The Real Thing Page 10

  “That’s what it’s called!” Eric slaps the top of his knee, getting more juice on both of us. “I’ve been staring at that thing since you moved in, trying to remember what the hell people call it.”

  A small bubble of laughter escapes through my slight frown. “Why?”

  “That thing is creepy.”

  I gasp. “It is not. It’s cute.” My lip pokes out as I look at the juice soaking into the blue frog’s face. “And now it’s ruined.”

  He takes the loofah from my fingers, an adorable pinched look on his face.

  “I don’t know how you can wash yourself with this,” he says, pulling at the leg poking from the big green sponge part.

  “It’s soft on my sensitive lady parts.” I laugh as his face goes red again. I expect him to drop the loofah back in my hand—or throw it at me—but he doesn’t. He keeps pulling at it as if it’s the weirdest, yet most fascinating thing in the world.

  “Is it really ruined?” he asks, tone suddenly nowhere near his usual playfulness. He actually looks worried about my sponge.

  “It’s like a buck, Eric.” I adjust in the tub again as the juice creeps into nooks and crannies of my body I had no idea existed till now. “I can get another one tomorrow. Maybe an even creepier one just for you.”

  I try to wink, but I’ve never been good at that. He sort of laughs, but his eyes go back to the froggy. He runs his thumb over the eyeballs, wiping the juice from it. I thought I knew Eric pretty well. But as I watch him stare at my loofah, head slightly cocked to the side, I realize I have no clue what he’s thinking. And that’s totally okay. The anticipation of finding out is better.

  “Only a dollar?” His eyes lift to mine.

  “Or two. Depending on where you go.”

  His lips purse and he nods, then plunges the sponge into the juice. Before I can smack him for that, he pulls it from the bath and wrings it out over my head. My jaw drops to my knees.

  “Oh, you are so dead.” I lunge at him, trying to grab the loofah from his hands as he plays keep-away. Our laughter echoes around the bathroom, and his skin on mine feels slimy, yet hot as hell. His hands keep gripping my arms and wrists while his knees lock around my waist. He’s so strong, but he’s not using it all. I know I shouldn’t take advantage of his gentleness, but I do, tackling him so I can press the sponge into his hair.

  Just as I get a good lock on his hand, I slip and my forehead slams against his.

  “Unnnghhh.” We both groan and I sit back to clutch my head. It feels like there’s a pinball game going on in my brain.

  “I think we gotta stop doing that,” Eric says, rubbing his own head.

  I nod, but immediately stop so I don’t rock my brain more. A juice-covered hand reaches out and holds me steady to examine my injury. Eric smiles and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

  “All better?” he says, teasing, but maybe it’s not really a tease. It sure doesn’t feel like it. That kiss zaps all around my body, almost as if he’s kissing me everywhere, making everything better. I swallow hard and close my eyes, nodding again because I can’t find my voice. And if I did find it, I’m sure it’d come out strangled and say something like, “Kiss me again.”

  Even though tomatoes make me gag, I bring my hand to my lips and kiss my fingertips. I press them to his forehead, letting them linger on his skin, drag them down his features and watch as his breathing changes, too.

  “All better?”

  Droplets of tomato juice fall from his earlobes and onto his black tee as he nods. Without thinking, I take the sponge and, instead of squeezing it all over him, I wipe off his neck. A groan rumbles through his slightly parted mouth.

  “That is soft. Maybe I should upgrade my washcloth.”

  “I’ll get you a fuzzy, pink hippo one.”

  His lips pick up at the side. “It won’t leave glitter all over me, will it?”

  “Only if you use my body wash.” I tap him lightly on the nose with the frog leg. “You’ll smell like vanilla.”

  “Coconuts.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Um, what?”

  “Your soap. It’s coconut.”

  He feels up toward the shower caddy, grappling for my tan-colored bottle of body wash, but he hits it a little too hard, and those stupid suction cups pop loose. I drop the loofah and rush to catch it before something else slams into Eric’s poor head. My belly button lines up with his nose and he laughs, attempting to hold the caddy up with me.

