Ugly Love Part 19

The appreciative look Miles shoots in Ian's direction doesn't go unnoticed by me, although Corbin seems to be clueless. Now I'm even more curious about Miles. And equally concerned that I'm getting in over my head, because the more time I spend with him, the more I want to know everything there is to know about him.

"We should celebrate," Corbin says.

Miles moves his menu down. "I thought that's what we were doing."

"I mean after this. We're going out tonight. We need to find a girl to put an end to your dry spell," Corbin says.

I almost spit my drink out, but luckily, I'm able to contain my laugh. Miles notices my reaction and taps my ankle under the table with his foot. But he leaves his foot right next to mine.

"I'll be fine," Miles says. "Besides, the captain needs his rest."

All the letters on the menu begin to blur as my mind replaces them with words like ending and dry spell and rest.

Ian looks at Corbin and nods. "I'll go. Let the captain go back to his apartment and sleep off the effects of his cola."

Miles pegs me with his eyes and adjusts slightly in his seat so that our knees touch. He wraps his foot around the back of my ankle. "Sleep actually sounds really good," he says. He trades my stare for the menu in front of him. "Let's hurry up and order so I can go back to my apartment and sleep. It feels like I haven't slept in more than nine days, and it's all I've been able to think about."

My cheeks are on fire, along with several other areas of my body.

"In fact, I kind of have the urge to fall asleep right now," Miles says. He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Right here at the table."

Now the temperature in the rest of my body matches the heat in my cheeks.

"G.o.d, you're lame," Corbin says, laughing. "We should have brought Dillon instead."

"No, we should not have," Ian immediately says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"What's the deal with Dillon?" I ask. "Why do you all hate him so much?"

Corbin shrugs. "It's not that we hate him. We just can't stand him, and none of us realized it until after we had already invited him to our game nights. He's a p.r.i.c.k." Corbin shoots me that all-too-familiar glare. "And I don't ever want you alone with him. Being married doesn't stop him from being an a.s.shole."

And there's that possessive, brotherly love I've been missing all these years.

"Is he dangerous?"

"No," Corbin says. "I just know how he treats his marriage, and I don't want you getting involved with that. But I've already made it clear to him that you're off limits."

I laugh at his absurdity. "I'm twenty-three, Corbin. You can stop acting like Dad now."

His face pinches together, and for a second, he even starts resembling our dad. "The h.e.l.l I will," Corbin growls. "You're my little sister. I have standards for you, and Dillon doesn't come close to meeting even one of them."

He hasn't changed a bit. As annoying as it was in high school, and still kind of is, I do love that he wants the best for me. I'm just afraid his version of what's best for me doesn't exist.

"Corbin, no guy will ever come close to the standards you've set for me."

He nods, getting all righteous. "d.a.m.n right."

If he warned Dillon to stay away from me, it makes me wonder if he warned Miles and Ian, too. Then again, he did think Miles was gay, so he probably didn't see a possibility there.

I wonder if Miles would meet Corbin's standards.

My eyes want to look at Miles so incredibly much right now, but I'm afraid I'd be too obvious. Instead, I force a smile and shake my head. "Why couldn't I have been born first?"

"Wouldn't have made a difference," Corbin replies.

Ian smiles at the waitress and motions for the check. "It's on me tonight." He lays down enough cash to cover the bill and tip, and we all stand and stretch.

"So who's going where?" Miles asks.

"Bar," Corbin replies immediately, blurting it out like he's calling dibs.

"I just got off a twelve-hour s.h.i.+ft," I say. "I'm beat."

"Mind if I catch a ride with you?" Miles asks as we all make our way outside. "I don't feel like going out tonight. I just want sleep."

I like how he doesn't disguise the emphasis in front of Corbin when he says sleep. It's like he wants to ensure that I'm aware he has no intentions of actually sleeping.

"Yeah, my car is back at the hospital," I say, pointing in that general direction.

"All right, then," Corbin says, clasping his hands together. "You lame a.s.ses go sleep. Ian and I are going out." Corbin turns, and he and Ian waste no time heading in the other direction. Corbin spins around, walking backward in pace with Ian. "We'll drink a shot in your honor, El Capitan!"

Miles and I remain motionless, boxed into a circle of light cascading down from a streetlamp as we watch them walk away. I look down at the sidewalk below us and scoot one of my shoes to the edge of the circle of light, watching as it disappears into the darkness. I look up at the streetlamp, wondering why it's s.h.i.+ning down on us with the intensity of a spotlight.

"Feels like we're on a stage," I say, still looking up at the light.

