The Real Thing (17 page)

“It’s less than five.”

She nods, and I can tell she’s holding her breath. I smooth her hair from her face and swallow hard. Open, honest,
real
. That’s what I want with her.

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask with a half grin. I expect a form of flirtatious abuse, but she just nods again. Dropping my voice, I inch closer. “It’s less than one.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“I haven’t slept with anyone, Em.”

Now her lips part, and her breath comes out a little ragged. “You’re a virgin? I thought you and Ali …”

I shake my head. I thought I’d feel weird telling her this, but … I don’t. It feels right. I’m actually damn proud I can say I never slept with Ali. And even though it was my anxiety and weight and insecurity that held me back from relationships with other women, I’m proud I can say I’ve never slept with
anyone.
Because honestly, no one feels more right than Em.

“I’m going to break the rules now,” she says, before pressing a kiss to my lips. Her tongue taps against mine, softly at first, then we stroke each other, breathe into each other, and I want to touch her places, feel her skin, but a prickle of panic goes up the back of my neck at the thought, and I break away.

One step at a time.

And it’s like she can read my damn mind, because she seems to be going at the same pace.

“Whose turn is it?” she breathes. I pick up a grape and give her a minute to open those plump lips, then give it a gentle toss that she catches with ease.

Her jaw slowly works up and down as she chews. I let my gaze drift over her body, and I wonder where I should start. I’ve only kissed her neck and mouth. There are several places I want to kiss her, but I’m not sure how to approach it. Not even sure if she’d like it. My heart starts racing, the bad kind of racing. The kind that happens before the walls close in, my stomach churns, and I bolt. So I inhale for five seconds, hold it, and exhale, eyes landing on her dainty foot.

Slow. We’re going slow. Making sure I’m breathing steady, I wrap a hand around her ankle and drag her toward me. We meet in the middle of the floor, and I can’t help but notice how incredibly smooth her leg is. It’s almost as if she’s never grown a single hair on it. I run my hand over her calf, grip her in the crook of her knee and pull upward. She’s not breathing, but I am. I’m taking as many breaths as I can so I can do this without freaking out.

When her big toe touches my cheek, I turn, slowly, watching her watch me, and I press the lightest of kisses to the arch of her foot. Her chest moves up and down, heaving for air, and for a moment I wonder if
she’s
the one having a panic attack. She bends her knee as I drop her leg, and she waves a hand at her face.

“Okay, if we’re going to keep playing, we need to crank up the air conditioner.”

I laugh, taking my spot on the other side of the room. I open wide, ready to catch whatever she throws, because I don’t care where the hell they are, I want her lips on me.

Emilia Johnson

4 hours ago

On a date with my sexy boyfriend. Going offline!

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I’m high.

I must be.

I’ve never been high before, but there has to be a reason for the term. Colors pop and swirl in my vision. My body feels like it’s about to flit away, but hands …
lips
, anchor me to the floor. The only thoughts zipping through my brain come in single phrases, incomplete sentences, and they each make me smile, moan, laugh, sigh, and float. I’m definitely floating.

I feel …
high.

The thing is, Eric’s not even kissing me anywhere sexual. But I feel it as if that’s all he’s doing.

He pulls his lips from my hipbone. His thumb runs over my ocean wave tattoo, and goose bumps cascade over my skin, all the way up to the back of my neck.

“You never told me you got a tattoo,” he says, pulling my shorts back in place. He even buttons the top button I’ve had undone the whole night.

“I got it at the beginning of the semester.” I slide back to my spot on the opposite side of the room. “Never really told anyone about it.”

“Why not?”

“Wanted something for me.” Then I shrug and let out a tiny laugh. “And I wasn’t going to take a picture, considering its location, and I’m sure people would’ve asked me to post it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to listen.”

“I have a hard time saying no when it comes to social-media peer pressure.”

“Well, if anyone ever sends you a link saying you won a million dollars, don’t click it.”

