More Than Water

by Renee Ericson

  “Sounds like a lot of people. Are you guys a clan or something? Do you have Team Blake T-shirts, too?”

  “Yes. We wear them whenever we get together and go out to dinner. That way, the whole world knows we’re coming.”

  I peek over my shoulder, smiling at him. It’s good to see Foster again. While away with my family, my entire life was all about the show and the facade. This, our friendship, is easy—low maintenance and without any expectations, comfortable and free.

  “So, what do you think?” I ask, holding up three movies. “Twilight, The Hunger Games, or Star Wars marathon? The originals, of course.”

  His fingertips touch his brow. “The Force is leaning me toward the dark side.”

  “I knew you would pick Star Wars. All guys have a thing for watching Princess Leia run with no bra.”

  “One can’t deny the beauty of breasts and gravity.”

  “I’m in it for the clothes and Hans Solo’s ass.”

  I pop the disc into the player and join Foster on the couch. Pressing play from the remote, the familiar intro music cues through the speakers, and the long prologue scrolls up the screen.

  Foster sits back, settling into the cushions. “I always thought this movie was some psychological experiment about the profound way all of the universe’s problems really just come down to daddy issues.”

  “What?” I guffaw. “How many times have you seen this?”

  “Likely too many.”

  “I would say so if you’re going all philosophical on Obi-Wan and the Rebel Alliance.”

  “How many times have you watched this?”

  “Enough.”

  The movie begins, and we’re both immediately engrossed in the opening scene.

  “I can’t believe you own Star Wars,” Foster comments. “You don’t really seem the type.”

  “Why? Because I don’t go around speaking Yoda all day?”

  “No.” He looks me up and down. “You just don’t strike me as a Jedi fan.”

  “Well, I’m not, truth be told. These actually belong to my roommate. She has a thing for costumes and bought the entire set for research. I’ve watched so many movies with her for just the clothes that it’s kind of ridiculous. I could probably tell you every outfit in every scene for this entire series. And that’s a lot.”

  “So, you really are in it for the clothes.”

  “I told you.”

  “What about the hairstyles? Do you know all of those, too?”

  “Yes, those are easy,” I state, mocking his simple question. “The men all have the same shag-o-rific hair, including Chewie, and all the girls look like some form of Kabuki. The end.”

  Foster smiles, takes another sip of his beer, and then edges a little closer to me. Getting comfy, I draw my feet onto the cushions, tucking them at my side. Our bodies aren’t touching, but the natural heat builds in the minute space between us. As the movie continues, I take in his unique and familiar scent. It’s pleasant, comforting…Foster. Sitting next to him right now is like crawling into bed and smelling the sheets after a long trip away. You know you’re home.

  “So, how was your Christmas?” Foster asks about thirty minutes into the movie.

  “Pretty much the same as every year. Lots of sun and water.”

  “Must have been nice to see your family though?”

  “Sort of.” I crinkle my nose. “It’s always good to see my dad. My mom is my mom, but she wasn’t that bad. My sister ditched us this year, spending the holiday with her new husband’s family in Vermont.”

  “What is it about your mom? I know you said you two have issues, but you never said what they were.”

  “Typical mother-daughter crap, I guess.” I bite my lip and focus on the television screen. “She just doesn’t know me.”

  “Have you tried talking to her?”

  I laugh at how absurdly simple his question is. “There’s no talking to that woman when it comes to certain things. And yes, I’ve tried talking to her on several occasions. She’s like the Hoover Dam when it comes to outside thought—somewhat impenetrable.” Then, without any thought or pause, I say, “And something tells me when she finds out about Gerard, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Gerard?”

  Realizing I’ve said too much, I reply, “Sorry. Never mind.”

  He tilts his head. “Who’s Gerard?”

  “A friend of the family.” I shrug. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

  “So, did something happen between you two?”

  I squirm, feeling like I’m being interrogated, but the softness of Foster’s face has me forging on.

  “Actually,” I say, leaning into the taupe cushion at my shoulder, “nothing happened between us, and that’s why she’ll be upset.”

  He squints. “Wait, so your mom would be mad because nothing happened? Now, I’m really confused.”

  “No.” I sit up. “She’s going to be upset because he’s getting married…and it’s not to me.”

  He furrows his brow. “Are you secret royalty or something? You weren’t betrothed to each other, were you?”

  I sputter a guffaw. “No, but my mother makes great efforts at ensuring that life turns out the way she’s planned. She’s a very adamant person.”

  Foster rests his elbows on his knees. “Plans are for fools who are naive and selfish. No one can predict anyone’s life, no matter how hard they might try. At the end of the day, everyone was gifted with something called free will. If she loves you, she’ll respect your choice.”

  “Then, I don’t know if she loves me that much.”

  “That’s really fucked up.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  A muffled sound vibrates across my eardrums as my body is swayed, nudged, and poked repeatedly. I swat at the annoyance, like a pesky fly at a picnic, hoping it will go away.

  “EJ,” a warm voice whispers in my ear. “EJ…”

  “What?” I lazily huff, shifting my shoulder toward the warmth at my side.

