The Real Thing (26 page)

Eric’s family should be here around nine tonight. I know his mom is bringing a cake, and Tolani is planning on bringing alcohol, but he’ll be hiding it until Momma Matua goes to bed. I’ll be long gone by then, which sucks, because I wanted to spend the whole day with Eric, but Eve’s shower is early tomorrow morning, and I don’t want to wake up at five to get there on time.

I adjust my bra, then set my hands on my hips as I look around the room. My present was to clean up my crap … and wrap the actual present, which is sitting behind the couch. Eric still hasn’t told his mom about me living with him, so having my panties hanging off the laundry-room door isn’t exactly the best way to break the news.

My phone bings and I tap it open to an email from Facebook telling me I have messages. I blow out a breath and check them real quick before Eric gets out of the shower.

Scott: Haven’t seen you in a while. You weren’t lying when you said you were busy.

Scott: A guy came into the flower shop today and ordered a bouquet for his wife and one for his girlfriend. What a douche. I also wanted to give him a lecture on how cheating is the worst thing you could do to a woman, but he looked like he could knock me out with one hit. So, I may have “accidentally” mixed up the delivery addresses instead.

Scott: Got another lead on Mia. But I’m not sure if I want to chase after it. After the douchebag flower order, maybe I deserve to be miserable for the rest of my life.

Scott: I typed up my message to her, but I’m still nervous about sending it. Can you look it over for me since you’re a romance expert?

Scott: Let me know when you get a second.

I check down the hall, then yell at myself for being so scared. All I’m going to do is tell Scott I don’t have time today, I’ll look at it tomorrow. Then no matter what that email says, I’ll tell him it’s brilliant and he needs to pursue his Mia and stop talking to me. We’ll slowly fade out. It’s happened before with, well, nearly everyone I grew up with.

The shower’s still running, and my hands tremble over my keyboard, which is just stupid because I’m not doing anything wrong.

Mia: Email it to me. I’ll look at it tomorrow. Celebrating my best friend’s birthday today! 21 baby!

I hit the blue Send arrow before I can edit Eric’s title to “boyfriend.” It’s just habit to refer to Eric as my best friend.

Scott: Okay, have fun.

He sounds pissed, but I won’t let it get to me. On the priority scale, Scott is at the bottom.

I put my phone on silent. Then I tuck it in my nightstand. As soon as the drawer closes, a victorious smile spreads across my face. I’m so proud of myself that I start dancing. I didn’t check my Twitter feed. I didn’t get sucked into a Scott conversation. I didn’t scroll through my Facebook timeline or browse through Pinterest or Instagram or check all my emails. Today is about Eric and no one else. All that stuff will be there tomorrow. And I may not even look then.

I dance down the hall to the kitchen. The shower is
still going
, and I’m getting impatient. I want him out here so I can kiss him silly and give him his present. Pulling at my bottom lip, I eye the mixing bowl we keep on the counter because it doesn’t fit in any of the cupboards. Hmmm …

Eric filled the ice trays last night. He’s good about that. I usually leave them on the counter and then complain about not having ice. But he fills them the second they’re empty. I yank open the freezer and pull out the full ice tray, cracking the cubes into the mixing bowl. I whip the faucet lever to cold and let the water run a bit before filling the bowl. I’m suppressing some serious evil laughter as I tiptoe to the bathroom.

The room is filled with steam as I crack the door open. I duck in quick so Eric doesn’t feel the draft, and silently close the door. The bowl of ice water sloshes in my arms, and I set it on the back of the toilet as I climb on top of the lid. Small giggles escape my throat, but luckily the shower stream seems to be louder than me.

Once I get the bowl lifted over the shower curtain, I sing, “Haaaapppeeee Biiiirthdaaaay!” then pour the ice water all over my naked boyfriend.

“Agh!” he shouts in this adorable and hilarious high-pitched yelp, and I bolt out of there as fast as I can, dropping the bowl on the floor somewhere and laughing hysterically. I hear him calling out incoherent threats and I hide behind the couch, stuffing my fist in my mouth so I don’t give myself away.

His wet legs come into view. He’s put on his boxers, but he didn’t dry off that well, because they sure are sticking to
everything.
He purses his lips in the most adorable way as he searches the room for me.