  “Well, I don’t smell skunk on you anymore.” He takes an exaggerated sniff of my stomach. “Or I may be used to it now.”

  “Let’s hope it’s gone,” I say, pushing the suction cups against the tile. These things are so ridiculous. I wish I could bolt it to the wall.

  Eric moves his hands to my waist, holding me in place while he smells me again. My brain stops all activity. I don’t even know what I was doing. I slip a little in the tub. My hands fall to his shoulders and only part of me registers that the shower caddy suction cups are finally working. He pulls back and his eyes drift to mine, holding me with his gaze.

  “Can’t smell it.” He smiles, and I try to smile back, but who the hell knows if that’s what happens. He drops his elbows onto his knees, tomato juice sliding between his hands and my midriff. There’s more glistening on his temple and along his hairline. He’s so freaking gorgeous. Strong chin, pinchable cheeks, and soft eyes. I told him I think Florida suits him, but now I’m thinking everything suits him. Even tomato juice.

  My stomach jolts when I feel his grip on my waist loosen, and I snatch his wrists to keep them there. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve wanted more since high school, and there was always something stopping me. What’s stopping me now? Absolutely nothing.

  “You’re right,” I say, lowering myself onto my knees and keeping my fingers tight on his wrists. “It is coconut.”

  Before he can say whatever it is he’s about to say, I drop my lips to his.

  A moan tumbles from my mouth the moment our lips touch. All the years of pent-up frustration, of looking but not touching, explode out of me, and I loosen my grip on his wrists and grab his face instead, nails digging into his neck.

  Everything disappears. The juice we’re sitting in, the destroyed loofah, the mixture of skunk and tomatoes—all of it, totally gone. It flies away somewhere, leaving me only with the feeling of Eric’s lips. His skin and his breath and his everything. This is not some random guy at a party. He’s not a person who lives on the other side of a screen. He’s my best friend—and 100 percent solid and real.

  It’s 100 percent perfect … for a moment.

  But that moment ends when I realize he’s not moving. He’s not responding to what I’m pretty sure is the most passionate kiss I’ve ever given someone. I pause, opening my eyes, hoping what I see isn’t the indifference I sense.

  His lips are slightly parted, but not to invite me in. They’re stuck open, along with his eyes. No blinking. No breathing. Nothing.

  Things move back into place. The shower, the juice, and the edge of the tub that I have to grip once I pull away from his mouth all come back. Eric watches me, but I can tell his head is somewhere else. My heart thumps an uneven beat in my throat, blocking me from saying anything.

  The bath suddenly feels like it’s boiling. I slap my hands over my face to shut him out, but it doesn’t work. I can still feel him stuck in his frozen position.

  “Oh my gosh …,” I croak, forcing back tears I didn’t know were there. “I’m sorry. I … I … just …” I just what? I want to say how long I’ve wanted to do that. But I did not expect this reaction. Waves and waves of embarrassment crash over me, and I feel like I didn’t just screw up a future relationship with Eric, but I just massacred the friendship we have.

  “Please forget it,” I say, dropping my hands back to the edge of the tub. I push off, dripping tomato sauce all over him. He still doesn’t move. “I was temporarily possessed by someone else who thought that was a good idea.�
� Ugh, I can’t even joke about it, my voice is coming out too wobbly, and he’s still just sitting there.

  I splash my way out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my tomato-soaked body. I slip and slide to my room, then shut the door behind me. Once I’m stripped to nothing but the towel, I pull out my computer. Maybe Scott or Eve or Rachel or someone is online. I probably have a loaded inbox. Or a bunch of tweets or notifications. There has to be something to take my mind off this.

  I wipe my hair from my face, open the laptop to the full inbox I thought would’ve been there, but it isn’t. No email. No notifications. No damn distractions—no way to deal with what I just did.

  Scott’s the only one online, and I type a Hey, but after ten minutes of no response I close the chat window. Biting the inside of my bottom lip, I shut off every source of light—the computer screen, the overhead, my phone charger, leaving me with nothing but the darkness. I wait in my towel, hearing the water pipes fill up as Eric turns the bath into a shower.

