The Real Thing: Flirt Romance

  * * *

  “Sixteen blue, twenty yellow, and a whopping forty-two red.” Eric marks another blue tally on my forearm as the last firework disappears from the sky. He slides the Sharpie across my skin, next to the waving American flag he drew on my wrist. When I flex my fingers it looks like it really is waving in the wind. Damn, he’s good.

  “Does that mean I win?” I ask, swiping a red Sharpie mark on his elbow. He jerks back and laughs, and I mentally take note of another ticklish spot.

  “Yes, you win.” He turns and rests his back against the deck railing and caps his blue Sharpie. “How long do you want?”

  I raise an eyebrow, toss the marker over my shoulder, and hear it smack the wood on the deck before it rolls to who knows where. I let my gaze roam over his sexy-ass body before I squeeze against his side. “I want ten minutes.”

  “Only ten?”

  I nod, licking my bottom lip before tucking it between my teeth. “Not sure if I’ll be able to take much longer than that.”

  He wraps his hand around my waist and kisses the tip of my nose. “Oil or lotion?”

  “Oil, please. It’s in the inside pocket of my purse.”

  “You keep oil in your purse?”

  “The kind I want, yes.”

  “Okay.” He kisses my nose again, and I feel it everywhere. Then his hand roams over my butt and squeezes. “You park this sexy ass on my very comfortable LoveSac. I’ll meet you there.”

  I squeal and skip inside. I’m so glad waxed legs stay that way for a while. If Eric slid his hand up my pant leg and felt woolly mammoth, I bet he’d think twice about ever touching my legs again.

  Eric looks good in white. I couldn’t really tell outside in the dark, but in here, as he reaches over the bar to my purse, his shoulder blades visible under the fabric, white looks so good with his skin tone. Oh, I could just eat him up! I always knew he was hot, but now that he’s mine . . . damn, it makes it so much better.

  “Huuuuurry,” I sing at him as I flop onto the beanbag. He needs to get his butt over here right now and work those fingers on me before I explode.

  “Patience is not your virtue, is it?” he asks, still digging around in my purse. “And where the hell is this oil?”

  I laugh and tilt my head back. “Side pocket on the inside. Should be in the zipper part.”

  “There’s like, fifty zippers on this thing.”

  Seriously . . . “There is one zipper on the inside. It’s not hard to find, Eric.”

  He pauses, hovering over my purse. Okay, so maybe I was a bit snotty. I scoot to the edge of the beanbag to get out, but he turns around, eyebrows pinched together as he drops my bag in the LoveSac and slouches on the floor in front of me. It takes me two seconds to locate the oil, and when I do I shake it in front of his face.

  “Right where I said,” I say, teasing.

  He grabs it from my hand and pours a dot in the middle of his palm. His touch should make my brain turn off, and the foot massage does feel good, but his silence thickens the air around us. I could be swimming in a massive bowl of mashed potatoes.

  “Hey, I was just jok—”

  “Who’s that guy that keeps messaging you?”

  My cheeks go up in flames and my stomach jumps like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. “Um, what?”

  He scratches his nose with the back of his hand, then attempts to rub the arch of my foot, but I can tell he’s not paying attention to that.

  “Your phone went off in your purse, and I saw it was that guy . . . the one with the tattoo on his neck? He messaged a lot when I was holding your phone when your dad was . . .” He shakes his head, refusing to meet my eyes. My heart takes off and crash lands in my gut.

  “He’s . . . a friend.”

  “From school?”

  “Um, no. We met online.”

  He stops rubbing my foot and finally looks at me. I feel like I’m sweating out the Atlantic along my hairline. My voice comes out a little shaky.

  “I meet a lot of people online. Like reading groups, Twitter, Instagram.”

  “And you met him through one of those?”

  Instead of answering, I avoid the question entirely. “Does it bother you?”

  “No.” His brow relaxes and he lets out a croaky laugh. “Actually, yeah, it does.”

  “Is that why I get ‘the look’ every time I pull out my phone?”

