Ugly Love: A Novel(23)

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep for the fifth time, but it’s pointless. I roll onto my side and face the door just in time to see the shadow of someone’s feet approach it. I watch the door, waiting for it to open, but the shadows disappear, and footsteps continue down the hall. I’m almost positive that was Miles but only because he’s the only person on my mind right now. I release a few controlled breaths in order to calm myself down enough to decide whether I want to follow him. I’m only on the third breath when I hop out of bed.

I debate brushing my teeth again, but it’s only been twenty minutes since I last brushed them.

I check my hair in the mirror, then open my bedroom door and walk as quietly as I can into the kitchen.

When I round the corner, I see him. All of him. He’s leaning against the bar, facing me, almost like he was expecting me.

God, I hate that.

I pretend it’s just a coincidence that we ended up here at the same time, even though it’s midnight. “Can’t sleep?” I walk past him to the refrigerator and reach for the orange juice. I take it out, pour myself a glass, then lean against the counter across from him. He’s watching me, but he doesn’t answer my question.

“Are you sleepwalking?”

He smiles, soaking me up from head to toe with his eyes like a sponge. “You really love orange juice,” he says, amused.

I look down at my glass, then back up to him, and shrug. He takes a step toward me and motions for the glass. I hand it to him, and he brings it to his lips, takes a slow sip, and hands it back to me. All these movements are completed without his ever breaking eye contact with me.

Well, I definitely love orange juice now.

“I love it, too,” he says, even though I never answered him.

I set the glass down beside me, grip the edges of the counter, and push myself up until I’m seated on it. I pretend he isn’t invading my entire being, but he’s still everywhere. Filling the kitchen.

The entire house.

It’s way too quiet. I decide to make the first move.

“Has it really been six years since you’ve had a girlfriend?”

He nods without hesitation, and I’m both shocked and extremely pleased by that answer. I’m not sure why I like it. I guess it’s just so much better than what I was imagining his life was like.

“Wow. Have you at least . . .” I don’t know how to finish this sentence.

“Had sex?” he interjects.

I’m glad the only light on is the one over the kitchen stove, because I’m absolutely blushing right now.

“Not everyone wants the same things out of life,” he says. His voice is soft, like a down comforter. I want to roll around in it, wrap myself up in that voice.

“Everyone wants love,” I say. “Or at least sex. It’s human nature.”

I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

He folds his arms across his chest. His feet cross at the ankles. I’ve noticed this is his form of personal armor. He’s putting up his invisible shield again, guarding himself from giving too much away.

“Most people can’t have one without the other,” he says. “So I find it easier to just give up both.” He’s studying me, gauging my reaction to his words. I do my best not to give him one.

“So which of the two do you not want, Miles?” My voice is embarrassingly weak. “Love or sex?”

His eyes remain the same, but his mouth changes. His lips curl up into a barely there smile. “I think you already know the answer to that, Tate.”

Wow.

I blow out a controlled breath, not even caring if he knows those words affected me like they did. The way he says my name makes me feel just as flustered as his kiss did. I cross my legs at the knees, hoping he doesn’t notice it’s my own personal armor.

His eyes drop to my legs, and I watch him softly inhale.

Six years. Unbelievable.

I look down at my legs, too. I want to ask him another question, but I can’t look at him when I ask it. “How long has it been since you kissed a girl?”

“Eight hours,” he replies without hesitation. I raise my eyes to his, and he grins, because he knows what I’m asking him. “The same,” he utters quietly. “Six years.”

I don’t know what happens to me, but something changes. Something melts. Something hard or cold or covered in my own personal armor is turning to liquid now that I’m realizing what that kiss really meant. I feel like I’m nothing but liquid, and liquid doesn’t do a good job of standing or walking away, so I don’t move.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask, disbelievingly.

I think he’s the one blushing now.

I’m so confused. I don’t understand how I’ve pegged him so wrong or how what he’s saying is even possible. He’s good--looking. He has a great job. He definitely knows how to kiss, so why hasn’t he been doing it?

“What’s your deal, then?” I ask him. “You have STDs?” It’s the nurse in me. I have no medical filter.

He laughs. “Pretty damn clean,” he says. He still doesn’t explain himself, though.

“If it’s been six years since you kissed a girl, then why did you kiss me? I was under the impression you didn’t even really like me. You’re really hard to read.”