Ugly Love: A Novel(30)

I kiss her again, not even giving her the chance to respond. I don’t need to hear her say the words to me until she’s ready, and I don’t want to hear her tell me that the way I feel is wrong.

Her hands are on my back, tugging, pulling me closer. Her legs are wrapping around mine like she’s trying to embed herself inside me.

She already has.

It’s frantic again. Teeth-crashing, lip-biting, hurried, rushed, panting, touching.

She’s moaning, and I can feel her trying to pull from my mouth, but my hand is wrapped in her hair, and I’m covering her mouth desperately, hoping she’ll never break for breath.

She makes me release her.

I drop my forehead to hers, gasping in an effort to keep my emotions from spilling over the edge.

“Miles,” she says breathlessly. “Miles, I love you. I’m so scared. I don’t want us to end.”

You love me, Rachel.

I pull back and look her in the eyes.

She’s crying.

I don’t want her to be scared. I tell her it’ll be okay. I tell her we’ll wait until we graduate, then we’ll tell them. I tell her they’ll have to be okay with it. Once we’re out of the house, everything will be different. Everything will be good. They’ll have to understand.

I tell her we’ve got this.

She nods feverishly.

“We’ve got this,” she responds back, agreeing with me.

I press my forehead to hers. “We’ve got this, Rachel,” I tell her. “I can’t quit you now. No way.”

She takes my face between her palms, and she kisses me.

You fell in love with me, Rachel.

Her kiss removes a weight from my chest that is so heavy I feel like I’m floating. I feel like she’s floating with me.

I turn her until her back is against the wall.

I bring her arms above her head and link my fingers through hers, pressing her hands into the tile wall behind her.

We look into each other’s eyes . . . and we completely shatter rule number two.





chapter thirteen


TATE


“Thanks for making me go,” Miles says to Corbin. “Aside from another hand injury and finding out you thought I was gay, I had a good time.”

Corbin laughs and turns to unlock our door. “It’s not exactly my fault I assumed you were gay. You never talk about girls, and you’ve apparently left sex off your schedule for six years straight.”

Corbin gets the door open and walks inside, toward his bedroom. I stand in the doorway, facing Miles.

He’s looking straight at me. Invading me. “It’s on the agenda now,” he says with a smile.

I’m an agenda now. I don’t want to be an agenda. I want to be a plan. A map. I want to be on a map to his future.

But that breaks rule number two.

Miles backs into his apartment after opening his door, and he nods his head in the direction of his bedroom.

“After he goes to sleep?” he whispers.

Fine, Miles. You can stop begging. I’ll be your agenda.

I nod before closing the door.

I shower and shave and brush my teeth and sing and put on just enough makeup to make it look like I didn’t put on any makeup at all. And fix my hair to make it look like I didn’t fix my hair at all. And put back on the same clothes I had on earlier so it doesn’t look like I changed clothes at all. But really, I changed my bra and my underwear, because they didn’t match before but now they do. And then I freak the hell out because Miles will see my bra and underwear tonight.

And possibly touch them.

If it’s part of his agenda, he might even be the one to remove them.

My phone receives a text, and the sound startles me, because a text isn’t on the agenda at eleven o’clock at night. The text is from an unrecognized number. All it says is:

Is he in his room yet?

Me: How do you have my number?

Miles: I stole it from Corbin’s phone while we were driving.

There’s a weird voice in my head, singing, “Na-na-na-na boo-boo. He stole my number.”

I’m such a child.

Me: No, he’s watching TV.

Miles: Good. I have to run an errand. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Leaving the apartment unlocked in case he goes to bed before then.

Who runs errands at eleven o’clock at night?

Me: See ya.

I stare at my last text to him and cringe. It sounds way too casual. I’m giving him the impression that I do this all the time. He probably thinks all my days go something like this:

Random guy: Tate, you want to have sex?

Me: Sure. Let me finish up with these two guys, and I’ll be right over. By the way, I don’t have any rules, so anything goes.

Random guy: Awesome.

Fifteen minutes pass, and the television finally switches off. As soon as the door to Corbin’s bedroom closes, mine opens. I’m across the living room and slipping out the front door and then bumping into Miles, who is standing in the hallway.

“Good timing,” he says.

He’s holding a bag. He moves it to his other hand so it’s not as visible to me.

“After you, Tate,” he says, pushing open his door.

No, Miles. I follow. That’s how it is with us. You’re solid, I’m liquid. You part the waters, I’m your wake.