“Emmy, I know you didn’t run outside,” he lilts, and I bite down on my knuckles. He disappears from my line of vision, and I hear him open closets down the hallway, check the laundry room, and flip the LoveSac.

“I guess I’ll go log on to your computer and post embarrassing status updates,” he threatens. A tiny laugh escapes my lips and it’s enough for him to find me behind the couch, and for me to scream in mock terror.

“No, no, no!” I squeal when he wraps his hand around my ankle and yanks me from my safe spot. He tickles all the way up to my waist, and I can’t even appreciate his bare torso, because he flips me over his shoulder, locking his arm around the back of my knees.

“I’m sorry!” I shout, and paddle his butt when he starts carrying me to the bathroom. “Eric, no! I’m sorry!”

He’s laughing, and I make him laugh harder when I tickle the spot where his bum meets his legs. But it doesn’t stop him from opening the shower curtain and stepping in the tub. The water stream soaks my ass, and I keep pounding on his boxers, but I’m giggling nonstop and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to keep the rest of me dry.

“Okay, okay, you got me!”

“Not yet.” His arm stretches out and unhooks the shower nozzle, and he makes sure I’m completely punished for the ice water. I slide down his torso, battle him for the showerhead, but I think I’m getting sprayed in the face more than I’m spraying him.

He whips me around so I’m against the opposite wall, then just when I think I finally get a grip on the showerhead, he stuffs it down my shorts. I go to my only defense … tickling. But it’s not a good one, since he’s finally shirtless, so as my fingers grip his sides, his stomach, his neck, all I can think about is how sexy he looks, and how the water drips down his muscles, and how much I don’t give a shit that I’m wet anymore.

Once it’s obvious that I’m not even attempting to fight him, Eric lets go of me. There’s a lot of smiling and heavy breathing.

“That’s what you get.” He laughs, keeping the shower nozzle tucked in the waistband of my shorts.

“Remind me never to start a water war with you again.”

I’m still breathing hard when I lean in to peck his lips. I get a small taste of his toothpaste and break away, smile still on my face. But Eric’s has faded. It’s still there, just not as wide, not as playful.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d mind another one.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and he cups my neck. My stomach jolts.

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Me neither.”

I can’t think as he moves his thumb across my jaw and gently pulls down on my chin to part my lips. He moves with slothlike speed, Crest breath hitting my mouth first, and my eyes involuntarily close. Instead of delivering one of his gentle Eric kisses, he rakes the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip with careful precision, licking off the drops of shower water before moving to the top lip. It takes everything in me not to meet his tongue with mine, but I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes my mouth into his.

The second the sound leaves my throat, Eric grunts, and I feel the vibrations of his groans under my hands on his chest. I dissolve into his arms, and he drops the shower nozzle and grasps my waist, firm,
hard.
His lips press against mine, and the force of the kiss pushes me against the cool shower wall.

The water hits our legs, sprays at the curtain—the sound covers the noises I make as Eric’s hands slip and slide all over my midriff. I dig my nails into his chest, rake them over his skin, heart pounding and body heating to an unsafe degree. I want to kiss him everywhere, but he’s claimed my tongue, and I want him to keep it for a while. So I keep exploring his torso with my hands, running my fingers over bumps and curves—all those things he thinks are imperfections. But they aren’t. They’re perfectly
Eric.

I keep waiting for him to stop. There’s always that point when he starts gasping for air, and now that I know why, something sits in the back of my mind preparing for it. But his breathing is extremely heavy
now
, and he’s still kissing me. His hands peel at the fabric of my shirt. He lets go of my lips and bites down on my neck, eliciting a long moan from somewhere in my chest.

“Eric,”
I gasp, gripping the back of his head.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asks, his voice raspy and deep, unlike I’ve ever heard him before. I hitch a leg over his hip and he keeps it there by clutching my ass.

“Do it again?” I can’t catch my breath. My vision’s getting spotty. Eric sinks his teeth into my neck again, and I have to tighten my hold on him or I’ll fall to the tub floor. His bites move to my shoulder. He snaps my shirt sleeve with his teeth, then moves back up my neck, biting, kissing, nibbling, sucking, licking, freaking driving me to the edge of insanity.