He tilts his head back and joins my inspection of the odd lighting. "The English Patient," he says. I look at him questioningly. He gestures to the streetlamp above our heads. "If we were on a stage, it would probably be a production of The English Patient." He flicks his hand back and forth between us. "We're already dressed the part. A nurse and a pilot."

I mull over what he says, probably a little too much. I know he says he's the pilot, but if this really were a stage production of The English Patient, I think he would be the soldier rather than the pilot. The soldier is the character who is s.e.xually involved with the nurse. Not the pilot.

But the pilot is the one with the secretive past . . .

"That movie is the reason I became a nurse," I say, looking at him with a straight face.

He returns his hands to his pockets, s.h.i.+fting his gaze from the light overhead back to me. "For real?"

My laugh escapes. "No."

Miles smiles.

That rhymes.

We both turn at the same time to head back toward the hospital. I find myself using the lull in our conversation to construct a really bad poem in my head.

Miles smiles For no one else Miles only smiles For me.

"Why are you grinning?" he asks.

Because I'm reciting embarra.s.sing third-grade-level rhymes about you.

I pin my lips together, forcing my smile away. When I know it's gone for good, I answer him. "Just thinking about how tired I am. Looking forward to a really good"-I cut my eyes to his-"sleep tonight."

He's the one smiling now. "I know what you mean. I don't think I've ever been this tired. I might even sleep as soon as we're inside your car."

That would be nice.

I smile but bow out of the metaphor-laden conversation. It's been a long day, and I actually really am tired. We walk in silence, and I can't help but notice that his hands are shoved firmly into his jacket pockets, as if he's protecting me from them. Or maybe he's protecting them from me.

We're only a block away from the parking lot when his footsteps slow, then stop completely. Naturally, I stop walking and turn around to see what caught his attention. He's looking up at the sky, and my eyes focus on the scar that runs the length of his jaw. I want to ask him about it. I want to ask him about everything. I want to ask him a million questions, starting with when his birthday is and then what his first kiss was like. After that, I want to ask him about his parents and his entire childhood and his first love.

I want to ask him about Rachel. I want to know what happened with them and why whatever happened caused him to want to avoid any form of intimacy for more than six years.

Most of all, I want to know what it was about me that finally put an end to it.

"Miles," I say, each question wanting to dive off the tip of my tongue.

"I felt a raindrop," he says.

Before the sentence leaves his mouth, I feel one, too. We're both looking up at the sky now, and I'm swallowing all the questions along with the lump in my throat. The drops begin to fall faster, but we continue to stand there with our faces tilted up toward the sky. The sporadic drops turn into sprinkles, which then turn into full-on rain, but neither of us has moved. Neither of us is making a mad dash for the car. The rain is sliding down my skin, down my neck, into my hair, and soaking my s.h.i.+rt. My face is still tilted toward the sky, but my eyes are closed now.

There's nothing in the world that compares to the feel and smell of brand-new rain.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, warm hands meet my cheeks and slide to the nape of my neck, stealing the strength from my knees and the air from my lungs. His height is s.h.i.+elding me from most of the rain now, but I keep my eyes closed and tilted toward the sky. His lips come down gently over mine, and I find myself comparing the feel and smell of brand-new rain to his kiss.

His kiss is much, much better.

His lips are wet from the rain, and they're a little bit cold, but he counterbalances that with the warm caress of his tongue against mine. The falling rain, the darkness surrounding us, and being kissed like this make it feel like we really are on a stage and our story has just reached its climax. It feels as if my heart and my stomach and my soul are all scrambling to get out of me and into him. If all my twenty-three years were laid on a graph, this moment would be the crest in my bell curve.

I should probably be a little bit sad and disappointed about this realization. I've had a few serious relations.h.i.+ps in my past, but I can't recall a single kiss with any of those guys where I felt this much. The fact that I'm not even in a relations.h.i.+p with Miles and I feel this affected by him should tell me something, but I'm too invested in his mouth to scrutinize that thought.

The rain has turned into a downpour, but neither of us seems to be affected by it. His hands drop to my lower back, and I fist his s.h.i.+rt in my hands, pulling him closer. His mouth fits mine as if we're two pieces from the same puzzle.

The only thing that could possibly separate me from him right now would be a bolt of lightning.

Or the fact that it's raining so hard I can't breathe. My clothes are stuck to parts of me I didn't even know clothes could stick to. My hair is so saturated it can't absorb another drop of water.

I push against him until he releases my mouth from his, and then I bury my head under his chin and look down so I can take a breath without drowning. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and ushers me toward the parking lot, lifting his jacket over my head. He picks up his pace, and I match him step for step until we're both running.