  “Partly.”

  “I promise it’s nothing.” I prod his hand with my toes and try to ignore the sick taste on my tongue. “And you used to like it when I was online all the time.”

  “Yeah, when I lived across the ocean and you were talking to me.” He slides his finger over the pink nail polish on my big toe. “Now I’m here and you’re still . . .”

  “Online.”

  He nods, then buries his face in his hand. “Is it something I should worry about?”

  “No.” I slide off the LoveSac and throw my legs over his. “I don’t even talk to him that often. And he’s not the only person I talk to. Eve is constantly messaging me. And Rachel. Then there’s other stuff, like my book-chat groups, and sometimes I have my phone out to read.” I’m grasping for excuses, trying to convince not only him, but me.

  “So, when was the last time you talked to him?”

  Today. Not just today, but right before Eric walked into the room. I was thinking about him while Eric kissed me. I already know Eric’s insecure about our relationship moving forward; the truth would put up a cement wall.

  “I don’t remember.” It floats from my mouth so easily, but it leaves a sharp pain in the back of my throat.

  He studies my face for a second, and I wonder if he sees the word “guilt” painted across my forehead. But he pulls me in and pecks my lips, body relaxing underneath me.

  “Okay.”

  I blink my eyes open. “Okay?”

  “I won’t worry about it.”

  “Good.” I force a smile. “You shouldn’t.”

  He goes back to my feet, but his hand travels up my calf to the crook of my knee, then I’m underneath him and he’s kissing my neck and squeezing my thigh, and I know he’s still holding back, but this time I don’t care. Because if he finally took the next step with me, all I’d think about is how it happened right after I lied to him.

  Chapter 20

  Eric Matua is offline

  ***

  “When was the last time you took your medication?”

  Dr. Shuman hasn’t picked up his pen once during our session, and I take that as a good sign. I haven’t fidgeted once either.

  “Few days ago.”

  “Are things getting more comfortable for you?”

  I smile and stare at the carpet. They got the stain out of it. “A million times more comfortable.”

  “Well, this sounds great, Eric.” He leans back in his seat and scratches his goatee. “Is there a reason you scheduled this appointment? Because you seem to be doing just fine.”

  “Yeah . . .” Something tightens around my chest, but I inhale, hold, exhale, and it goes away. “Things with Em are fine, and I think I’m finally pushing past everything, but sometimes . . . I can still hear her in my head.”

  “Ali?”

  I nod.

  “Do you only hear her when you’re being intimate? Or is it a random thing?”

  Intimate. My palms get clammy. Still haven’t been able to cross that bridge.

  “When I’m with Em.” I let out a hollow laugh. “It’s annoying as hell.”

  He picks up his pen. Damn it. “I can imagine.”

  “Wow . . . sound advice, Doc.” I watch him scribble on the clipboard. “You’re not writing a prescription for hearing voices are you?”

  “Should I?”

  “Do you always ask a question in answer to a question?”

  “Is that something that bothers you?”

  “Yes.”

  He grins, dragging the pen across the clipboard. “No, I’m not writing a prescription.”

  “Wi
ll you tell me how to deal with it?”

  “You’re not going to like my answer.”

  “Is it in the form of a question?”

  He tucks the pen in his front pocket. “If something is triggering the memories of Ali—specifically what she said to you—you need to find out what that something is.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “And you’ll need to let your girlfriend know so she can help you through it.”

  I groan and stare at the carpet. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “Why not? You care about her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You see a future with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’ve been friends with her for . . .?”

  “Five years.”

  “So you trust her?”

  I open my mouth, then close it when nothing comes out. My automatic response was yes, but the thing is . . . I’m not sure. I trusted Ali and that went to shit. But Em’s different. Em is not Ali.

  But . . . I asked her flat out about that guy and I could tell she was tiptoeing. Whenever I ask what she’s doing on her phone she dodges the question. I want to feel like I trust her, because why wouldn’t I? Does she have a reason to hide things from me?

