hoisted up. I might only be 130 pounds, but he lifts me like I’m no more than a feather. Delicate and with ease.

Are you okay? His voice is deep, but friendly with concern.

Standing, I do the obligatory brush of my thighs and eye the rip in my black dress pants for a moment before gaining the courage to look at the gentleman who has now safely guided me across the intersection. I hope he’s old, with grey hair and a tweed jacket.

Slowly, my eyes roam up. He isn’t. Not grey at all, but rather shaggy dark brown hair falls in his green eyes covered by a pair of black-rimmed glasses. His mouth’s set in a brilliant frown as he looks at me. Even in my heels he's taller by a few inches. He must be over six feet. More prepared for the weather, he holds a black umbrella in his free hand. His long sleeve, green thermal shirt is dry, but his dark colored jeans have collected water on the bottoms where they touched the ground as he walked.

He’s probably one of those guys who spends no time getting ready in the morning, but still manages to give off sex appeal all day long. And for some reason, the black-rimmed glasses surrounding his brilliant green eyes are doing it for me. It has to be the empty stomach. It’s the whole classic San Francisco hipster image he’s playing on. One glance and you know this guy could be keep you up all night with intellectual conversation and well… other activities.

Of course from my dating history, those guys actually turn out one of two ways. Either they’re pretentious douche bags who can’t stop talking about themselves. Or worse, they have an unhealthy obsession with Star Wars and live in their mother’s basement. I’ve dated both varieties and as such have sworn off men for at least my first year in San Francisco. Maybe three years.

Are you bleeding or cut anywhere? he asks.

My brain might know I can’t date him, but my body hasn’t gotten the message. My heart continues to pick up the more my eyes roam over him. Bad Aspen.

I debate whether I’m humiliated at my own clumsiness or happy I wasn’t run over by passing cars thanks to my stranger. I settle on happy. Today I will not be road kill. Plus with my luck, my brother would have been the detective assigned to my case and that's cruel. No one should have to scrape their own sister off Van Ness Avenue.

Um, yeah. I just scraped my hands. Thanks for helping me.

His open umbrella stops the rain from pelting us as he steps in front of me. No problem. We wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you with permanent damage.

He’s my new favorite person in the whole world. Well, um, thanks. I live just right here so I’m going to go home and drink away my embarrassment with wine. My eyes move to the tall building to our side as I plan my escape. Lots and lots of wine.

He laughs at my answer — unaware I haven’t exaggerated. This day calls for copious amounts of wine. I step in the direction of my building, but my handsome rescuer stays with me.

Mr. Heartthrob beats me there, holds the door open as I walk through, and then follows. I’m right here too. Since we’re neighbors now, I'm Finn.

We both turn toward the stairs and begin the walk up. Aspen, but most people call me Pen.

I like Aspen. It has a nice ring to it. Being a Finnegan, I have a way of spotting good names.

Is that so? I question and slide into the conversation. There is an ease to him, which makes me want to keep talking even though I should be mortified about my recent tumble.

Absolutely. Finn stops at the landing for the second floor, but I continue up. So you’re on the third floor?

How do I explain to the nice cute guy that I can’t afford to actually rent any of these apartments? The Pacific Heights neighborhood isn’t the most expensive in the city, but then again everything in the city limits is above my budget. Um, no. I’m on the top floor. In the Mother-in-Law suite. I hurry to add lest he think I’m in the penthouse.

Finn takes the steps two at a time. His feet bounce as we make our way up as though my regular steps hold him back. Rounding the third floor, he keeps walking as we make our way to the final landing. How’d you end up here?

Well, the owner had crazy rules for whomever rented the place, like off-the-wall bizarre rules. He’s apparently a special guy. My sister-in-law’s firm listed the place and she had it reserved for me within in an hour. It was luck.

We pause at the fourth floor entryway as Finn reaches down to enter the code in the keyless entry. This is the only way to gain entrance to the two apartments on this floor, mine and the penthouse. It takes me longer than it should have, but when the implication hits, me I step back. Either Finn’s the maintenance man, or I’ve highly insulted my landlord. Shittiest. Day. Ever.

How do you know the code? I want to die from embarrassment right now. Lie on the floor and let it swallow me up. Now is a great time for an earthquake.

Finn holds the door open as he turns to me, one side of his lips upturned in a half smile that I find almost impossible to look away from. I live in the penthouse.

My head drops. I’ve lived here three days and he’s already going to evict me. Oh God. I’m so sorry. You must be Mr. Bates. The soccer player. I… um. I didn’t mean your rules were crazy. I love the rules. I love living here.

Finn laughs and the door closes behind him. Aspen, you’re fine. Mr. Bates is practicing in England right now. He puts emphasis on the Mr. Bates with a horrible British accent. He’s letting me couch surf until my place is finished. I've known Ryland since elementary school. He can be quite a prick. I can only imagine the shit he made you agree to.

