Ugly Love: A Novel(9)

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.”

I turn to head to my room, just wanting to get away from the intensity in his eyes.

I spin around when I reach my bedroom door. “When you come back in an hour and I’ve had a chance to wake up, we can try this again.”

His jaw is firm. “Try what again?” he asks.

“Getting off on the right foot.”

I close my bedroom door, putting up a barrier between me and that voice.

That stare.

???

“How many boxes do you have?” Corbin asks. He’s slipping on his shoes by the door. I grab my keys off the bar.

“Six, plus three suitcases and all my clothes on hangers.”

Corbin walks to the door directly across the hall and bangs on it, then turns and heads toward the elevators. He pushes the down button. “Did you tell Mom you made it?”

“Yeah, I texted her last night.”

I hear his apartment door open just as the elevator arrives, but I don’t turn to watch him walk out of it. I step in, and Corbin holds the elevator for Miles.

As soon as he comes into view, I lose the war. The war I didn’t even know I was fighting. It doesn’t happen often, but when I do find a guy attractive, it’s better when it happens with a person I want it to happen with.

Miles is not the person I want to be feeling this for. I don’t want to be attracted to a guy who drinks himself into oblivion, cries over other girls, and can’t even remember if he screwed you the night before. But it’s hard not to notice his presence when his presence becomes everything.

“Should just be two trips,” Corbin says to Miles as he presses the button for the ground floor.

Miles is staring at me, and I can’t quite judge his demeanor, because he still looks pissed. I stare back, because no matter how good-looking he may be with that attitude, I’m still waiting for the thank you I never got.

“Hi,” Miles finally says. He steps forward and completely ignores unspoken elevator etiquette by stepping too close and holding out his hand. “Miles Archer. I live across the hall from you.”

And I’m confused.

“I think we’ve established that,” I say, looking down at his outstretched hand.

“Starting over,” he says, arching a brow. “On the right foot?”

Ah. Yes. I did tell him that.

I take his hand and shake it. “Tate Collins. I’m Corbin’s sister.”

The way he steps back and keeps his eyes locked with mine makes me a little uncomfortable, since Corbin is standing only a foot away. Corbin doesn’t seem to care, though. He’s ignoring both of us, preoccupied with his phone.

Miles finally breaks his stare and pulls his phone out of his pocket. I take the opportunity to study him while his attention is off of me.

I come to the conclusion that his appearance is completely contradictory. It’s as if two different creators were at war when he was envisioned. The strength in his bone structure contrasts with the soft, inviting appeal of his lips. They seem harmless and welcoming compared with the harshness in his features and the jagged scar that runs the length of the right side of his jaw.