  Holy shit . . . I don’t know if I trust her. And I’m not sure if it’s my problem or hers.

  The timer goes off for the session and I curse under my breath, because I’m not sure how long I was sitting here contemplating whether or not I trust my girlfriend. I snatch my keys from my pocket and stand, not bothering to shake Dr. Shuman’s hand.

  “Eric?”

  I pause in front of the door. Dr. Shuman sets his clipboard down.

  “Suppressing what happened will only force it out in a way you can’t control.”

  My brows pull together and I glance over my shoulder at him. His lips purse and twitch like I’m some bomb about to explode.

  “Maybe the problem isn’t trusting her. It might be trusting yourself to handle talking about it.”

  He gives me a halfhearted smile, then turns back to the stuff on his desk. He’s probably right. Still, I think there are a few things I’d like to tackle with Em before I dump the Ali load on her.

  * * *

  It’s a rare day when both Em and I don’t have to work. It’s one of those chill summer days I’m really starting to get used to with her. Makes me want to take the plunge and ask if she’s all right with me moving to Keiser with her in the fall. But I haven’t had the guts yet.

  I’m doing my sit-ups in the living room while she fixes herself a bowl of cereal. I put Tolani on speakerphone after talking to him about easing off the Xanax and maybe not setting up any more therapy sessions. He was sort of quiet about it, and I’m not sure if it’s because he still has anxiety meds on hand for himself and he’s just patronizing me and shit, or if he just had nothing to say. Either way, I’m pretty damn proud of myself, so I’m easing off the stuff.

  Now he’s talking about crashing the beach house for my birthday.

  “That actually works perfect,” Em says as she zips the bag of no-name Froot Loops. “Eve’s baby shower is that weekend, so my bed is free.”

  “You mean you’re not sharing a bed?” Tolani laughs and I clench my jaw, wishing he was here so I could lay a fist into his gut.

  “Not while Momma Matua is here.” Em picks up her bowl and steps over me while I do another sit-up. I plant a kiss to the back of her knee as she passes, and it calms me down at the same time it excites me. She laughs and chucks a Froot Loop at my face.

  “All right, I gotta run,” Tolani says as Isaac screams in the background. “I’ll see you late on the twenty-fifth.”

  Em calls out “Bye,” and I smack my hand on the End button when I sit up again. My breathing is all out of whack because I haven’t been concentrating on it, so my workout’s complete shit at the moment.

  “You know what I love?” Em asks, chomping down on her cereal and flicking through something on her phone. I try to ignore that she’s been looking at it all morning.

  “What’s that?”

  “I love that you’re close with your family.”

  I breathe out a laugh and sit up again. “You do realize my mom’s going to be asking you about grandbabies once she finds out you’re living here.”

  Her cheeks go a little red and she tucks her phone under her butt. “Yeah . . . I love that, though.” She dips her spoon into her bowl. My workout stops as I watch her eat, slurping and dribbling milk down her chin. I love that she’s comfortable with me. I open my mouth to tell her, then she swipes at her bottom lip. And it smacks me in the chest . . . hard.

  I’ve loved Em since we became friends. I’ve always known that. But this moment, right here, while I sweat like a camel and she’s in her pajamas—that one swipe of her finger across her lip . . .

  It’s the moment I fall in love with her.

  Chapter 21

  Emilia Johnson

  2 hours ago

  Pop quiz. Is there a female cereal mascot?

  49 people like this

  ***

  Eric does another sit-up, nearly knocking my cereal from my hands, heaving and oofing like it’s sit up number two hundred, not fifty. He drops back to the floor and says, “Dude, I quit.”

  I laugh and set one of the dry purple Froot Loops on the tip of his nose. He makes a show of trying to get it with his tongue, but can’t quite do it. Still not able to stop my bubbles of laughter, I lean down and bite it off his nose, then kiss it all better. I’m back to chewing my cereal, slurping and really not being sexy or attractive, because who the hell cares, and I catch him staring at the milk dripping down my chin. I eat like a five-year-old, and I don’t even swipe it away this time. I move my hand around like it’s the hottest thing ever, and he shakes his head and gives me a smile that melts my insides.