  Sliding down the back of the door to the floor, I let loose the tears I’ve been keeping at bay. Does he not feel the same things I do when we’re together? The way he touches me, teases me, looks at me … I swear it wasn’t one-sided.

  But it is. He would’ve kissed me back if it wasn’t.

  If I could just drift away into sleep and forget, maybe it’d be a good eraser. Tomorrow we’ll be friends again, like normal. There’ll be nothing else but two good buddies and roommates.

  Another rush of tears cascade down my cheeks because even the thought of that hurts my chest.

  I want him to be something else.

  Chapter 12

  Eric Matua is offline

  * * *

  I breathe deep, watching the tomato-red droplets pour from my face into the bottom of the tub as I shower the juice from my hair. My lips freaking tingle and my body’s so jolted I can’t even see straight. I put my hand on the tile to hold myself steady and wring out the bottom of my shirt with the other, even though there’s no point.

  Her lips were perfect. Her hands and body and everything that is Emmy … all of it. Perfect. And I sat there with my eyes wide open, not moving a damn muscle.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  The water runs clear, and I turn the shower off and get out of the bathroom as fast as I can. Em bolted before she had a chance to rinse, and sure enough once I shut the door to my bedroom I hear her pad down the hallway and turn the shower back on.

  My pills are on my nightstand. I want to take one because I’m pretty sure I’m about to take a leap—that leap Doc said I need to, but maybe my mind isn’t ready for it.

  “Damn it, this is Em,” I growl into my hands. Saying it out loud eases some of the tension out of my gut so I keep going. “It’s not Ali. She’s not going to pull the same shit. Man up, Eric.”

  Great. Now I sound like my ex.

  I rip off my soaked clothes and towel down, breathing and shooting looks at my medication. Maybe I’ll only take a dose. Just enough to calm down and talk to Em, but not so much that I’ll become dependent on them like last time.

  One pill. It’s smaller than a tic tac. No big deal.

  I yank on gym shorts and one of my bigger T-shirts, then pop the pill before I lose my damn mind.

  And I breathe.

  The shower goes off.

  I breathe some more.

  Em’s door opens and shuts.

  Out and in, like I’ve been taught for the past three years.

  Shit … it’s been three years since Ali. Am I really so weak that I let a girl mess with my head like that? A girl who didn’t even come close to meaning as much to me as Em did?

  It’s on inhale thirty-four that I feel everything loosen. The knot in my gut disappears, the tight fist around my heart unclenches, and my brow smoothes.

  Em kissed me. My Emmy kissed me, and I didn’t kiss her back. My lack of response was mostly out of shock. But maybe … maybe it was a little bit deeper than that.

  I want to know why.

  When Ali first kissed me, I thought it was because she was into me. But the way she talked to me, scolded me, called me worthless and awkward and inexperienced … she wanted to help me or something. And I took what I could, because I believed her. Sometimes, I still believe her.

  So why would Em want to kiss me? I’m a damn mess.

  I push myself to my feet, cross the room, the hall, open her door, moving like a robot, almost not aware of it until I’m standing in her dark room. Everything feels different. There’s not even the usual glow of her computer. Her breathing suggests that she’s not asleep, but she’s turned from me, toward the wall, her face buried in her pillow.

  “You kissed me,” I say like a moron. My hand twitches in my pocket, wanting to smack myself in the head.

  Em doesn’t respond, and yeah, I don’t blame her. Taking cautious steps toward the bed, my mouth opens and I say it again, because I already broke the ice with it, may as well keep saying it till she says something back. “You kissed me.”

  My lips are still freaking tingling.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, and she’s still quiet, but her breathing has quickened. Body heat comes off her in waves, and even though it’s already hot in here, I want to be closer to it. I want to taste it, touch it, feel every damn thing about it because it’s her. Right now, I’m not panicking. I’m nervous as hell, but it’s because of that leap I see ahead of me. And damn it, I’m gonna jump.

  I stretch out next to her, setting my head on her pillow and pressing my stomach against her back. It’s intimate, and my heart rate kicks up a notch, and I shift my lower half so I don’t jab her in the ass. She’s tense beside me, so I take my shaking hand and wrap it around her waist, anchoring myself to her because I need it. I need to make this move and stay here … and breathe.

