The Real Thing (10 page)

“I’m not going tonight,” I counter, still avoiding the question. Not sure if it’s exactly the right moment to tell her I’m a virgin, and I don’t expect my first time to be with some person I met at a party. I’d probably panic the moment we got past second base.

“But you’ll go to other ones, right?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“Then do you want me all the way gone? Or are we going to rubber band these things?”

I shake my head, pulling the washrag from the rack and wringing it out. “I’m not gonna let you sleep somewhere else, Em.”

“So, we agree to rubber band our bedroom doors when we bring someone back here?”

Ah, shit. Is that what she’s getting at? She wants to have my permission to bring some guy to the condo? Damn … that sucks. And I don’t know why
I
didn’t think of that scenario. I don’t want to be around if that happens. I’d take one look at that rubber band on her door and lose my mind.

More visions of Em with some random dude cloud my mind. Him waking up here and having breakfast or something. He tries to be all chummy with me in the morning. Oh hell no.

The sound of a flushing toilet jolts me from my brain, and then my ass gets scalded.

“Damn it, stop picking on me!” I laugh, turning the showerhead away till the toilet fills back up.

“You were taking too long to answer. I had to make sure you were still in there.”

I want to take the shower attachment and spray her, but she’s got to get to work, and I’m not as evil as she is at the moment.

“So … rubber bands?” she asks.

I hold back the way I really feel and say, “I guess that’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t sound okay. I go to peek around the shower curtain again to see what’s up, and I catch her just as she tugs on the flusher again.

She laughs as I grab the showerhead to retaliate, but she’s out the door before I can get her.

“You’ll pay for that later!” I call down the hall.

“It’s a date!” she calls back, and I can’t stop the wide grin that spreads on my face, even though that conversation wasn’t exactly fun.

Emilia Johnson

about a minute ago

Eric Matua
keeps randomly laughing at me. I wonder if there’s something on my face—feeling self conscious.

Rachel Benson and 6 others like this

Scott: Day 350.

Mia: *plays Law & Order music*

Scott: Ah, you might be onto something—private investigator perhaps. Think I can hire someone for 20 bucks? That’s all I got in my wallet.

Mia: You didn’t tell me you were a Sugar Daddy. Maybe I am the right Mia after all ;)

Scott: You don’t want to be the right Mia.

Mia: Why would you say that?

Scott: Obviously, I messed up bad. So bad she fell off the face of the earth. Maybe got witness protection or something to keep away from me.

Mia: Are you saying you killed someone? Cuz yikes! *quickly goes to unfriend*

Scott: Nah, just killed our relationship.

Mia: Mind if I ask what happened?

Scott: Boy meets girl. Falls in love. Girl moves in with boy. Realizes how much time boy spends screwing around on the Internet and doesn’t pay attention to her. They fight. He gets pissing drunk. Ends up at another girl’s house … you know the rest.

Mia: Wow.

Scott: Guess that’s all there is to say, huh?

Mia: You fought over the Internet?

Scott: She was right. I spent way too much time online and way too little with her.

Mia: And yet you try to contact her by email.

Scott: It was a desperate move. :p

Mia: You still love her though.

Scott: Hell yeah.

Mia: Then find her.

Scott: Trying …

“You okay?” Eric asks from the other side of the couch. “You look kind of upset.”

I nod, quickly typing “Talk to you later.” I haven’t told Eric about the ongoing virtual friendship I’ve developed, and I’m not sure if I will. I don’t want him thinking there’s anything going on with me and
anyone
.

He adjusts, keeping his laptop in his lap, but his legs swing up next to mine. I can’t help but notice how careful he’s being to not touch me even a little bit. But I’m a touchy-feely person, and he’s always known that. So I press my leg against his, trapping him between me and the back of the couch.

“What are you listening to?” I nod at his earphones. He’s got one jammed in his right ear while the other dangles down his chest. The green T-shirt he’s wearing is loose on him, but he still looks hot as hell in it.

“John Mulaney.”

“What kind of music does he sing?”

Eric chuckles and shakes his head, looking up from his screen. “He’s a comedian.”

