The Real Thing (31 page)

My fingers reach up to the end of my ponytail, and I can’t stop my face from warming. Damn him.

“I guess,” I say, but I don’t all the way agree with him.

He grins. “Even your stubbornness is familiar.”

“Then why did you worry—” I snap my lips shut and shake my head. I don’t want to bring up his panic attacks. Not when I’m hoping for redemption.

His smile fades and he turns back to the water.

“Just because you’re familiar doesn’t mean you don’t make me nervous.” He takes a deep breath again. “I guess it took me a while to recognize the difference between panic and … desire.”

A shard of my heart pierces my breastbone. “And then I … I …”

I don’t finish. And he doesn’t finish either. He just says, “Yeah,” and scoots a little bit more into the water, and I know
he
knows I won’t go near it. It’s like he’s silently pushing me away, and I wipe at my face because this really could be the last time I see him, and I can’t even hug him good-bye.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice cracking. “You’ve calmed down?”

He dips his hand in the water and nods. “I’m fine. Always am.”

“Okay.” I step back. “Thanks for …” Everything? Nothing? Something? I don’t know. So I shake my head and turn around, hugging myself on the way to my car.

So much for hope. So much for salvaging our friendship. But I don’t think I could do that. I’d always want more.

I take in a large breath and try to talk myself through this. I’ll get over him. Breakups happen. People fall in and out of love all the time. I’ve got friends, family, books, school, things to keep my mind occupied, but I think about all those things and it freezes me where I stand.

My friends … all live in the computer. Rachel’s in Daytona, I’m in Keiser. Eve’s with Paul raising a baby. All the other people are acquaintances I chat with occasionally or see casually in class or at a party.

My family … Dad … lives in Alaska. I talk via Skype, email, text message.

Books and school and other things won’t erase what I can touch, feel, experience on my own.

There was one thing I could always count on with Eric, and it’s something not a lot of people can or will do. Even when
he
lived in my computer, I knew if I needed him, he’d do whatever he could to be there.

Then he was
here.
Tangible. Huggable.
Here.
And I never took advantage of that. I treated it as if it wasn’t special or important to me. Yet it was. It
is.

And I can’t lose the only real thing I’ve ever had.

My feet kick up sand behind me as I jog back to him. I plow through the warm water, flinching when I first step in, but that fear is trumped by my desperation to be near him. I fall to my knees in the water between his legs, splashing his torso and making him lean back a little, his eyes wide, and I grab his face in my hands.

“Take me back.”

“Em … you’re in the wa—”

“Take me back,” I croak, because the fear of losing him is stronger than the fear of the ocean lapping against my feet. “Please?”

His brows pull in and he drops his head. I run my fingers over his jaw, prodding him to look at me. I hate that it’s my fault I see pain in his eyes. I hate seeing my best friend and the love of my life hurt over something I did.

“Eric, I’m so sorry. Please, tell me what to do to fix it.” I grip him, because he’s so
real.
What I feel for him, what we’ve been through, every touch, secret, kiss … it’s all so real and tangible I can’t let it go. I choke on my words as they fly from my mouth because I’m desperate to keep him. To keep
us.
“Please tell me I can fix it. I need you, Eric. I love you. You’re my best friend and I can’t lose you. I made a mistake, but I promise I won’t make it again. I
can’t
make it again. You are the only person who matters to me like this. Please. Please.
Please.
It hurts. It hurts so bad being apart.”

I grab my chest because it does hurt. It’s my fault, and I have no right to feel like this, but I do. I can’t believe I did this to my best friend. I cry into my hands, because I’ve lost all sense of where I am. I’ve been stubborn and rationalized everything I did. It took losing Eric for me to get a clue. How could I have messed up something so real and beautiful for something that didn’t measure up to an ounce of what Eric gave me?

I want to kiss him. I want to love him with all of me like we promised each other. But now … I’m not even sure it’s possible.

Eric hasn’t touched me. I don’t blame him. I take as many deep breaths as I can to calm myself down, because it’s obvious he’s not going to help me.