  “You fell asleep,” he says quietly, grasping me by the arm. “The movie’s over.”

  Inhaling deeply, I attempt to pull myself out of my slumber. It’s no use.

  “C’mon,” Foster’s voice says, soft and gentle. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  Before I’m aware of all that’s happening or can even object, I’m in Foster’s arms and being lifted from the sofa. Peeking through my lids, I focus on his jawline as he carries me down the short hallway toward my room.

  “My knight in shining armor,” I mumble, nuzzling closer into his chest, too sleepy to protest about being coddled in such a way.

  “Yes. I’m saving you from a dreaded sore neck in the morning by not letting you sleep on the couch.” He stops in the middle of the hall. “Which one is yours?”

  “The last door.”

  He continues down the hallway and enters my room with me in his arms. Setting me on the bed, Foster takes off my shoes and then reaches for the button on my pants.

  “Are you trying to take advantage of me in my state of delirium?” I ask, teasing him.

  “You would like that too much,” he replies, sliding my jeans down my thighs. Tossing them aside, he then pulls back the covers and guides my legs underneath. “I’ll let myself out. Get some sleep.”

  I’m not sure why, but I reach out and grab his forearm as he’s turning to leave.

  “Don’t go,” I say, a hint of desperation in my voice. “Stay.”

  His silhouette relaxes as he stares down at me in my half-awake and half-asleep state. The seconds of silence lurk and expand in the air as my request lingers into the hazily dim light of my room. Taking his non-reply as an answer or realizing that I might be so tired that I’m making up conversations in my head, I roll over, burrowing down into my pillow.

  I allow my mind to float to the subconscious, the impending deep slumber, when the bed sinks behind me. An arm slinks around my waist, a man’s heat warming my back, and I fall fast asle
ep, like it’s nothing more than a dream.

  ~~~~~~

  A soft wind blows along the treetops, rustling their newly green leaves into a harmonic opus. Glorious and beaming, the sun shines through the cottony clouds above, magnifying the bold-colored flowers lining the arbor ahead where a man with auburn hair waits next to an officiate on this momentous day. Classical music strums through the air, lulling the guests into a state of pristine joy.

  The tune shifts into processional music, inviting bridesmaids outfitted in fine luxury gowns down the aisle. Each one with perfect coifs, makeup, and stature walk like obediently trained specimens along the white runner and take their designated space near the arbor. When all six are aligned and smiling, like the props they are meant to be, the melody morphs into the “Wedding March.”

  On cue, the guests stand in honor of the bride.

  I rise with them, facing the aisle.

  A woman in soft white fabric, escorted by a gentleman with silver hair, makes her way toward the groom. She glows brightly under the veil of tulle and lace, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she ascends the steps to meet her soon-to-be husband. When she’s at his side, Gerard turns to face her, and his entire aura lights up so bright that the sun above is nothing in comparison.

  We all sit in awe of the splendor about to take place between these two people. A few words are said, the bride’s father gives her hand to Gerard, and the ceremony commences.

  As the father of the bride takes his seat, a blonde woman at my side exhales heavily.

  My mother.

  A chill runs up my spine, turning the cordiality of the moment into an iceberg of dread.

  A low growl rumbles from her chest, announcing her displeasure. She turns her steely cold eyes in my direction. With obvious disgust, her features become hard as she fidgets with the bag on her lap.

  She says nothing.

  Neither do I, avoiding her awful glare.

  Lifting her chin, my mother turns her attention back to the couple at the altar, relieving me of her focused anger.

  Listening to the sermon, I try to enjoy the momentous occasion centered on my childhood friend. He deserves happiness. Everyone does.

  A large palm covers my own, warming the cold feelings inflicted upon me. I peer at the person next to me, his face full of mischief and sarcasm—a dangerous combination for anyone.

  “Fancy wedding,” Foster states, low and mocking for only my ears. “Shitty crowd though. Who invited the evil witch?”

  “Better question is, who forgot to drop a house on her?”

  He squeezes my hand as we grin at one another, amused in our own world beyond the wedding.

  “Foster”—I lean into him—“thank you so much for coming with me.”

  “Of course. That’s what friends do for each other.”

  ~~~~~~

  Lazily, my heavy lids open to the early rising sun peeking through my bedroom windows. Stiff with sleep, I slowly adjust my head on the pillow toward my nightstand to check the hour.

  At my side, with his head resting on the pillow, Foster, still and awake, watches me with his deep sea-blue eyes as I come out of my slumber.

  I blink.

  My lips part.

  He edges himself closer, the warmth of his body engulfing me under the purple duvet. Grazing his lips with mine ever so lightly, like flirting butterfly wings, he softly breathes his heat into me. My fingers walk their way to his chin covered in stubble, dancing along the shape of his face, as my mind still rests somewhere between a dream state and reality.

  Teasing and tempting, our mouths dust over one another, never fully connecting. Foster’s hand hesitantly floats along the shape of my hip and underneath the thin cotton fabric of my shirt, caressing and memorizing the curves of my form. I thread my fingers through his warm caramel–colored hair as my mind and body become more alive. He proceeds to tempt me with his mouth as he draws his palm along my skin in an act of foreplay and questions.