“Is that why you’ve been laughing over there?” I smack his knee. “I thought you were making fun of
me
.”

“Well, you were making some damn cute faces over there.” He shuts his computer and pulls out his earbud. “And you blushed a few times. Were you reading your porn?”

“It’s not porn, it’s
romance
.” I glare at him as he presses his lips together to stop whatever smart-ass comment he has in store for me. I let out a sigh and look at the ceiling. “And yeah, maybe I was.”

And I had to stop, because reading a sex scene and sitting next to Eric was not good.
Not good
. One more word and I would’ve jumped him, and unlike the two characters in my book, who are very much in love, what I was feeling was probably one-sided. There’s nothing like making things royally awkward for the rest of time with your best friend. Good thing Eve and Scott were online. Facebook chatting took me right out of the wet-panty zone.

Eric sets his laptop down, leaning it up against the side of the couch. He stretches out, and without thinking, I snatch his foot and start rubbing. I guess I just want to touch him again, but he jerks back with a laugh. That’s right. Eric’s feet are ticklish spot number two.

“You hungry?” he asks, jumping up from the couch, and I’m suddenly wondering if his reaction to my touch wasn’t because he’s ticklish. Eric seems to always pull away from me when I touch him in any way that suggests I might want something besides friendship. Is he picking up on the difference, and just letting me down easy?

I shake the thought and tap open my phone to the notification I just got. “What are you making?”

“Chicken and rice.”

My nose crinkles. “Again?”

He laughs, bending over the fridge door and shuffling things around. His ass looks so awesome in those shorts. I don’t even respond to the tweet on my phone, letting the screen go black as I ogle his back pockets. Maybe I can go up and give him one good smack, just to be playful. Wish I could squeeze, but that’s probably over the line for the obvious friends-and-nothing-more relationship he wants.

But a smack, I totally could.

“Em?”

My eyes travel from his butt to his half grin. Is there a way to stop blushing? People can stop sneezes and hiccups and gas … but there is no muscle to stop the excess blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Huh?” I ask, tapping my phone open again.

“I said I could fry up some fish if you’re sick of chicken. You cool with that?”

I ate fish almost every night of my life after Mom died, but I haven’t had it since I moved out. Dad fished on the Florida coastline, and it was the
only
thing he could cook. So he’d come home with a boatload, and we’d have fish and chips every meal. Except when Eric kidnapped me and we’d go get Hawaiian pizza or a burger. Ah … it was heaven in my mouth. But since Dad moved to Alaska, my craving for seafood seems to have come back.

“I’m gonna take that smile as a yes.” Eric pulls the bag out and slaps it on the counter. “I’m not as good as your dad, but I’ll do my best.”

I laugh, finishing my tweet to David—friend from massage school—and then I tuck the cell in my back pocket, sort of skipping into the kitchen. My hip bumps against Eric’s when I get next to him, and I take the opportunity to smack that ass.

“I’ll help,” I say as his eyes widen. A tiny wave of panic hits my chest, but it’s gone when he grins and smacks my ass right back.

“Help? I remember the burnt Top Ramen all too well.”

“Hey, hey, that was
your
fault.”

“What? I don’t think so.”

“You distracted me. I forgot to set the timer.”

“You started that pickle fight, not me.”

I bite back my grin, picturing Eric’s face when I tossed that first sliced dill at him. I’m pretty sure he didn’t think I’d actually do it. We went through a whole jar and …

“We smelled like pickles for a week,” he says, and I wonder if I was thinking out loud.

“Dad was pissed.” I laugh. “I think you totally crapped yourself when he came home.”

“That was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. I thought he was having a conniption.”

“Right? It was just pickles … it could’ve been worse.”

“Like what? Cucumbers?” His elbow bumps mine as he pulls a pan out and puts it on the stove.

“No, smart-ass,” I say, pouring oil into the pan as he unwraps the salmon. “I
meant
… it wasn’t like he caught us having sex or something.”

