Ugly Love Part 14

You fell in love with me, Rachel.

Her kiss removes a weight from my chest that is so heavy I feel like I'm floating. I feel like she's floating with me.

I turn her until her back is against the wall.

I bring her arms above her head and link my fingers through hers, pressing her hands into the tile wall behind her.

We look into each other's eyes . . . and we completely shatter rule number two.

chapter thirteen.

TATE.

"Thanks for making me go," Miles says to Corbin. "Aside from another hand injury and finding out you thought I was gay, I had a good time."

Corbin laughs and turns to unlock our door. "It's not exactly my fault I a.s.sumed you were gay. You never talk about girls, and you've apparently left s.e.x off your schedule for six years straight."

Corbin gets the door open and walks inside, toward his bedroom. I stand in the doorway, facing Miles.

He's looking straight at me. Invading me. "It's on the agenda now," he says with a smile.

I'm an agenda now. I don't want to be an agenda. I want to be a plan. A map. I want to be on a map to his future.

But that breaks rule number two.

Miles backs into his apartment after opening his door, and he nods his head in the direction of his bedroom.

"After he goes to sleep?" he whispers.

Fine, Miles. You can stop begging. I'll be your agenda.

I nod before closing the door.

I shower and shave and brush my teeth and sing and put on just enough makeup to make it look like I didn't put on any makeup at all. And fix my hair to make it look like I didn't fix my hair at all. And put back on the same clothes I had on earlier so it doesn't look like I changed clothes at all. But really, I changed my bra and my underwear, because they didn't match before but now they do. And then I freak the h.e.l.l out because Miles will see my bra and underwear tonight.

And possibly touch them.

If it's part of his agenda, he might even be the one to remove them.

My phone receives a text, and the sound startles me, because a text isn't on the agenda at eleven o'clock at night. The text is from an unrecognized number. All it says is: Is he in his room yet?

Me: How do you have my number?

Miles: I stole it from Corbin's phone while we were driving.

There's a weird voice in my head, singing, "Na-na-na-na boo-boo. He stole my number."

I'm such a child.

Me: No, he's watching TV.

Miles: Good. I have to run an errand. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Leaving the apartment unlocked in case he goes to bed before then.

Who runs errands at eleven o'clock at night?

Me: See ya.

I stare at my last text to him and cringe. It sounds way too casual. I'm giving him the impression that I do this all the time. He probably thinks all my days go something like this: Random guy: Tate, you want to have s.e.x?

Me: Sure. Let me finish up with these two guys, and I'll be right over. By the way, I don't have any rules, so anything goes.

Random guy: Awesome.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.s, and the television finally switches off. As soon as the door to Corbin's bedroom closes, mine opens. I'm across the living room and slipping out the front door and then b.u.mping into Miles, who is standing in the hallway.

"Good timing," he says.

He's holding a bag. He moves it to his other hand so it's not as visible to me.

"After you, Tate," he says, pus.h.i.+ng open his door.

No, Miles. I follow. That's how it is with us. You're solid, I'm liquid. You part the waters, I'm your wake.

"You thirsty?" He walks toward his kitchen, but I'm not sure if I can follow him this time. I don't know how to do this, and I'm scared he'll notice that I've never had a rule number one or two before. If the past and the future are off limits, that only leaves the present, and I have no idea what to do in the present.

I walk to the kitchen in the present. "What do you have?" I ask him.

The bag is on the counter now, and he sees me eyeing it, so he pushes it aside, out of my view.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll see if I have it," he says.

"Orange juice."

He grins, then reaches toward the bag. He pulls out a container of orange juice, and the simple fact that he even thought about it is testament to his generosity. It's also testament that it doesn't take much to make me melt. I should tell him my one rule has just become Stop doing things that make me want to break your rules.

I take the orange juice from him with a smile. "What else is in the bag?"

He shrugs. "Stuff."

He watches me open the juice. He watches me take a drink of the juice. He watches me put the lid back on the juice. He watches me set the juice on his kitchen counter, but he doesn't watch me closely enough to notice how fast I can lunge for the bag.