When I finally push through the worst of it, I glance at him through my tear-filled eyes. He looks like he’s in more pain than he was a second ago, and I’m wondering what I said or did to make him feel worse.

I settle my hand on his cheek again. He doesn’t push me away, but I don’t know if it’s because he wants me to touch him or because he’s beyond caring about anything I do.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it a million and a half more if it gets him to realize I mean it. “I wanted you for so long, I loved you for
so long
, and I … I ruined it.” My body collapses into the water, knees sink into the sand, the air feels like a hundred pounds pressing down on my back.

His eyes search mine. I put all of my heart out there. This is me groveling and begging him to take me back. I don’t care if it’s desperate. I just want to be in his arms again.

“You didn’t …” He pauses, swallows hard, and his voice continues in a raspy whisper. “You didn’t ruin it.”

Then, something changes in his eyes. I can’t describe it, because he still looks hurt, but they grow hungry. Needy. His hands slide up my waist, gently encouraging me to inch closer.

I understand lust. I get that because I’ve lived it. I remember slamming through doors and yanking off clothes in a fury to get release. The feel of someone’s hot skin against yours and the way things pull and tug in places you didn’t think existed on your body. It’s sweaty, it’s hot, it’s sometimes dirty and it leaves you satisfied physically. Well … at least you hope it does.

Love is different. It’s all that lust, but more. So much more.

I don’t understand love completely, but I know as I stare at his broken and hungry eyes, it’s not lust that drives me. It’s love.

My hands move from his cheeks so I can wrap my arms around his neck in a tight hug. His arms circle my waist, and he pulls me against his warm body. Our hips press together—stomachs, chests, cheeks. I can’t keep my lips from kissing him behind his ear, my fingers from burying themselves in his short hair, my heart from racing. He doesn’t kiss me back, and I try not to let that bother me because he’s holding me again. I’ve missed my Eric bear hugs.

My lips move closer and closer to his. He keeps me in a strong grip, but it won’t stop me. I need his kisses. I need him to know how much I love him.

He surprises me by meeting my lips halfway. We both breathe out a moan into each other’s mouths and love takes me over again. My tongue reaches for his, and we give and take, falling into a familiar rhythm that can only be mine and Eric’s.

His hands shove my shirt up as they travel across my sides. His fingers are wet, grainy with sand, and send tingles over my skin. I bend my body to be closer to his, but instead of inviting me in, he gently pushes me back. Our lips disconnect, and we breathe hot and heavy in each other’s face.

“Emmy …”

I stop breathing altogether and almost cry again. How long has it been since he’s said my name like that?

Why am I asking?

I know
exactly
how long it’s been.

“What?” I manage to say with no air.

“You aren’t talking to him anymore?”

I shake my head, our foreheads slick and sweaty against each other.

“Promise?”

“I promise. I haven’t said a word to him for weeks.”

His fingers tighten on my skin, and I hold back a shiver that wants to run through me.

“Has … has he tried to talk to you?”

I wish he didn’t sound so scared. It makes things hurt all over again. But he’s holding me, and we’re touching, and it eases the pain. Now I have to ease his, and I’m so glad I can do it with the truth.

“I told him good-bye. He won’t contact me unless I contact him first.” I slide my hands from his neck to his chest. “And I won’t. I don’t need to. I don’t need him at all. I never did.”

“But if he’s your friend …”

“It bothers you. And you have every right to be bothered by it. I love you. That is more important to me than anything else.”

His mouth twitches into a smile, and my heart soars. “Even all those book dudes you’re always talking about?”

Now I’m smiling, and it feels great on my face. “Even them.”

He lets out a giant sigh, making loose hairs wave around my face. His hands trace up my sides and cup my cheeks. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

I’m still smiling, still crying … I’m a blissed-out, gross mess, and I love it. I love every second because I honestly didn’t think this would happen. So when he kisses me first this time, I don’t stop. I take all of what he’s willing to give, because I almost lost it.

His kiss is deep, slow, yet passionate as hell. I want to match his intensity, but I’m barely grasping the reality of it all. I have Eric back. He’s back, and he wants me. He’s kissing me and needs me. He
missed
me.