Well, they’re not as bad as I made them out to be, I stammer and try to backtrack. You won’t tell him will you?

Don’t worry. I won’t tell, but in exchange you have to promise to tell me what some of these rules are.

We’re at my door, but I don’t want him to go for some inexplicable reason. When he smiles, his cheeks curve in, creating an elongated dimple on the left side. Why do I find it cute?

I lean against my door — a pathetic attempt to prolong our moment. I’ll see. You have to promise you won’t tell him. I need this place.

I don’t bother to share how true my last words are, but my tiny 450-square-foot home is the solitary place in my budget in this entire city. It’s thanks to those crazy rules that I can afford to stay here. Places this big normally rent for double the price. It was either agree to the stipulations of living here, move out of the city and commute, or move in with my brother and his pregnant wife, Rebecca. Not even Rule 8: No sheer window curtains sounds as bad as the other two options.

My brother is all the family I have left. He’s been a surrogate father to me since we lost our parents when I was six. Ben, at five years older, helped take care of me after we moved in with our grandma in Southern California. I was sixteen when Grandma died. Ben, then twenty-one and almost finished with a criminal justice degree, took over as my guardian. He moved here to join the San Francisco Police Department when I started college. I followed him after finishing my MBA. It was the right choice.

Your secret is safe with me. Finn stops in front of my door and leans against the bare white wall. Well, Aspen, I’ve run out of topics for today. I promise to be better prepared the next time we meet.

I can’t stop the blush that takes over my cheeks or the smile that spreads across my face. Is he flirting or just being nice? I’m not sure how often we’ll walk upstairs together, but the thought is a nice one. I’ll hold you to that, Finn. Have a good evening.

You too. He turns away and continues down our short shared hallway. I watch, but open my door before he notices I’ve stared at his butt for longer than I should have. Maybe living with the endless number of rules I agreed to won’t be so bad if it means I’m sharing a space with Finn. His backside view alone may be worth Rule 1: No pets of any kind — even those in tanks, bowls or cages.

2

How do you tell if a cucumber is good? Should it be firm or have a slight give to it when squeezed? My whole eating healthier plan is harder than I thought it would be. There are so many mysteries to fruits and veggies. I put down my first cucumber and select another one from the bin. This one is larger and a bit firmer when I squeeze. Is firmer a good quality?

Depending on what you’re going to do with that, it should be mostly hard.

A short, white-haired elderly woman stands to my side and I almost fumble my vegetable when she speaks. Her eyes fall to my hands as they tighten around the green phallic object. Oh my god. I’ve been caught feeling up vegetables by a grandmother.

Sandwiches! I shout in her direction. Just sandwiches. I put the cucumber back in the bin and wipe my hands on my pants. As if the action will somehow remove my embarrassment over what this little old lady thought I planned to do with the thick veggie.

Unfazed she reaches in and grabs my original cucumber. Here, sweetie. This is a good one for sandwiches. She emphasizes the word sandwiches a little more than needed. It's a good size and should give you at least two uses. She places the cucumber in a small, clear plastic bag and hands it my way.

I drop the bag in the basket hanging from my arm. Thanks.

You’re welcome. I take care in selecting my fruits and veggies as well. She ends with a wink. A wink!

I’m still horrified by the vegetable exchange as I reach my apartment building twenty minutes later. Not used to city living where I have to carry all my purchases with me, I bought too many groceries at the street store. I struggle with the door and my two full bags of food and have to use my butt to keep the door open. I'm one step inside the building as the bag on my left arm starts to slip. In some ill-fated attempt to stop the inevitable, I try to realign it by leaning forward. Physics never was my strong subject in school. The side of the brown paper bag folds over. All my carefully selected fruits and vegetables roll through the lobby as I stand by and watch.

Well, at least my Wednesday at work was better. This is my first spill of the day. I set both bags down and begin the hunt for all my missing produce. Arms loaded with oranges, apples, and that damn cucumber, I try to place them all back in my paper sack, but notice the rip too late. They tumble right back out again through the tear.

It looks like you could use some help. Finn’s deep voice settles around me before he closes the distance across the tiled lobby floor.

I don’t want Finn to think I’m incapable of simple tasks such as crossing the road or carrying groceries upstairs. So I lie. No, I'm fine. Really.

I hate to break it to you, but you don’t look fine. You appear to have a fruit situation going on here. Let me help. He bends over and starts collecting the errant items.

Thanks. Another day, another chance to save me.

Nonsense. I enjoy playing the white knight. This is much easier than slaying a dragon. Finn spots the bag tear and turns it to his chest blocking off the hole. Smart man. He takes care in placing each small bagged fruit in the paper bag so they don't spill out again. Cucumber? What do people use these for?

Not the cucumber again. I swear, I’ll never purchase a green vegetable as long as I live. Sandwiches. Cucumber sandwiches. You know with mayo? My voice raises as I continue, Has no one in Northern California heard of them before?

Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your cucumber. He looks hearty, a fine specimen. He hurries to load all my produce in the sack and stands.

No, I’m sorry. It’s… well, it's a rather long story. I can’t explain my cucumber mishap to Finn and retain any of my dignity.

Okay. Come on. I’ll help you carry these up.

You don’t have to. I’ll be okay, I promise. It's four floors up, and it’s clear he was on his way out. I don’t want to be a damsel that needs to be saved. I’m a strong, independent woman living in the city. At least I want to be.

Finn heads toward the stairs. I think I do. Besides, I’m just on my way to meet some friends. They can wait.

The building we live in is an old warehouse, recently converted to be luxury condos and business space. The ground level is a series of store fronts — a clothing store, coffee shop, and small used book store. Our small lobby is carved out in the middle, and the staircase rounds itself through the central part of the building. The second and third floors house standard condos. The penthouse uses the entire fourth floor with a small area cut out for my apartment.

Too bad we don’t have an elevator, huh? I joke as a way to distract me from Finn’s musky cologne. I trail behind him as close as possible to catch as much of the delicious smell as I can.

Turning back to look at me, Finn’s face constricts and his lips tighten, like he has a secret. We actually do. I’m sorry. I should have let you use it yesterday. The penthouse has a private elevator at the back of the building. It opens up in the living room so you’d have to walk through the condo to get to your place, but you could use it. I don’t care.

Of course the penthouse would have their own private elevator leaving us little people to hoof it up the stairs. Even so, it’s incredibly nice of him to offer it to me. A part of me wants to accept, but there is no way the offer would be extended when the penthouse’s true owner returns. I’d rather not get used to the privilege.

Thanks, but I’ll keep walking. It’s good for me and besides, I have a feeling using the elevator is not on the list of acceptable rules, per my lease. Why are you taking the steps if you have technology at your fingertips?

Stairs are technology. Old technology, but still a marvel in their time. He has a point, but doesn’t wait for me to acknowledge it, but I need the exercise. Plus, I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again.

His words give me a thrill and a grin slides onto my face. Seriously, this guy is either the biggest undercover player or the nicest guy on the planet. He doesn’t have a clue how sweet he is.

Okay, I agree. Stairs were a great invention. I decide to ignore his chance to see you again part. I have no idea what to say back to that. My flirting skills have abandoned me. Not that I’ve ever had any. Cute guys have always had a way of making me lose twenty IQ points.

So, here I am helping you again and I left the umbrella this morning. Even if you didn’t need it, the intent was there. I’ve racked up some serious brownie points. I deserve to know at least one of these rules Ryland has saddled you with.

It hasn’t rained today, but outside my door this morning was a bright pink and black polka-dotted umbrella. I peeked a look toward Finn’s door as I tucked it away in my large black purse. I wondered if Finn had dropped it off last night or early this morning and then promptly forgot about it this afternoon.

How did I forget the umbrella? Rather than show my appreciation, I had him carry groceries for me. Thank you for the umbrella. I love the polka-dots and pink is one of my favorite colors. I rush out.

We stop at the fourth floor entry while Finn shifts his bag and types in the code. You’re welcome. You felt like a pink person. You’re happy even with a scraped knee. Now, don't change the subject. Give me one good rule.

His kid-like happiness over my living situation makes me laugh. Okay. Okay. Let me get these inside first.

I unlock my door and dump my bag on the kitchen counter. There isn’t room for a dining room table in the tiny space, but I do have two tall pine stools tucked under the breakfast bar area. Finn follows my movements but makes sure the fruit stops before any roll off the side.

Okay, so Rule 2 is no playing music past nine at night. I’ve delayed as long as I can, but I want to start him off small. I hope the fallout of this conversation won't be me losing my apartment should Finn decide to tattle on me.

That is so lame. No one wants to listen to their neighbors’ loud music at night. I need a better one. Finn starts to unpack my grocery bag by placing everything on the counter. Ryland lives in his own world and he thinks everyone else should too. He made you agree to something crazier for sure.

I move deeper into the kitchen and watch him over the counter space. No, you don’t understand. The rule says I can’t listen to music. Any music past nine o'clock. I’m allowed to watch television, but only if the decibel is at a level to not be heard in any adjoining room. I quote from my lease agreement.

Finn still doesn’t look shocked by my declaration. Trust me. I’ve been friends with Ry for most of our lives, he’s one of the pickiest people I know. He can do better than that. You have good ones you aren’t sharing.

I’m caught. Okay. How about I’m not allowed to have more than two people over at any given time?

That makes Finn laugh. Now there’s a Ryland rule. How does he even plan to regulate it? Random searches?

His laugh is infectious and soon I join in, I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I only know a few people in the city so I wasn't too worried. No wild keggers for me.

"I want to test these rules with you. Can you get special permission for family visits? How many siblings do you have? Can we pack them all