I want to reciprocate. I start attacking his jaw with my own kisses, but he moves down, and I forget what I was doing. I can’t concentrate on anything but his lips grazing the top of my breasts, his teeth biting through my shirt. When he hovers over my hardest point, hands firm on my wet skin, I gasp for air, gulping in steam and Eric’s scent, and wait for him to stop. I try to push back the warmth radiating from between my legs, but after he takes a deep breath, his hand tightens on my ass, pulling me closer to his hips. His mouth closes over me, and he starts sucking the water from my shirt. I clutch his head, hold him to me and try not to move too much, so we don’t lose our balance, but I can’t help rocking against his leg.

He adjusts his hips and I stop thrusting because I’m not sure if that was too much for him, but he lifts his face, eyes burning into mine, and he … he
smiles
. A tiny laugh of relief escapes my mouth, and he catches it with his.

“Stop worrying,” he says between kisses. “I’m fine. You feel
incredible.
”

“You promise?”

He pulls back, capturing me with his gaze again. His playful grin frees the tension in my stomach. He settles his hand on the wall by my head and yanks my knee tight around his hip with the other. His hardened muscle hits me with unbelievable pleasure, making my eyes roll back while another drawn-out whimper rumbles in my chest. His hips retreat and I hold on to his neck, anticipating the next thrust, forcing myself not to make the move first. Eric presses his lips to mine, and like everything we’ve done up until this point, he moves in beautiful, slow, torturous motions that leave me satisfied and wanting more all at the same time.

He pulls away from my mouth and says, “I love you,” and I’m pretty sure I say it back, but I don’t really know what I’m saying, because his hand is traveling to my shorts. His fingers open the button and pull at my zipper. His breath is scorching hot against my neck as he says, “You feel so good, Emmy,” and I
know
I don’t say anything this time, but I kiss him and snake my hand down to him, wanting to feel all of him while he feels me. My heart’s ballooning in my chest. Fireworks go off in my brain. I can’t see or hear or think, all I do is
feel
.

Eric’s hand moves from my shorts, and I’m half-disappointed, half-elated, because now I get
him
, but fingers slip over my mouth, and my eyes open to Eric’s furrowed brow.

He’s not breathing.

My hands are on his cheeks in a second.

“Are you okay?”

He nods, looking over his shoulder. I keep silent, not sure what to do to help him. Do I ask if he got his prescription filled? Do I call his therapist? Let him work it out? Was it me or him or both of us?

“Em?” he whispers, still not looking at me.

“Yeah?”

“I think … I think I hear someone.”

Eric Matua’s birthday (21 years old)

Give him a birthday gift

There’s relief on her face for a brief moment, then Em’s eyes form perfect circles.

“What?”

“Shhh.” I tap my finger against her wet lips, push back the desire to lick every inch of them, and listen for the deep voice I swear I heard just a second ago.

The shower stream is smacking the curtain, so I bend down and settle the attachment back where it goes. I hear someone laugh, someone squeal, someone say, “Hey!” and Em grasps my forearm.

“Oh my—,” Em mouths. Then there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Yo, bro, I know you’re taking a shower, but Isaac is going to wet himself if he doesn’t get in there.”

“Bafroom!” Isaac shouts, and Em buries her face in my shoulder to cover her laughter.

“Uh, yeah,” I croak and squeeze Em’s side. “Make it quick!”

The door opens, and the cold air floods into the room. Em pushes the curtain against the wall on one side while I grab the other. Her lips are pressed together, still holding in that laughter. I flick some of the shower stream at her face and she cuts that out.

“No, Isaac, you gotta push it down when you sit or it’ll get everywhere,” Tolani says, and Em snorts. I shake with my own amusement, close the distance between us, and softly cover her mouth.

“Uh … Eric?”

“Dude, don’t talk to me while I’m in here.”

Em’s still laughing, and I don’t know how to get her to stop, and it’s making my own chuckles erupt.

I hear the door shut, but Isaac starts singing on the toilet, so I know they’re still in here.

Tolani drops his voice. “Just curious where Mia is. Because uh … Mom’s waiting for you in the living room. So if I need to, say, create a diversion, you might want to let me know now.”