Ugly Love(14)
Author: Colleen Hoover

Just thinking about how much I enjoyed tonight is enough to make me accept and even embrace his casualness afterward. Maybe with a little more practice, I can even learn how to enforce it myself.

I walk to my apartment door but pause when I hear someone speaking. I press my ear to the door and listen. Corbin is having a one-sided conversation in the living room, presumably with someone on the other end of his cell phone.

I can’t walk in now. He thinks I’m in bed.

I look back at Miles’s apartment door, but I’m not about to knock on it. Not only would that be awkward, but it would also mean he’d get even less sleep than he’s already about to get.

I walk to the elevator and decide to sit out the next half hour in the lobby, hoping Corbin will go back to his bedroom soon.

It’s ridiculous that I even feel I have to hide this from Corbin, but the last thing I want is for him to be upset with Miles. And that’s exactly what would happen.

I make it to the lobby and step off the elevator, not quite sure what I’m even doing. I guess I could go wait it out in my car.

“You lost?”

I glance over to Cap, and he’s seated in his usual spot, despite the fact that it’s almost midnight. He pats the empty chair next to him. “Have a seat.”

I walk past him to the empty chair. “I didn’t bring any food this time,” I say. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t like you for your food, Tate. You’re not that good of a cook.”

I laugh, and it feels good to laugh. Things have just felt so intense for the past two days.

“How was Thanksgiving?” he asks. “Did the boy have a good time?”

I look at him and tilt my head in confusion. “The boy?”

He nods. “Mr. Archer. Didn’t he spend the holiday with you and your brother?”

I nod, understanding his question now. “Yes,” I say. I want to add that I’m pretty sure Mr. Archer just had the best Thanksgiving he’s had in more than six years, but I don’t. “Mr. Archer had a great time, I think.”

“And what’s the smile for?”

I immediately wipe away the grin I didn’t realize was plastered on my face. I scrunch up my nose. “What smile?”

Cap laughs. “Oh, hell,” he says. “You and the boy? Are you fallin’ in love, Tate?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say immediately. “It’s not like that.”

“How so, then?”

I quickly look away as soon as I feel the blush creep up my neck. Cap laughs when he sees my cheeks turn as red as the chairs we’re seated on.

“I may be old, but that don’t mean I can’t read body language,” he says. “Does this mean you and the boy are … what’s the term they use now? Hookin’ up? Bumpin’ uglies?”

I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with an eighty-year-old man.

I quickly shake my head. “I’m not answering that.”

“I see,” Cap says with a nod. We’re both quiet for a moment while we process what I more or less just told him. “Well, good,” he says. “Maybe that boy will actually smile every now and then.”

I nod in complete agreement. I could definitely use more of his smile. “Can we change the subject now?”

Cap slowly turns his head toward me and arches his bushy gray eyebrow. “I ever tell you about the time I found a dead body on the third floor?”

I shake my head, relieved that he changed the subject but confused that the subject of a dead body has somehow helped me find relief.

I’m just as morbid as Cap.

Chapter fourteen

MILES

Six years earlier

“Do you think the fact that we shouldn’t be doing this is why

we like doing it so much?” Rachel asks.

She’s referring to kissing me.

We kiss a lot.

Every chance we get and even chances we don’t get.

“When you say shouldn’t, do you mean because our parents are

together?”

She says yes. Her voice is breathless, because I’m currently

kissing my way up her neck.

I like that I take her breath away.

“Remember the first time I saw you, Rachel?”

She moans a sound that means yes.

“And do you remember me walking you to Mr. Clayton’s

class?”

She gives me another wordless yes.

“I wanted to kiss you that day.” I work my way back up

to her mouth and look her in the eyes. “Did you want to

kiss me?”

She says yes, and I can see in her eyes that she’s thinking

back to that day.

To the day she

Became

My

Everything.

“We didn’t know about our parents that day,” I explain. “Yet we

still wanted to be doing this. So no, I don’t think that’s why we

like it now.”

She smiles.

“See?” I whisper, brushing my lips softly across hers to show

her how good it feels.

She lifts off her pillow and holds herself up on her elbow.

“What if we just like kissing in general?” she asks. “What if it

has nothing to do with me or you in particular?”

She always does this. I tell her she should be a lawyer, because

she likes playing devil’s advocate so much. But I love it when

she does it, so I always go along with it.

“Good point,” I tell her. “I do like kissing. I don’t know of

anyone who doesn’t like it. But there’s a difference between this

and simply liking to kiss.”

She looks at me curiously. “What’s the difference?”

I lower my mouth to hers once more. “You,” I whisper. “I like

kissing you.”

That answers her question, because she shuts up and brings

her mouth back to mine.

I like that Rachel questions everything.

It makes me look at things in a different way.

I have always enjoyed kissing the girls I’ve kissed in the past

but only because I was attracted to them. It didn’t really have

anything to do with them in particular.

When I kissed all the other girls, I felt pleasure. That’s why

people enjoy kissing, because it feels good.

But when you like to kiss someone because of who she is, the

difference isn’t found in the pleasure.

The difference is found in the pain you feel when you’re not

kissing her.

It doesn’t hurt when I’m not kissing any of the other girls I’ve

kissed.

It only hurts when I’m not kissing Rachel.

Maybe this explains why falling in love is so damn painful.

I like kissing you, Rachel.

Chapter fifteen

TATE

Miles: Are you busy?

Me: Always busy. What’s up?

Miles: I need your help. Won’t take long.

Me: Be there in five.

I should have given myself ten minutes rather than five, because I haven’t had a shower today. After a ten-hour shift last night, I’m sure I need one. If I knew he was home, a shower would have been my top priority, but I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow.

