Ugly Love: A Novel(49)

Miles backs up a step and turns so that he can face Dillon and Corbin at the same time. His eyes remain locked hard with Dillon’s. “He’s trying to fuck your sister.”

Jesus Christ, Miles. Ever hear of sugarcoating?

Corbin doesn’t even flinch. “Go home to your wife, Dillon,” he says firmly.

As embarrassing as this is, I don’t do anything to step in and defend Dillon, because I get the feeling that Miles and Corbin have been looking for an excuse to defriend him for a while now. I would also never defend a man who has no respect for his marriage. Dillon stares at Corbin for several painstakingly long seconds, then turns to face me with his back to both Miles and Corbin.

This boy seriously has a death wish.

“I live in ten-twelve,” he whispers with a wink. “Stop by sometime. She works weeknights.” He turns away and walks between Corbin and Miles. “The two of you can go fuck yourselves.”

Corbin turns, and his fists are clenched. He begins to stalk after Dillon, but Miles grabs his arm and pulls him back into the kitchen. He doesn’t release Corbin’s arm until the front door slams shut.

Corbin turns to face me, and he looks so angry I’m surprised steam isn’t coming from his ears. His face is red, and he’s popping his knuckles. I forgot how insanely protective he is of me. I feel like I’m fifteen again, only now I suddenly have two overprotective brothers.

“Erase that apartment number from your head, Tate,” Corbin says.

I shake my head, somewhat disappointed that he would even think I’d want to remember Dillon’s apartment number. “I have standards, Corbin.”

He nods, but he’s still making an attempt to calm himself down. He inhales a deep breath, pops his jaw, then walks back into the living room.

Miles is leaning against the counter, staring down at his feet. I watch him silently until he finally raises his eyes and looks up at me. He glances toward the living room, then kicks off the counter and walks toward me. Every step closer he takes, the more I press myself into the counter behind me, making an attempt to back away from the intensity in his eyes, even though I can’t very well go anywhere.

He reaches me.

He smells good. Like apples. Forbidden fruit.

“Ask me if you can study at my place,” he whispers.

I nod, wondering why in the hell he would make such a random request after everything that just happened. I do it anyway, though. “Can I study at your place?”

He breaks out into a huge grin and drops his forehead to the side of my head so that his lips are directly over my ear. “I meant for you to ask me in front of your brother,” he says, laughing quietly. “So I have an excuse to get you over there.”

Well, that’s embarrassing.

Now he knows exactly how much I’m not Tate when I’m near him. I’m only liquid. Conforming. Doing what he asks, doing what I’m told, doing what he wants me to do.

“Oh,” I say quietly as I watch him ease away from me. “That makes a lot more sense.”

He’s still smiling, and I didn’t realize how much I missed seeing that smile. He should smile all the time. Forever. At me.

He walks out of the kitchen and heads back to the living room, so I go to my room and shower in record time.

???

I didn’t realize I was such a good actress.

I had practice, though. Five minutes of practice. I stood in my room, trying to think of the best, most casual line for when I walked into the living room to ask Miles for his key. I decided to wait until a particularly loud moment during the game, and then I burst out of the room and yelled at all of them.

“You guys either need to mute the damn TV or go watch it next door, because I’m trying to study!”

Miles looked at me and tried to hide his smile. Ian looked at me with suspicion, and Corbin rolled his eyes. “You go next door,” Corbin said. “We’re watching the game.” He looked at Miles. “She can use your place, right?”

Miles stood up immediately and said, “Sure. I’ll let her in.”

I grabbed my things, followed him out of my apartment, and now here we are.

Miles opens his apartment door for me, even though it isn’t locked. Corbin doesn’t know that, though. He walks inside, and I slip in behind him. He shuts the door, and we turn and face each other.

“I really do have homework,” I say. I don’t know what he’s expecting to happen right this second, but I feel like I need to let him know that just because he shows up after a few days away, that doesn’t mean he’s my number one priority.

Even though he pretty much is.

“I really do have a game to watch,” he says, pointing over his shoulder at my apartment but walking toward me at the same time. He takes my books out of my hands and walks with them to the table, where he sets them down. He starts walking back toward me and doesn’t stop until his lips are pressed to mine and we can’t walk any farther because my back is against the apartment door.

His hands are gripping my waist, and mine are gripping his shoulders. His tongue slides between my lips and into my mouth, and I take it, very willingly. He groans and presses himself against me as my hands slide up his neck and through his hair. He pulls away just as fast and steps back several feet.

He’s looking at me like it’s somehow my fault that he has to leave. He runs two frustrated palms down his face and releases a deep breath. “You didn’t get to eat earlier,” he says. “I’ll bring you some pizza.” He walks back toward me, and I step aside without responding. He opens the door and disappears.