  “Kiss me,” I beg, the desire building.

  Our mouths connect at my request, and a moan of relief rises from my chest. Grabbing me by the backside, he pulls me tight to his body and sucks on my tongue.

  With a firm arm wrapped around my hips, Foster rolls onto his back, taking me with him. I position my legs across his waist, grinding my exceedingly horny-as-hell pelvis against his equally aroused erection.

  “Good morning,” he says between sucking on my lower lip.

  “It certainly is.”

  Foster lifts the cotton top over my head, dropping it to the floor, and then he unsnaps my bra, freeing my breasts, and tosses it to the side. I help him out of his shirt and savor his inviting flesh under my palms. His mouth is instantly at my nipple, sucking and gently nibbling, sending erotic messages to the space between my legs in sudden need of stimulation. I release my head over my shoulder, giving him full rein to my chest, as I grind over his length.

  His hands slide down my bare back and underneath my panties, grabbing my ass, pulling me harder over him, while his mouth seductively slays my own. I raise my body to aid his wanting fingers in removing the rest of my clothes and then slip his boxers from his legs as well. Reaching over his naked form, I open the nightstand drawer, finding a condom.

  No words are said. No words are needed.

  He takes the contraceptive into his hand and prepares himself for an act that we have done several times before. When ready, I reposition myself over him with my hands propped on either side of his head, sliding his cock between my slick folds.

  “Sit up,” he requests.

  I smile, knowing. “You want to watch, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Licking my lower lip, I push myself upward and straddle him, my entrance teasingly kissing the tip of his length. With him focused on my sex, I sink myself over him. His breathing hitches as I inch my way further down, fully taking him inside me, and then I rise back up. I do this slowly, several times, taking gratification from his obvious enjoyment.

  He loves it.

  Foster lightly taps my ass cheek.

  Then, he does it again, causing me to ride him harder, searching for deeper penetration. He circles his thumb around my clit, and I arch my back, grasping his thighs for dear life, as a flame of heat sparks pleasurable vibrations through my fast-pumping blood.

  I whimper softly.

  “Evelyn,” he breathes.

  At the sound of my name, a blazing fire erupts under my skin, and I quiver uncontrollably for what feels like an eternity.

  When my breathing slows, I lean forward and kiss his lips in gratitude for the unbelievable orgasm. He kisses me twice, rolls us so that I’m on my back, and then positions his arms under my own, propping himself up on his elbows.

  Foster thrusts into me—hard, heavy, intentional, and with extreme ferocity. I grip his shoulders and dig my fingers into his skin, in the midst of our primal act. It doesn’t take too long before his body takes on a familiar pace. He pants in a distinguishable tempo, his muscles tense. Then, he enters me a final time with a guttural force, releasing a satisfactory long grunt.

  Relaxing my body while Foster rests in a satiated stupor, I savor the feel of his nakedness over my own, covered in perspiration and fulfillment. He lifts his head from the crook of my neck, and I place my hand in his line of sight for a high five, which has become somewhat customary after we finish our bang-o-thons.

  Between labored rasps, he presses his warm lips into my waiting palm and then collapses over me once again.

  I tentatively slide my hands around his back.

  He returns the gesture, narrowing his embrace, until the only sound remaining is our hearts beating in unison against each other’s chests.

  We remain still.

  We breathe.

  We hold each other.

  Then, the phone blares my mother’s ringtone into the comfortable moment.

  It’s early, too early for anyone to be calling, so it must be important.

  �
�I should get that,” I mutter, squirming underneath Foster’s weight.

  He releases me from his grasp, rolling over and off of me. Sitting up, I reach toward the bedside table and grab my cell.

  “Hello?” I say groggily, faking as if her call awoke me.

  “Evelyn,” she says firmly, “it’s your mother.”

  “Yes, I gathered that from the caller ID.”

  Foster rises from the mattress, points into the hall, and mouths, I’m going to use the bathroom.

  I nod my head and pull the sheet up over my breasts as he exits the room.

  “Evelyn…” my mother summons. “Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry.” I wipe my palm across my brow, trying to get into the character of a sleepy college student, not one that just had her brains fucked out for breakfast. “I’m not really awake.”

  “Typical. Well, I was calling because I heard some news this morning, and I thought you would like to know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sophia Beauchamp called, announcing that her son just got engaged. You could imagine my excitement when I heard this.”

  I clamp my lids tight, exhaling the building tension. “I know.”

  “You know what?”

  “About Gerard. At Christmas, he told me he was going to propose.”

  Foster reenters my room.

  “Evelyn,” she growls, “that should be you, not some…some attorney from Nebraska.”

  “She lives in New York.”

  “Whatever. She’s just a poser from the Midwest. He should be marrying you.”

  Foster slips into his boxers and then pulls his T-shirt over his head while my mother mumbles a slew of gibberish.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for this,” she says, finally finding comprehendible words.

  Foster takes a seat at my side, placing his glasses over his face.

  “He loves her,” I respond factually, “not me.”

  “And why not?” she asks, like she really has no clue whatsoever.