The fish slips from his hands and lands in the pan with a slap, spraying oil all over my front and instantly staining my pink cami.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, pulling paper towels from the roll so fast it falls from the holder and rolls out on the floor. “Ugh!” he growls, and chases the towels, while I laugh and wiggle around his bent form. He raises an eyebrow at me when he sees what I pull from the fridge.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, straightening and backing away. His ears and cheeks are red, and my heart balloons to the point that I think it might pop. I can’t stop my smile as I twist the top from the pickle jar.

“You better run.”

A light knock echoes through my room just as I shut down the laptop for the night. My phone is on vibrate, and my Kindle is charging on the nightstand. I have a no-screens rule when Eric stops by my room before he goes to sleep. He always gives me a few hours of “alone time” after dinner, when I unwind. We both nixed the party tonight, and I came in here to read—actually, I wanted to finish that romance without Eric watching me—but I ended up chatting some more.

I stand up to fix my pajama shorts and smell my top to make sure I got all the pickle off before I tell Eric to come in.

His gorgeous face pokes in the crack. “Hey, you done with alone time? I thought we could …” He holds out a bright-yellow Dr. Seuss book, and I reach over to pull him in.

“What’s this one called?” I ask, adjusting the book so I can see the title. I can’t stop my smiles. This has been my favorite part about living with Eric, so it really doesn’t matter which Dr. Seuss it is, he’s going to be reading it with his arm around me. I wonder if he can feel just how much his touch affects my body. He probably thinks I’m freezing all the time from all the goose bumps, even though it’s ninety-plus degrees.

“Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?”
I recite, then glance up at him. He needs a shave … or maybe not, because I sort of love the speckled scruff along his chin. My fingers move without me thinking, and I’m halfway to his face before my brain checks in.

Eric doesn’t seem to notice the buzzing hormones I’m experiencing. He just tucks the book under his arm and slides on the bed. “You know this one?” he asks.

“Haven’t even heard of it.”

“And you call yourself a bookworm.”

“Have you seen my Kindle?”

“Oh yes. Quite often, actually.”

“Does it bug you?”

“What?”

“Me reading all the time.”

His mouth quirks up at the corner, and the most adorable flush fills his dark cheeks. “Uh … I like watching you read.”

“Really?”

He nods and picks at the edge of the yellow book in his hands. “You’re so expressive. You’ll just be sitting there, then all of a sudden you’ll burst into tears. Or you’ll scream obscenities. Or you’ll gasp, or sigh. Then there are times your smile is in danger of becoming part of your earlobes.”

I laugh. “And that’s amusing?”

“Whatever book you’re reading is real to you. I don’t find it
amusing
. But I do find it entertaining, I guess.”

I cross my arms and study his face for a second. He seems genuine, even though I know I probably annoy the crap out of him when I’m so wrapped up in a screen that I can’t take two seconds to pay attention to what’s around me. I’m
really
trying to be better at that.

“Well, I like watching you read, too.”

He scoots back on the mattress, leaning against the wall and patting the spot next to his butt. I practically bounce across the room just to get next to him. My overenthusiastic jump on the bed causes a head-to-the-knee accident, and instead of snuggling into Eric’s arm, I grab the back of my head and stuff my face in the mattress.

“Oh shit, Em, you all right?” he asks through a laugh. I can feel him rubbing his knee.

“Maybe … do you see my brain anywhere? I think it fell out.”

“Not your brain.” The weight on the bed shifts. “But your phone fell from your pocket.” His knuckles brush against the exposed skin between my cami and shorts as he picks up my cell. It causes a madness of tingles from my head to my toes, but Eric doesn’t even seem to notice.

He holds the Galaxy out to me, but I shake my head. “You can hold on to it.”

“It’s blinking,” he says, tapping the green light at the top corner.

“Oh.” I take the phone back and light up the screen without even thinking about it. Eric shifts back against the wall, and I quickly read the IM and tell myself that once I’m done, that’s it for the night.

Scott: I think I found her!

“Awesome,” I say out loud as I type it. Eric sets the Seuss book down.

“Who you talking to?”

There’s a slight edge to his voice, and I look up at his furrowed brow and frown. I feel like knocking the phone out of my own hand, and I do exactly that, popping it up and letting it smack the mattress between us.

“I’m talking to you,” I say, reaching over his legs and grabbing the book. “Will you tell me how lucky I am?”