Ugly Love: A Novel(50)

He’s so weird.

I walk to the table and begin to lay everything out that I need in order to study. I’m pulling out my chair to sit when his apartment door flies open again. I turn around, and he’s walking toward the kitchen with a plate in his hands. He puts the pizza in his microwave, presses a few buttons and starts it, and then heads straight toward me. He’s doing that intimidating thing again that makes me naturally back away from him, but his table is behind me, and I can’t go anywhere.

He reaches me and quickly presses his lips to mine. “I have to go back over there,” he says. “You good?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

I shake my head.

“There’s juice and bottled water in the fridge.”

“Thanks.”

He kisses me briefly again before he releases me and walks out the door.

I fall into my chair.

He’s so nice.

I could get used to this.

I pull my notebook in front of me and begin studying. About half an hour passes, and then I get a text from him.

Miles: How’s the homework going?

I’m reading the text on my phone, smiling like an idiot. He goes nine days without seeing or texting me, and now he’s texting me from twenty feet away.

Me: Good. How’s the game going?

Miles: Halftime. We’re losing.

Me: Bummer.

Miles: You knew I didn’t have cable.

Me: ???

Miles: Earlier, when you yelled at us. You told us to go to my place to watch the game, but you already knew I didn’t have cable. I think Ian’s suspicious now.

Me: Oh, no. I didn’t think about that.

Miles: It’s cool. He’s just giving me looks, like he knows something is up. Honestly, I don’t care if he knows. He knows everything else about me.

Me: I’m surprised you didn’t tell him already. Don’t all guys kiss and tell?

Miles: Not me, Tate.

Me: I guess you’re the exception. Now leave me alone, I have to study.

Miles: Don’t come back until I come tell you the game is over.

I lay my phone down on the table, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

???

An hour later, the door to his apartment opens. I look up, and he walks in, shuts the door, and casually falls against it. “Game’s over,” he says.

I drop my pen. “Perfect timing. I just finished my homework.”

His eyes fall to my books, spread out across the table. “Corbin’s probably expecting you.”

I don’t know if that’s his way of telling me I should leave or if he’s just making conversation. I stand up anyway and begin to gather my books, attempting to hide the disappointment on my face.

He walks straight to me and takes the books out of my hands, setting them back down. He gives them a shove, sliding them a foot away, and then he grabs my waist and pushes me onto the table.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” he says firmly, looking me hard in the eyes.

I don’t smile this time, because he just made me nervous again. Every time he looks at me with this much intensity, I get nervous.

He slides me to the very edge of the table and stands between my legs. His hands are still on my waist, but his lips are now on my jaw. “I was thinking,” he says softly, his breath caressing my neck, covering me in chills. “About tonight and how you’ve been in class all day.” He slides his hands beneath me, lifting me off the table. “And how you work all weekend, every weekend.” My legs are wrapped around him now. He’s carrying me to his bedroom.

Now he’s laying me on his bed.

Now he’s on top of me, brushing my hair back, looking me in the eyes. “And I realized that you never have a day off.” His mouth is back to my jaw again, kissing it softly between each sentence. “You haven’t had a day off since Thanksgiving, have you?”

I shake my head, not understanding why he’s talking so much but loving it just the same. His hand slides up under my shirt, and his palm meets my stomach, continuing upward until he’s cupping my breast. “You must be really tired, Tate.”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

I’m lying.

I’m exhausted.

His lips leave my neck, and he looks me in the eyes. “You’re lying,” he says, brushing his thumb over the thin layer of bra covering my nipple. “I can tell you’re tired.” He lowers his mouth until it’s pressed against mine so softly I barely even feel it. “I just want to kiss you for a few minutes, okay? Then you’re going to leave and go get some rest. I don’t want you to think I expect something just because we’re both home.”

His mouth touches mine again, but his lips can’t compare to what his words do to me. I never knew thoughtfulness could be such a turn-on.

But oh, my God. It’s so hot.

His hand slides beneath my bra, and his mouth invades me. Every time his tongue caresses mine, it makes my head spin. I wonder if that will ever get old.

I know he said he just wanted to kiss me for a few minutes, but his definition of kiss and my definition of kiss are written in two different languages. His mouth is everywhere.

So are his hands.

He pushes my shirt up above my bra, pulling one side of it down until my breast is exposed. He teases me with his tongue, looking up at me while he does it. His mouth is warm, and his tongue is even warmer, causing soft whimpers to escape from me.