I roll my eyes and chuck a grape at his face. He must’ve been ready for that move because he catches it and celebrates his victory by showing the red fruit between his teeth, then chomping down.

He hasn’t caught very many, and I’m not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but I’m grateful I get to plant my lips somewhere on his body I haven’t yet. And I know exactly where I’m headed next. Time to take this up a notch.

And if things keep going the direction I think they’re going, he’ll get to kiss my hardearned, silky smooth … well,
everything
.

I attempt this sexy crawl toward him, but I end up knocking the bowl over and spilling its contents onto the floor. My knee squishes a grape flat into the carpet, and Eric’s laughing his ass off by the time I get to him.

“You shush,” I playfully scold, tapping a finger against his mouth. Then I drag it down his chin, down his neck, down his chest. Down, down, down, and his laughter’s gone. His breath is gone. I smile shyly and wish I was more confident in this moment, but I’m scared to death. Maybe
this
is the line. And I’m about to jet right across it and never look back.

My forehead runs along the buttons on his shirt as I move downward. He’s breathing now. Hard.
Fast.
His stomach pulses against my cheek and his breath tickles the top of my head.

I don’t undo his zipper, even though I see him straining against it. My heart’s beating too fast and my hands start to shake as I prop myself on his thighs.

A small part of my brain whispers to me,
Mia … he’s a virgin. You may be the first to even touch him like this.
And damn that small part, because it triples my nervousness.

But it doesn’t stop me.

“Em …,” he pants, and I pause with my forehead on his bellybutton. I’m ready to kiss his cargos—kiss
him
—somewhere I never have, but he places a hand on my shoulder, and instead of coaxing me forward, he gently pushes me back.

“Em, wait … wait …” His voice rushes out over the top of my head. “I can’t … you gotta move … I’m sorry, just give me … I need a second, please.”

My face instantly warms. It’s the tomato tub all over again. Maybe I can pretend I was going for his stomach. Or his hip, like he did mine. Or his legs or thighs or anything but the region I was
clearly
going for.

I scramble back, grateful to have hair I can use as a curtain.

“I’m sorry—”

“I think your phone’s ringing.”

“What?” I peek at his pale face, his pinched eyes.

“Your phone.” He nods to the side of the couch, keeping his eyes closed tight. “It’s vibrating. A lot. It could be the coast guard.”

It takes me a second to understand, but when I finally get it, the constant buzzing registers and I fly across the room to grab my phone.

“Hello?” I say, but I get nothing but the sound of a dropped call.

“Was it them?”

Staring at the number, I rise to my feet, Eric following my lead.

“Alaskan area code,” I whisper. “I’ll call back … if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.”

He takes a step toward me, but I turn to shield myself from him. I’m still trying to get the blush out of my cheeks.

It rings and rings, and doesn’t go to voice mail or anything. Disappointment crawls in the pit of my stomach, hollowing me out. My arm swings down to my side as I click my phone off.

“Whoever it was, I must have missed them.”

I feel Eric take another step toward me, and his knuckles lightly stroke the back of my hand. I surrender to his touch, twining our fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice sounds unshaken now. His cheeks have gone back to their natural color. I open my mouth to ask him to talk to me—to tell me if I moved too fast or if he’s scared or what. Just anything to understand. But my cell vibrates in my palm, and I twist it around to see my dad’s picture and a text.

Whenever I miss you, I look at the ocean, for there is where my heart is. Better late than never, right, bug?

I clutch the arm of the couch, but it doesn’t prevent me from dropping to my knees in sweet relief. My finger is on the call button in a second, and Eric is crouched by my side in the next.

“Please tell me you are on land.”

My dad’s beautifully gruff laugh pushes me all the way to the floor. Eric doesn’t let go of my hand.

“I’m fine. We just lost signal for a few days.”

“No shark attacks?”

“No shark attacks.”

“But you’re still out there.”

“It was just a signal glitch. Three more weeks, then I’ll be back on solid ground.”

I lean forward, hitting my head against Eric’s firm chest. “For how long?”

