Ugly Love(59)

points out.
I shake my head. “You know what I mean. I know we already
have plans for after we start college in August, but I think we
should do it now.”
She rises up on her elbow and looks at me, probably trying to
read my expression to see if I’m serious.
“How? Where would we go?”
I reach over to my nightstand and open the top drawer. I pull
out the letter and hand it to her.
She begins reading it out loud.
Dear Mr. Archer,
She looks up at me, and her eyes are wide.
Congratulations on your summer registration. We are pleased
to inform you that your application for family housing has been
processed and approved.
Rachel smiles.
Enclosed you will find a return envelope and the final
paperwork which will need to be returned by the postmarked
date.
Rachel looks at the envelope and quickly flips through the
attached paperwork. She pulls the letter back to the top.
We look forward to receiving the completed forms. Our contact
information is below should you have any questions.
Sincerely,
Paige Donahue, Registrar
Rachel covers her smile with her hand and tosses the letter
aside, then leans forward and hugs me.
“We get to move now?” she says.
I love how evident the excitement is in her voice.
I tell her yes. Rachel is relieved. She knows as well as I do how
awkward the next several weeks would have been in the same
house as our parents.
“Have you asked your father yet?”
I tell her she forgets that we’re adults now. We no longer have
to ask for permission. We only have to inform.
Rachel says she wants to inform them right now.
I take Rachel’s hand, and we walk together to the living room
and inform our parents that we’re moving out.
Together.




Chapter twenty-five

TATE

It’s been a few weeks since Corbin found out. He hasn’t accepted it, and he still hasn’t spoken to Miles, but he’s beginning to adapt. He knows on the nights I leave without explanation, only to come back a few hours later, where I’ve been. He doesn’t ask.
As far as things with Miles, I’m the one doing the adapting. I’ve had to adapt to his rules, because there’s no way Miles is adapting to breaking them. I’ve learned to stop trying to figure him out and to stop allowing things to get so tense between us. We’re doing exactly what we agreed to do in the beginning, which was to have sex.
A lot of sex.
Shower sex. Bedroom sex. Floor sex. Kitchen-table sex.
I’ve still never spent the night with him, and it still hurts sometimes how closed off he becomes right after it’s over, but I still haven’t figured out a way to say no to him.
I know I want so much more than what he’s giving me and he wants so much less than what I want to give him, but we’re both just taking what we can get for now. I try not to think about what will happen the day I can’t handle it anymore. I try not to think about all the other things I’m sacrificing by still being involved with him.
I try not to think about it at all, but the thoughts still come. Every night, when I’m in bed, I think about it. Every time I’m in the shower, I think about it. When I’m in class, in the living room, in the kitchen, at work . . . I think about what’s going to happen when one of us finally comes to our senses.
“Is Tate a nickname for something else?” Miles asks me.
We’re in his bed. He just got home from four days at work, and even though our arrangement is supposed to be all about sex, we’re still fully dressed. We’re not making out. He’s just lying with me, asking me personal questions about my name, and I love it so much more than any other day we’ve ever spent together.
It’s the first time he’s ever asked me a semi-personal question. I hate that his question fills me with all these feelings of hope, and all he did was ask me if Tate was a nickname.
“Tate is my middle name,” I say. “It was my grandmother’s maiden name.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth Tate Collins,” he says, making love to my name with his voice. My name has never sounded as beautiful as it did just now, coming out of his mouth. “That’s almost twice as many syllables as my name,” he says. “That’s a lot of syllables.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Mikel,” he says. “People always mispronounce it and say ‘Michael,’ though. Gets annoying.”
“Miles Mikel Archer,” I say. “That’s a strong name.”
Miles rises onto his elbow and looks down at me with a peaceful expression. He brushes my hair behind my ear as his eyes roam over my face. “Anything interesting happen this week while I was working, Elizabeth Tate Collins?” There’s a playfulness in his voice. One that I’m not familiar with, but I like it. I like it a lot.
“Not really, Miles Mikel Archer,” I say, smiling. “I worked a lot of overtime.”
“Do you still like your job?” His fingers are touching my face, sliding across my lips, trailing down my neck.
“I do like it,” I say. “Do you like being a captain?” I just throw versions of his own questions back at him. I figure it’s safe that way, because I know he’ll only give what he’s willing to take.
Miles follows his hand with his eyes as he unbuttons the top button of my shirt. “I love my job, Tate.” His fingers work on the second button of my shirt. “I just don’t like being gone so much, especially knowing you’re right across the hall from where I live. It makes me want to be home all the time.”