Ugly Love(8)

And this is great. I’m neighbors with a guy who gets shitfaced on weeknights and obviously brings home so many girls in the process that he can’t even remember which ones he messed around with.
I open my mouth to respond but am cut off by the sound of the apartment door closing and Corbin’s voice yelling out.
“Tate?”
I immediately jump up and rush to the door, but Miles is still blocking the doorway, glaring at me, expecting a response to his question. I look him straight in the eyes to give him an answer, but his eyes catch me off guard for a short moment.
They are the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Not at all the heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes from last night. His eyes are so light blue they’re almost colorless. I continue to stare at them, half expecting to see waves if I look closely enough. I’d say they were as clear blue as the waters of the Caribbean, but I’ve never actually been to the Caribbean, so I wouldn’t know.
He blinks, and it immediately pulls me away from the Caribbean and back to San Francisco. Back to this bedroom. Back to the last question he asked before Corbin walked through the front door.
“Not sure if you can call what we did hooking up,” I whisper.
I stare at him, waiting for him to move out of my way.
He stands taller, putting up an invisible wall of armor with his posture and his rigid body language.
Apparently, he doesn’t like to envision the two of us making out, based on the unyielding look he’s giving me. It almost seems like he’s looking at me in disgust, which makes me dislike him that much more.
I don’t back down, and neither of us breaks eye contact when he steps out of my way and allows me to pass him. Corbin is rounding the hallway when I exit my room. He glances back and forth between me and Miles, so I quickly shoot him a look to let him know that’s not even remotely a possibility.
“Hey, Sis,” he says, pulling me in for a hug.
I haven’t seen him in almost six months. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much you miss people until you see them again. That’s not the case with Corbin. I always miss him. As much as his protectiveness can get old at times, it’s also a testament to how close we are.
Corbin releases me and pulls at a lock of my hair. “It’s longer,” he says. “I like it.”
This may be the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other. I reach up and flick the hair hanging across his forehead. “So is yours,” I say. “And I don’tlike it.”
I smile to let him know I’m kidding. I actually like the shaggier look on him. People have always said we look a lot alike, but I don’t see it. His skin is a lot darker than mine, which I’ve always envied. Our hair is the same rich hue of brown, but our facial features are nothing alike, specifically our eyes. Mom used to tell us that if we put our eyes together, they would look just like a tree. His were as green as the leaves, and mine were as brown as the trunk.
I always envied that he got to be the leaves of the tree, because green was my favorite color growing up.
Corbin acknowledges Miles with a nod of his head. “Hey, man. Rough night?” He asks the question with a laugh, as he knows exactly what kind of night Miles had last night.
Miles walks past both of us. “I don’t know,” he says in response. “I don’t remember it.” He walks into the kitchen and opens a cabinet, retrieving a cup like he’s comfortable enough here to do so.
I don’t like that.
I don’t like comfortable Miles.
Comfortable Miles opens another cabinet and takes out a bottle of aspirin, fills his cup with water, and pops two of the aspirin into his mouth.
“Did you get all your stuff brought up?” Corbin asks me.
“Nope,” I say, glancing at Miles when I respond. “I was kind of preoccupied with your neighbor most of the night.”
Miles nervously clears his throat as he washes the glass and places it back in the cabinet. His discomfort with his lapse in memory makes me laugh. I like that he has no idea what happened last night. I even kind of like that the thought of being with me seems to unnerve him. I might keep this fa?ade going for a while for my own sick enjoyment.
Corbin looks at me as if he knows what I’m trying to pull. Miles steps out of the kitchen and glances my way, then looks back to Corbin.
“I would have gone back to my place by now, but I can’t find my keys. You have my spare set?”
Corbin nods and walks to a drawer in the kitchen. He opens it, grabs a key, and tosses it to Miles, who catches it in midair. “Can you come back in an hour and help me unload Tate’s car? I want to shower first.”
Miles nods, but his eyes cut briefly to mine as Corbin starts walking to his bedroom.
“We’ll catch up when it’s not too morning,” Corbin tells me.
It may have been seven years since we’ve lived together, but he apparently remembers I’m not much of a talker in the morning. Too bad Miles doesn’t know this about me.
After Corbin disappears into his bedroom, I turn and face Miles again. He’s already looking at me expectantly, like he’s still waiting for me to answer whatever questions he asked me earlier. I just want him to leave, so I answer them all at once.
“You were passed out in the hallway last night when I got here. I didn’t know who you were, so when you tried to get inside the apartment, I might have slammed the door on your hand. It’s not broken. I checked it out, and it’s bruised at best. Just put some ice on it and wrap it for a few hours. And no, we didn’t hook up. I helped you into the apartment, and then I went to bed. Your phone is on the floor by the front door where you dropped it last night because you were too shit-faced to walk.”