Ugly Love(23)

I have no idea what to say. We’ve had the strangest and most awkward conversations since I met him, and this one definitely takes the cake.
“Our conversations are so weird,” I say.
He laughs with relief. “Yes.”
The word yes is so much more beautiful coming from his mouth, laced with that voice. He could probably make any word beautiful. I try to think of a word I hate. I kind of hate the word ox. It’s an ugly word. Too short and clipped. I wonder if his voice could make me love that word.
“Say the word ox.”
His eyebrow rises, like he’s wondering if he heard me right. He thinks I’m weird.
I don’t care.
“Just say it,” I tell him.
“Ox,” he says, with slight hesitation.
I smile. I love the word ox. It’s my new favorite word.
“You’re so weird,” he says, amused.
I uncross my legs. He notices. “So, Miles,” I say. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You haven’t had sex in six years. You haven’t had a girlfriend in six years. You haven’t kissed a girl in eight hours. You don’t like relationships, obviously. Or love. But you’re a guy. Guys have needs.”
He’s watching me, still amused. “Go on,” he says with that unintentionally sexy smirk.
“You don’t want to be attracted to me, but you are. You want to have sex with me, but you don’t want to date me. You also don’t want to love me. You also don’t want me to want to love you.”
I’m still amusing him. He’s still smiling. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”
You’re not, Miles. Believe me.
“If we do this, I think we should take it slow,” I say teasingly. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for. You’re practically a virgin.”
He loses his smile and takes three deliberately slow steps toward me. I stop smiling, because he is seriously intimidating. When he reaches me, he places his hands on either side of me, then leans in close to my neck. “It’s been six years, Tate. Believe me when I tell you . . . I’m ready.”
Those all just became my new favorite words, too. Believe and me and when and I and tell and you and I’m and ready.
Favorites. All of them.
He pulls back and can more than likely tell I’m not breathing at the moment. He steps back to his spot opposite from me. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what just happened. “I can’t believe I just asked you for sex. What kind of guy does that?”
I swallow. “Pretty much all of them.”
He laughs, but I can tell he feels guilty. Maybe he’s afraid I can’t handle this. He might be right, but I’m not about to let him know that. If he thinks I can’t handle this, he’ll retract everything he’s saying. If he retracts everything he’s saying, that means I don’t get to experience another kiss like the one he gave me earlier.
I’d agree to anything if it means I get to be kissed by him again. Especially if it means I get to experience more than just his kiss.
Simply thinking about it makes my throat dry. I pick up my glass and take another slow sip of my juice while I silently work this out in my head.
He wants me for sex.
I kind of miss sex. It’s been a while.
I know I’m definitely attracted to him and can’t think of anyone else in my life I’d rather have casual, meaningless sex with than my airline pilot, laundry-folding neighbor.
I set the cup of juice back down, then press my palms into the counter and lean slightly forward. “Listen to me, Miles. You’re single. I’m single. You work way too much, and I’m focused on my career in an almost unhealthy way. Even if we wanted a relationship out of this, it would never work. Our lives wouldn’t fit one. We also aren’t really friends, so we don’t have to worry about our friendship being ruined. You want to have sex with me? I’ll totally let you. A lot.”
He’s watching my mouth like all my words just became his new favorite words. “A lot?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes. A lot.”
He looks me in the eyes with a challenging stare. “Okay,” he says, almost like it’s a dare.
“Okay.”
We’re still several feet apart. I just told this guy I would have sex with him without any expectations, and he’s still way over there, and I’m way over here, and it’s becoming clear that I definitely had him pegged wrong. He’s more nervous than I am. Although I think our nerves stem from two different places. He’s nervous because he doesn’t want this to turn into anything.
I’m nervous because I’m not so sure that just sex with him is possible. Based on the way I’m drawn to him, I have a pretty good feeling sex will be the least of our problems. Yet here I sit, pretending to be fine with just sex. Maybe if it starts out this way, it’ll eventually end up being something more.
“Well, we can’t have sex right now,” he says.
Dammit.
“Why not?”
“The only condom I have in my wallet has probably disintegrated by now.”
I laugh. I love his self-deprecating humor.
“I do want to kiss you again, though,” he says with a hopeful smile.
I’m actually surprised he isn’t kissing me. “Sure.”
He slowly walks back to where I’m seated, until my knees are on either side of his waist. I’m watching his eyes, because they’re looking at me like he’s waiting for me to change my mind. I’m not changing my mind. I probably want this more than he wants this.