Whoever said that quote, that staying in love was very special, was
so
right.

Eric Matua is offline

“I love you,” I say into Em’s mouth. Her nails rake through my hair and she says it back, and I believe her. It’s in my gut, my chest, my brain, my heart … everywhere. She means it when she says it. And she meant it when she said she was sorry.

Her knees slip farther into the sand, putting more pressure on me, and instead of a rush of panic, my body wants more. I want more. My hands reach under her shirt, run all over her back. The tide kicks up against us and I wait for her to panic as it washes over her exposed skin, but she just keeps kissing me.

“Em?”

“Hmm?”

“Stay here tonight?”

“In the ocean?” she teases. “I think you’ve overestimated my control.”

“Are you scared?” I ask, kissing her neck. I wrap my hand around her hair and pull her holder loose. The long dark strands fall over her shoulders, down her chest, and my dick doubles in rigidity.

“A little,” she admits, a shy smile on her face. “But I don’t want to stop.”

I put my hand over her lips as they close in. “What about a pause?” I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. “Come inside with me.”

“I’m all wet,” she says, “and the only extra clothes I have are a pair of panties and a stained pink top.”

Not a bad choice in clothing in my opinion, but I say, “You can wear mine.”

Her full, sexy lips pull into a grin and she nods, rising up to her feet and helping me out of the water. I can’t get her across the beach, up the stairs, and into the condo fast enough. Seems like it takes us twenty minutes just to get the door unlocked. We’ve claimed each other’s hands, and the only time I let go is to wrap a towel around her and dry her off. She laughs as I rub her ass, and I keep rubbing even after she tries to tickle me, telling her I’ve got to get all the ocean water off. That’s all I’m doing, I swear.

“There, now you’re dry,” I say, and she nods, pushing the towel out of my hands. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip as her eyes flick to the bed behind me. I grin. “You tired?”

“Kind of,” she squeaks. I shake my head and wrap my hand around her nape.

“You don’t have to ask if it’s okay,” I say, running my thumb over her jaw. I love her skin under mine again. She’s so smooth, so soft, so real … and I can tell she wants every touch I give her. “You’re forgiven. I love you. And it’s me. We’re good, okay?”

“I think part of me still can’t believe it,” she whispers. “I thought I’d be sad forever.”

“Would sleeping in this bed with me make you happy?”

“Yes.”

I grin and pick her up by the waist. “Then get this sexy ass under the covers.”

She laughs as I drop her on the mattress, her long hair bouncing over her breasts. I jump on next to her, roll to my side and grab her hand. I want her pressed against me, but she stays on her back, letting her eyes close as I kiss her shoulder and nuzzle her nose.

“Can I ask you something?” she says to the ceiling.

“Shoot.”

“Can you … not move to Tampa?”

I lean on my arm and play with the waistband of her shorts. “Where would I go?”

“Anywhere to be with me.” She frowns. “I’ve been without you too many times. I don’t like it.”

“Well, we have Skype. And Facebook. And Twit—”

She pinches my elbow and I jerk back with a laugh.

“I think my online time will be a little bit limited.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because there’s life outside of my phone. Who knew?”

“Hmm, then that is a problem.”

“Exactly. I need you
not
in my computer.”

“So I should find a place near Keiser.”

“Yes.”

“And you should move in with me.”

Her eyes flick open and she turns her head, nose hitting mine. “You still want to do that?”

“Beats the hell out of living with my brother.”

“Eric …”

I squeeze her hip, kiss her neck, and nibble her earlobe. Her body shivers next to mine and it makes me grin like a damn fool.

“Of course I still want that.”

I press my lips to her one more time, and she wiggles in my arms.

“I like seeing you like this.”

“Horny?”

She smacks my shoulder.
“Happy.”
Then she pauses. “Wait … horny?”

“Hell yes.”

“Hmm … interesting.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and it damn near kills me not to ask. Her eyes close and she settles onto her back again. She’s not asking, but I can tell she wants it. I want it. I’m shaking and having a hard time breathing, and I can’t get it together to make the first move. I rarely make the first move. But I think I’m going to this time.