I grab it right before his arms wrap around my waist.

He's laughing. "Put it back, Tate."

I open it and look inside.

Condoms.

I laugh and toss it back onto the counter. When I turn around, his arms don't leave me. "I really want to say something inappropriate or embarra.s.sing, but I can't think of anything. Just pretend I did and laugh anyway."

He doesn't laugh, but his arms are still around me. "You're so weird," he says.

"I don't care."

He smiles. "This whole thing is weird."

He's telling me how weird this is, but it feels pretty d.a.m.n good to me. I'm not sure if weird feels good or bad to him. "Is weird good or bad?"

"Both," he says. "Neither."

"You're weird," I tell him.

He grins. "I don't care."

He moves his hands up my back, to my shoulders, and slowly down my arms until his hands are touching mine.

That reminds me.

I pull his hand between us. "How's your hand?"

"Fine," he says.

"I should probably check it out tomorrow," I say.

"I won't be here tomorrow. I leave in a few hours."

Two thoughts cross my mind. One, I'm very disappointed he's leaving tonight. Two, Why am I here if he's leaving tonight?

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

He shakes his head. "I can't sleep now."

"You didn't even try," I say. "You can't fly a plane on no sleep, Miles."

"The first flight is short. Besides, I'm copilot. I'll sleep on the plane."

Sleep isn't on his agenda. Tate is.

Tate overrules sleep on his agenda.

I wonder what else Tate overrules?

"So," I whisper as I drop his hand. I pause, because I don't have anything to follow the So. Nothing. Not even a la-ti-do.

It's quiet.

It's getting awkward.

"So," he says. His fingers move through mine and spread them apart. My fingers like his fingers.

"Do you want to know how long it's been for me, since I know such an intimate detail about you?" I ask him.

It's only fair, considering my entire family knows how long it's been for him.

"No," he says simply. "But I do want to kiss you."

Hmm. Not sure how to take that, but I'm not about to a.n.a.lyze his no when it's followed up with a statement like that.

"Then kiss me," I say.

His fingers leave mine and move to the sides of my head, and he holds me still. "I hope you taste like orange juice again."

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

I count the words in that last sentence, then search around in my head for a place to store those eight words forever. I want to hide them in a mind drawer and label it Things to pull out and read when his stupid rule number two becomes a sad and lonely present.

Miles is in my mouth. He's invading me again. I shut the mind drawer and get out of my head and come back to him.

Invade me, invade me, invade me.

I must taste like orange juice, because he's certainly acting as though he's enjoying the taste. I must enjoy tasting him, too, because I'm pulling him to me, kissing him, doing my best to infiltrate him with nothing but Tate.

He pulls away to catch his breath and speak. "I forgot how good this feels."

He's comparing me. I don't like that he's comparing me to whoever else once made him feel this good.

"Want to know something?" he says.

I do. I want to know everything, but for some reason, I pick this moment to get revenge on that one word he spoke to me.

"No." I pull him back to my mouth. He doesn't kiss me back right away, because he doesn't know what to think about what just happened. His mouth catches up pretty quickly, though. I think he hated my clipped response as much as I hated his, and now he's using his hands to get his own revenge. I can't tell where he's touching me, because as soon as he touches me in one spot, his hands move to another. He's touching me everywhere, nowhere, not at all, all at once.

My favorite part about kissing Miles is the sound. The sound of his lips when they close over mine. The sound of our breaths being swallowed by each other. I love the way he groans when our bodies join together. Guys usually tend to hold back their sounds more than girls do.

Not Miles. Miles wants me, and he wants me to know it, and I love that.

G.o.d, I love that.

"Tate," he mutters against my mouth. "Let's go to my bedroom."

I nod, so he pulls away from my mouth. He reaches across the bar to get the box of condoms. He begins walking with me to his bedroom, but he quickly walks back into the kitchen and grabs the orange juice. When he shoulders past me to lead the way to his bedroom, he winks.