  I really love that smile. I’m lucky I get to see it so often.

  Scooping up another spoonful of Froot Loops, I try to ignore his stare and keep eating like I would if he wasn’t here, just like we agreed on when we started living together. I have yet to see him without a shirt, though. If only I had mind powers. I’d take it right off him while he’s sleep—

  “I’ve decided I’m in love with you.”

  I don’t mean to. I really don’t. But my entire bowl of cereal falls from my hands . . . right on his face. Froot Loops and milk cascade over his nose, his pinched eyes and mouth, and he doesn’t even reach up to clean it off. He lies there with my breakfast all over him, a green Froot Loop in the crease of his lips. A blue one between his eyes. Yellow and orange plastered to his forehead. He does nothing but keep the same pinched expression while I try to figure out how the hell to respond.

  I’ve been told “I love you” before. Kyle said he loved me in the middle of sex. I think he said it because he thought he had to. It was awkward after that, and all I said was “Thank you.” And then he avoided me like the bubonic plague.

  Then a guy named Daniel told me he loved me when we were grinding on a club dance floor, and I knew when he said it that he was trying to get me back to his room. It was the way his eyes stayed on my boobs and my ass when he slurred the words at me. Also because we’d known each other two seconds.

  Jaxon was the worst, though. Because I honestly wanted him to mean it, and I could tell he didn’t. We’d been dating for a year, and I think he thought it was the thing to say. He was taking long drafts of his beer and staring at the ceiling while I played with his chest hair when he said it. “I love you . . . babe.”

  He called everyone “babe.” The girl bartender, the hotel hostess, the room-service lady . . . I was just another babe. I knew it by the way he said it.

  As I look down at Eric, milk and cereal still stuck to his adorable face, it’s the first time I’ve felt like I could say it back and 100 percent mean it. Maybe it’s because even thousands of miles away, even when we were with other people . . . it’s always been him.

&nbs
p; And he tells me when I’m slurping milk in my ratty pj’s, when my hair hasn’t been brushed, and I still have on makeup from last night. He doesn’t say it like he feels like he has to. He says it because he feels it. Straightforward, beautiful, my best friend . . . and I love him, too.

  Holy shit, I love him, too.

  I drop the bowl to the side of the couch and land in a straddle over his hips. I flick the Froot Loops off one by one, then take the bottom of his sweaty shirt and wipe the milk away. His eyes slowly open to mine, and I know he’s waiting for something. A kiss or a return of affection.

  Well, he’s getting both.

  “I’ve decided I’m in love with you, too.”

  His mouth turns up, and he pulls on my arm to get me closer to his lips. “We’re going to kiss now, aren’t we?”

  I laugh, letting that warmth from my heart pump all through my body, let it tingle my toes and send shivers up my spine. Our lips slide together, and I feel like it’s a new kind of kiss. The kind people talk about in books and movies. The one that changes not only you, not only him, but the two of you together. Everything from here on out is me and Eric. Eric and me. Every decision, every thought, every fear . . . it’s us together now. No more secrets. There can’t be any more.

  I should be floating with that thought, skyrocketed through the air with how much love is growing between us, but the IM I have sitting on my phone weighs me down. It pushes at my thoughts and ruins the moment. I want to scream at myself for letting something so innocent guilt-trip me to death.

  But even as I think that, if it was so innocent, why am I hiding it?

  “Are you okay?” Eric asks, breaking away from my lips and playing with loose strands of my hair. I hear his voice and I’m back in the real world with him, and I kiss him lightly.

  “I’m perfect.”

  That makes him smile, and even if it’s not the complete truth, it’s enough truth to make me forget what an awful person I am. We kiss until my head is doing nothing but drowning in Eric and his love for me. My love for him. Our love for each other.

  * * *

  Eve registered for the entire baby section. After scrolling down the page four times, I click over to my camera and gesture for Eric to get in the shot.