We finally reach my car, and he approaches the driver's-side door with me, still s.h.i.+elding me from the rain. Once I'm inside the car, he rushes around to the pa.s.senger side. When both of our doors are shut, the silence inside the car magnifies the intensity of our heavy breathing. I reach my hands behind my head and gather my hair, then squeeze the excess water from it. It runs down my neck, my back, and my seat. It's the first time I'm relieved to have leather seats in California.

I drop my head back and sigh heavily, then steal a glance in his direction. "I don't think I've ever been this wet in my life."

I watch as a slow grin spreads across his face. His thoughts obviously plummet into the gutter with that statement.

"Pervert," I whisper playfully.

He c.o.c.ks his eyebrow and smirks. "Your fault." He reaches across the seat and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me toward him. "Come here."

I make a quick inventory of our surroundings, but the rain is falling so hard I can't even see outside. Which means no one can see in.

I adjust myself on top of him and straddle his lap as he scoots the seat as far back as it goes. He doesn't kiss me, though. His hands slide down my arms and come to rest on my hips.

"I've never had s.e.x in a car before," he says with a little bit of hope in his confession.

"I've never had s.e.x with a captain before," I offer.

He runs his hands under my scrub top, sliding them up my stomach until they meet my bra. He cups both b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then leans forward and kisses me. His kiss doesn't last long, because he breaks it to speak again. "I've never had s.e.x as a captain before."

I smile. "I've never had s.e.x in scrubs before."

His hands slide around to my back, and he dips them inside my waistband. He pulls my hips toward him at the same time as he lifts himself ever so slightly, immediately causing my grip to tighten around his shoulders and a gasp to pa.s.s my lips. His mouth moves to my ear as his hands re-create the sensual rhythm between us by pulling my hips forward again. "As hot as you look in uniform, I'd much rather have s.e.x with you in nothing at all."

I'm embarra.s.sed at how easily his words alone can make me moan. I'm also embarra.s.sed at how quickly his voice can undo me, to the point where I probably want my clothes to come off more than he does. "Please tell me you came prepared," I say, my voice already heavy with want.

He shakes his head. "Just because I knew I would see you tonight doesn't mean I came with expectations." I'm immediately filled with disappointment. He lifts himself off the seat and slides his hand into his back pocket. "I did, however, come with a h.e.l.l of a lot of hope." He pulls the condom out of his wallet with a grin, and we both immediately begin to take action. My hands connect with the b.u.t.ton on his jeans faster than our mouths connect. He slides his hands up the back of my top and begins to unclasp my bra, but I shake my head.

"Just leave it on," I say breathlessly. The less clothes we take off, the faster we'll be able to get dressed if we get caught.

He continues to unfasten it, despite my protest. "I don't want to be inside you unless I can feel you against me."

Wow. Okay, then.

When my bra is undone, he lifts my s.h.i.+rt over my head, and his fingers slide under the straps of my bra. He pulls them down my arms until the bra falls away. He tosses it into the backseat and then pulls his own s.h.i.+rt over his head. After his s.h.i.+rt joins my bra in the backseat, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him until our bare chests meet.

We both immediately inhale sharp breaths. The warmth of his body creates a sensation that I don't want to pull away from. He begins kissing his way down my neck, his breath coming in rough waves against my skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers against my throat.

I smile, because that same exact thought just went through my own head. "Oh, I think I have an idea," I reply.

His left hand palms one of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and he groans as his right hand dips into my pants.

"Off," he says simply, tugging at the elastic band.

He doesn't have to ask twice. I scoot back to my empty seat and begin removing the rest of my clothes while I watch him unzip his jeans.

His eyes are all over me as he rips open the condom wrapper with his teeth. When the only article of clothing remaining between us is his unb.u.t.toned pair of jeans, I scoot toward him.

I feel ridiculously self-conscious that I'm in my car in the parking lot of my workplace and I'm completely naked. I've never done anything like this before. I've never really wanted to do anything like this before. I love how desperate we are for each other right now, but I also know I've never felt this kind of chemistry with anyone before.

I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to straddle him while he slides on the condom.

"Keep it quiet," he says teasingly. "I'd hate to be the reason you get fired."

I glance at the window, still unable to see outside. "It's raining too hard for anyone to hear us," I say. "Besides, you were the louder one last time."

He dismisses that with a quick laugh and begins kissing me again. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me to him, readying himself against me. This position would normally cause me to moan, but I'm suddenly feeling stubborn with my noises now that he's mentioned it.