The Real Thing (12 page)

“Oh, I think you hit an armadillo or something.” Her bottom lip pokes out when she turns around. “I’m gonna see if it’s still alive.”

“Em—”

But she’s already out of the car. I fumble over the buckle and join her on the road. I’m two steps from the driver’s side when the smell hits. Burnt rubber and ass acid—and it annihilates my nostrils.

“Ah, shit.” I lift the collar of my shirt to cover my nose and mouth, blinking my watering eyes at Em, who’s done the same thing. She peers over the back of the Camaro and coughs.

“Poor thing.”

“You might want to get away from it,” I say, muffled, and she lifts her gaze to me, brow furrowing.

“Huh?”

“You’ll want to get away from it,” I repeat, moving to her side of the car. I tug on her back belt loop so she steps away from the charged skunk asshole.

“You think it’s really dead, then?”

“I didn’t see it, but it sure smells dead.”

She coughs again and wipes at her eyes. “We should at least get it out of the road so no one runs over it.”

Hell no
. “I’m not touching that thing.”

Her eyes widen, and the look is ten times harder to resist with the skunk stench filling them with tears. “Please? Poor guy shouldn’t have his body mutilated all over a Florida back road.”

My gag reflex is working overtime, but that damn look! I suck in a quick breath and hold it, shifting Em out of the way, but she grabs onto my back pocket and examines the skunk with me.

I didn’t hit it hard enough that there’s blood, and that’s good since I’m sure killing innocent animals isn’t the best way to impress a girl. Prodding it with the toe of my sneaker, I cough and sputter, tempted to spit out the acid building up on the back of my tongue. Em’s digging her nose into my armpit.

Wait … the thing looks like it’s still breathing. I bend down a bit and squint. It’s stone still. Huh. Must’ve been a trick of the light. Or I’m slowly dying from the smell and I’m hallucinating.

“Are you sure I can’t just leave it?” I choke out, attempting to tease her. “I’m sure the roadside-service guys will pick it up bef—”

The skunk’s eyes shoot open and I leap back with a girly yelp.

Em screams and smacks my shoulder. “What?
What?
” Her nails dig into my arm, and I have to repeatedly tap her fingers to get her to loosen up.

“It moved.”

“You think it’s alive?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to be here if it—”

The skunk’s legs twitch, and both of us jump. It makes this weird wheezing noise, and its stomach collapses and his eyes close. Em deflates into my side.

“I think he’s dead now.”

“Well, if we stay here any longer, it’ll get me back for killing it.”

She smacks my arm. “You’re not going to move him?”

“If I touch it, that ass is gonna go off.”

“I think he’s sprayed all he’s capable of spraying.” She gestures around at the humid, skunk-filled air.

“I’m telling you, the worst is still in there, and it’s like a bomb ready to explode.”

She rolls her eyes and fixes her shirt over her nose. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Em …”

She steps on the back of my shoe, then slips her flip-flop off and taps against my shoe again. I laugh as I let her put on my right sneaker.

Then I back the hell up. She wants to be stubborn, fine by me. We’ll see who’s laughing when she’s stuck in a tomato-juice bath.

I lean against the Camaro and cross my arms, watching as her foot slides across the asphalt. She gets the skunk turned around so the butt isn’t facing her. She shoves again, and the skunk spins in a circle, but still in the same spot. I cough and laugh and she gives me the sexiest glare I’ve ever seen.

“You’re the guy here!”

“Yeah, and the guy would’ve driven off already if it wasn’t for the girl.”

The top of her nose wrinkles, but I can tell she’s smiling under the pink fabric of her shirt.

“Help, please?”

Since she’s been kicking the thing, I guess it isn’t loaded, so I push off the car, and we use our shoe-covered feet to shove the skunk into the dirt on the side of the road.

She gives me a cute arrogant look. “See, was that so hard?”

And then it sprays us.

Emilia Johnson

1 hour ago

My whole paycheck is going to Campbell’s. Thank you, Pepé Le Pew.

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“How many cans of tomato juice does it take to fill a bathtub?” Eric laughs as he adjusts his leg in the juice to make room for me across from him. My nose is in the perma-wrinkle position as I settle in.

“You sure this works?” I ask, saying good-bye to my shorts and pink top as the juice rises to my midriff.

“According to Google.”

“I still can’t believe you hit a skunk. It was probably the only one left in Florida.”

“I can’t believe you made us kick it to the side of the road.” He scoops up some of the tomato juice and rubs it down his arm. How can he make something so gross look so sexy? “And I was distracted,” he kind of mumbles.

“Obviously.” I laugh and rub my arms with the “bath water.” My nose wrinkles again. I never realized how thick tomato juice is. Not sure if it’s my shorts bunching up by my butt or if stuff is just coagulating there. I lift my eyes to Eric, and he’s got a half-smile on his face as he watches me shift and splash.

“What?” I ask as I wiggle my butt around.

“Nothing. Just not how I pictured our first bath together. It’s kinda funny.”

I freeze, heart suddenly pounding in my throat. “You pictured us in the bath together?”

He turns almost the color of the juice. “Will you help me with this?” He pats his knee. “I seem to have my foot stuck in my mouth.”

I flick juice at him, and it splashes up his black shirt. He flicks back, staining my top, and I know we shouldn’t, but we start a splash war anyway. Good thing the curtain is closed; otherwise we’d have stained the toilet.

“All right, all right,” he says, smiling and holding his palm up to stop me. Tomato juice is dripping from the top of his head down his cheeks, getting caught in the smile lines by his mouth. I can feel it running down my face, too, and I should be gagging, but I’m not.

I open my mouth to tell him how cute he looks even with juice all over him, but a light
ploof!
hits the center of the tub between our bodies, and I stare down at my froggy loofah, now covered in red.

“Oh no!” I frown, plucking the sponge up by the froggy’s arm, then looking up to the shower caddy over Eric’s head. Our splash war must’ve knocked my poor froggy right off his little perch. “My loofah.”

“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.