  We lie in the dark, her back pressed against my front, and say nothing. I don’t know if I want to break the silence. Suddenly I’m wondering if it was a fluke—some “in the moment” shit. If that’s true, I wish I’d taken advantage of it instead of panicking.

  It hits me again—her lips on mine … like she’d wanted them there for a long time.

  “You kissed me,” I say again. It’s still not computing.

  Em pushes her face into the pillow and I squeeze her tighter around her waist, silently pleading with her not to move away from me.

  “Yeah.” Her voice is muffled, but I catch it.

  I close my eyes and press my nose into her feather-soft hair. All the questions I worry about when a girl touches me push into my thoughts.

  Does Em want to fix me? Or does she want me for who I am? Who I was? It crashes into my chest and gut, and I wrap her closer to me, afraid I’m about to find out, and terrified of what a relationship might mean … or could do to us. If I’ll freak out like I did before. My heart starts to pound a little harder, and I focus on the sound of the ocean outside Em’s window, anchoring myself not only to her now, but to the calming ocean.

  “You …” My voice trembles, and I breathe out the rest of my sentence into her hair. “You kissed me.”

  A muffled growl shoots from her mouth into the pillow. “Yes, I did. And I’m sorry. I get that it’s not what you wanted and I pushed our relationship too far, but I couldn’t help it anymore. You were looking so sexy, and not only that, but I just … I needed you close to me. I’ve been fighting the urge since freaking high school. And there was always some excuse not to kiss you. Well, tonight, I got tired of all the lame excuses and just did it.”

  “Wait …” I pull away from her hair and turn her so she faces me. I can’t make out much in the dark, but the moon lights enough of her features for me to see how sorry and embarrassed she feels. And she shouldn’t feel either of those things.

  My eyes are fastened on hers so I can see the truth when I ask her. “High school?”

  She licks her lips. “I told you already. That night at the beach when we talked about attraction, I’ve wanted
to kiss you, but …”

  “Ali.”

  She nods and drops her gaze. But I need her to look at me.

  I tilt her chin up, gently, and her eyes come back to mine. “You never said you wanted to kiss me.”

  “What?”

  “When we talked that night, you said you saw me as attractive, but you never said you wanted to kiss me.”

  “Eric …” She sighs, but doesn’t look away. “I’ve wanted to kiss you way too many times to count. When I was fifteen and you told Jake Peters to shut his damn mouth after he called me a slut. When you took me to my mom’s grave and talked to her like she was your best friend. When your coach finally took you off the bench your senior year. That time in the quad when Ali refused to kiss you in front of everybody. And yes, just recently at the beach.” Her eyes drop, but only to my lips. “I know you feel like you weren’t attractive back then. But you were to me. And you still are because you’re still … well, you’re still my Eric.”

  Her words crash into me like waves. Maybe I am enough for her. If she could find me desirable then, she’ll find me that way now.

  I gaze at her face, her round cheeks and soft moonlit features, and do what I’ve wanted to do since high school. Weaving my fingers through her wet hair, I pull her to my lips, but stop before I kiss her.

  “I need to be close to you, too, Em. But … we … we have to go slow.” Ali flits through my mind for a brief second before I push her far back. “Can we do that?”

  Her breath hits my mouth hard and fast, and she says, “You mean, you want this. With me?”

  My lips turn up in a half smile. “Hell, yes.”

  “Then take me at any speed you want to take me.”

  A warm flood rushes through my body as I finally press my lips against Em’s. She tastes like her toothpaste, and my breath comes out in the form of a grunt because I’ve never been able to notice things like that when I’ve kissed a girl. Suddenly I’m noticing everything—her wet hair wrapped between my fingers, her nose hitting my cheekbone, our rhythm slow and explorative. Her leg creeps up mine, landing near my hip. I don’t know if what I’m doing is right, but it feels right when I hook my fingers under her knee and pull her tighter. She’s so soft that I can’t help running my hand over her leg, down to her ankle, then slowly back up to her knee. But I don’t stop there.