Free The Real Thing by Cassie Mae Page A

would leave me alone for two seconds I’ll get out there. I just need my best friend first.
    Turning from Ben, Vic, and Traci with a final “I’ll see you there,” my gaze lands back on Eric … and he’s not alone.
    I give myself props for getting along with so many people in the short time I’ve been here. But I stare at this girl’s bikini bod, belly-button ring, and red hair in a short, pixie cut as she places a hand on Eric’s arm, and I instantly hate her.
    It’s like it’s happening all over again, even though I have no idea what they’re talking about, or what the hell is going on. All I see is that party back in high school. There was even a bonfire blocking my way to Eric then, too.
    I was going to tell him how much I liked him. I don’t know exactly
when
I was going to do that, but it was coming whenever I got the guts. That night I saw him walking along the beach with Ali—cheerleader, beautiful, seriously perfect. And the second her lips pressed against his I felt like someone was stomping on my chest in high heels.
    I
almost
ran over and started a catfight. But Eric’s face when she pulled back stopped me. That face was as painful as the kiss itself. He looked like he was in awe or something. Happy. So I ran in the other direction.
    He looks happy now, too, and I don’t
want
to run again, but when Miss Perfect Body hands him another beer from the bartender, that’s exactly what I do. Guess I’m not as tough in real life as I am in my head.
    Even though I swore I wouldn’t take it out, my phone is back in my hands to send Eric a text he probably won’t even see for hours, when he finally notices I’m not around.
    Hey, saw you at Jack’s, but didn’t want to ruin your potential score. I’ll meet you at the beach if you end up out that way. *party hard!*
    I feel like crap sending it, but I’ve had a lot of practice with the fake enthusiastic messages. A best friend should be stoked for their buddy about to get some—if that’s the way it’s going.
    Oh, shitty shit … I didn’t even think about the fact that I’m his
roommate
now. What if he brings her back to the condo? What the hell do I do with that? Stay in my room with headphones on? Make them breakfast in the morning? Cry into my pillow?
    “Ugh!” I growl as I step onto the cooling sand, which is still about eighty-something degrees. Instead of heading to the party crowd on the edge of the beach, I plop my pathetic ass in the sand
way
too close to the ocean for comfort. But I’d rather be here than risk running into Eric and his potential Ali Version 2.0.
    A text vibrates my butt, and I shift to grab my cell again. I should just glue it to my palm.
    Where are you? My lap is getting cold. You should come warm it up.
    Josh is the
worst
at pickup lines. I’ve regretted it every day since he asked me to write my number on the side of his snow cone. I did it because I like to talk with everyone. Rachel told me afterward what a mistake that was, and I shrugged her off. Now I want to give her a medal for being so smart.
    Sit on a log from the fire. I’m sure it’ll warm ya right up.
    I’d mention Heidi, but I don’t want it to sound like I’m jealous, because I’m not. Now, if
Eric
had texted me …
    Seriously, beautiful. Where are you? If you’re not up for partying, we can go to my place. I can show you my bed sheets. ;)
    Instead of answering, I open my Kindle app to boys who are much less disappointing. I get lost before I’m done reading the first page, letting the scary ocean in front of me disappear, the vision of Pixie Redhead vanish, and the wrong guy hitting on me fade away.
    The sun sets, and the temperature drops a bit, but I can still hear the party. I rub my arms before swiping to the next page. The light dims because my battery is almost dead—which means the real world will start reappearing. My Facebook alerts went off a few times while I was reading, and I know it’ll bug the crap out of me if I don’t