I pull my hair up into a loose bun and change from my pajama bottoms into a pair of jeans. It’s not quite noon yet, but I’m embarrassed to admit I was still in bed.

He yells for me to come in after I knock on his door, so I push it open. He’s standing on a chair next to one of the living-room windows. He glances down at me, then nods his head toward a chair.

“Grab that chair and push it right there,” he says, pointing to a spot a few feet away from him. “I’m trying to measure these, but I’ve never bought curtains before. I don’t know if I’m supposed to measure the outside frame or the actual window itself.”

Well, I’ll be damned. He’s buying curtains.

I scoot the chair to the other side of the window and climb up onto it. He hands me one end of the measuring tape and begins to pull.

“It all depends on what kind of curtains you want, so I’d get measurements for both,” I suggest.

He’s dressed casually again in a pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Somehow the dark blue in his shirt make his eyes look less blue. It makes them look clear. See-through, almost, but I know that’s impossible. His eyes are anything but see-through with that wall he keeps up behind them.

He enters the measurement into his phone, and then we take a second measurement. Once he’s got both entered into his phone, we step down and push the chairs back under the table.

“What about a rug?” he asks, staring at the floor beneath the table. “You think I should get a rug?”

I shrug. “Depends on what you like.”

He nods his head slowly, still staring down at the bare floor.

“I don’t know what I like anymore,” he says quietly. He tosses the tape measure onto the couch and looks at me. “You want to come?”

I refrain from immediately nodding. “Where to?”

He brushes his hair off his forehead and reaches for his jacket tossed over the back of his couch. “Wherever people buy curtains.”

I should say no. Picking out curtains is something couples do. Picking out curtains is something friends do. Picking out curtains is not something Miles and Tate should do if they want to stick to their rules, but I absolutely, positively, most definitely don’t want to do anything else.

I shrug to make my answer appear much more casual than it is. “Sure. Let me lock my door.”

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask him once we’re on the elevator. I’m trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but I can’t deny the desire I have for him to reach out and touch me. A kiss, a hug … anything. We’re standing on opposite sides of the elevator, though. We haven’t touched since the night we first had sex. We haven’t even spoken or texted since then, either.

“Black?” he says, unsure of his own answer. “I like black.”

I shake my head. “You can’t decorate with black curtains. You need color. Maybe something close to black but not black.”

“Navy?” he asks. I notice his eyes aren’t focused on mine anymore. His eyes are scrolling slowly from my neck all the way down to my feet. Everywhere his eyes focus, I can feel it.

“Navy might work,” I say quietly. I’m pretty sure this conversation is only taking place for the sake of having conversation. I can see by the way he’s looking at me that neither of us is thinking about colors or curtains or rugs right now.

“Do you have to work tonight, Tate?”

I nod. I like that he’s thinking about tonight, and I love how he ends most of his questions with my name. I love how he says my name. I should require him to say my name every time he speaks to me. “I don’t have to be in until ten.”

The elevator reaches the bottom floor, and we both move to the doors at the same time. His hand connects with the small of my back, and the current that moves through me is undeniable. I’ve had crushes on guys before, hell, I’ve even been in love with guys before, but none of their touches have ever been able to make me respond the way his do.

As soon as I step off the elevator, his hand leaves my back. I’m more aware of the absence of his touch now than before he even touched me. Each little bit I get, I crave it that much more.

Cap isn’t in his usual spot. That’s not surprising, though, considering it’s only noon. He’s not much of a morning person. Maybe that’s why we get along so well.

“You feel like walking?” Miles asks.

I tell him yes, despite the fact that it’s cold out. I prefer walking, and we’re near several stores that would work for what he’s looking for. I suggest a store I passed a couple of weeks ago that’s only two blocks from where we are.

“After you,” he says, holding the door open for me. I step outside and pull my coat a little tighter around me. I highly doubt Miles is the type of guy who holds hands in public, so I don’t even worry about making my hands available to him. I hug myself to keep warm, and we begin walking side-by-side.

We’re quiet most of the way, but I’m fine with it. I’m not someone who feels the need for constant conversation, and I’m learning that he might be the same way.

“It’s right up here,” I say, pointing to the right when we reach a crosswalk. I glance down at an elderly man seated on the sidewalk, bundled up in a tattered, thin coat. His eyes are closed, and the gloves on his shivering hands are rifled with holes.

I’ve always been sympathetic to people who have nothing and nowhere to go. Corbin hates that I can never pass homeless people without giving them money or food. He says the majority of them are homeless because they have addictions and that when I give them money, it only feeds those addictions.

Honestly, I don’t care if that’s the case. If someone is homeless because he has a need for something that is stronger than his need for a home, it doesn’t deter me in the least. Maybe it’s because I’m a nurse, but I don’t believe addiction is a choice. Addiction is an illness, and it pains me to see people forced to live this way because they’re unable to help themselves.

I would give him money if I had brought my purse.

I realize I’m no longer walking when I feel Miles steal a glance back in my direction. He’s watching me watch the old man, so I pick up my pace and catch back up with him. I don’t say anything to defend the troubled expression on my face. It’s pointless. I’ve been through it enough with Corbin to know that I don’t have the desire to try to change all the opinions I disagree with.

“This is it,” I say, coming to a pause in front of the store.

Miles stops walking and inspects the display inside the store window. “Do you like that?” he asks, pointing at the window. I take a step closer and look at it with him. It’s a bedroom display, but there are elements in it that he’s looking for. The rug on the floor is gray with several geometric shapes in various shades of blue and black. It actually looks like something that would fit his taste.