Dad takes so long to respond I know I’m not going to like his answer.

“A couple weeks.”

“Then you’re back out.”

“Mia, you know how this works.”

“Yes.” I sigh, pushing my face into Eric’s warmth. “And I hate it.”

“I know. But I love it.”

“I know.” We have this argument every time this happens. Eric rubs his thumb over my wrist and I straighten, resting my butt on my heels. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Just fine.” He pauses. “And I hate to say it, but I’m in the middle of a catch so …”

“I better get a text tomorrow morning.”

He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, bug.”

He hangs up, but I keep the phone pressed to my ear. Tears drip from the corners of my eyes, and I make no effort to stop them.

“He’s okay,” Eric says, and I nod, finally dropping the cell to my lap. He tilts his head to the side and studies my face. “Are
you
okay?”

I nod again, but then I’m shaking my head. I’m
not
okay. I’ve
never been
okay with Dad working on the ocean. And I want to scream that to him. Make him understand how anxious I get when I think about all the different things that could happen. But I know Dad, and his love for his job, for the ocean, is far too strong, and that’s something
I
can’t understand. But it makes him happy, and so I understand that.

“Em?” Eric prods, and I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

“I just … I hate the ocean.” I wipe the other cheek. “It’s terrifying.”

His breathing pattern changes again. The color in his cheeks start to drain, and I squeeze his fingers. I don’t understand what’s going through his mind, but I know him well enough to know he’s nervous about whatever he’s going to say or do.

“Come here,” he says, helping me to my feet. My hand stays in his as he leads me out to the balcony. The night air is warm and humid, not nearly as comfortable as our air-conditioned condo, but it’s calm and relaxing nonetheless.

Eric moves his hand from mine to the small of my back, then stands behind me as I lean against the railing. I look out at the vast ocean, and a shovel digs itself into my stomach at the sight of all that blackness, all that depth … all the scary who-knows-what hidden just beyond my vision.

The water laps against the shore, and I watch a couple kissing in the shallows. A normal response would be recognizing the romance in that, but all I can think about is jellyfish, and how it’d hurt like hell if one brushed up against their ankles.

“The ocean is scary … but it’s beautiful,” he says into my ear.

He clearly sees something I’m not seeing.

“I guess.”

“You stubborn woman.” He chuckles, and his hands slide from my waist to the railing, and his front presses against my back. “Terrifying things can be beautiful, you know. Trust me on that one.”

“Okay, give me an example.”

He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attitude. Tearing my eyes away from the couple on the beach, I turn in his arms. I settle my hands on top of his on the railing. His chest is so close to mine, and our hips bump against each other. Whatever I was about to say flies from my brain. He presses his forehead against mine and takes a long breath, closing his eyes. His hands start to shake, and I tighten my grip on them because it looks like he might pass out.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“The ocean scares you,” he says, flicking his eyes open to mine.

“Yes …”

“
You
scare me.”

“What?” I pull back to focus on his face, mostly to see if he’s teasing, but he looks terrified. “Eric, we’ve known each other forever. Why would I scare you?”

His hands tremble in mine again, and he takes another deep breath. I can see the pulse in his neck, sweat forming on his brow, and I don’t know what to do but wrap my arms around his waist and hold him. It takes him a few seconds to hug me back, but soon his hands slide around me, scorching my skin and snatching my breath right from my lungs.

“You make me nervous,” he says over my head. “I’m not good at relationships.”

“You’re doing okay so far.” Granted, it’s only been a day, but still, I’ve felt more with him than Jaxon and Kyle combined.

His arms twitch and he shifts his weight. “You scare me, because I want it all with you. Every damn thing, Em. I just don’t know how to do that.”

The dots in my head still aren’t connecting, but my fear of him not wanting me
that way
dissipates. I’m left with part sweet relief, part helplessness, because I’m not sure what to say to make him feel better, but my chest swells because he said what I wanted to hear.

He wants it
all.

I squeeze myself hard against his warmth and his Tide and the buttons on his shirt.

“Just be with me.”