Ugly Love

Chapter seven


TATE


It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Miles but only two seconds since the last time I’ve thought about him. He seems to work just as much as Corbin does, and while it’s nice to have the place to myself occasionally, it’s also nice when Corbin isn’t working and there’s actually someone to talk to. I would say it’s nice when Corbin and Miles are both off work, but that hasn’t happened since I’ve lived here.

Until now.

“His dad is working, and he’s off until Monday,” Corbin says. I had no idea he’d invited Miles to come back home with us for Thanksgiving until just now. He’s knocking on Miles’s apartment door. “He doesn’t have anything else to do.”

I’m pretty sure I nod after hearing those words, but I turn and walk straight toward the elevator. I’m afraid that when Miles opens his door, my excitement over the fact that he’s coming with us will be transparent.

I’m on the elevator, at the far back wall, when they both step on. Miles finds me and nods, but that’s all I get. The last time I spoke to him, I made things completely awkward between us, so I don’t say a word. I also try not to stare at him, but it’s extremely difficult to focus on anything else. He’s casually dressed in a baseball cap, jeans, and a 49ers T-shirt. I think that’s why I find him hard to look away from, though, because I’ve always found guys more attractive when they put less effort into trying to appear attractive.

My eyes leave his clothes and meet his concentrated stare. I don’t know whether to smile in embarrassment or look away, so I just choose to copy his next move, waiting for him to look away first.

He doesn’t. He continues to watch me in silence for the remainder of the elevator ride, and I stubbornly do the same. When we finally make it to the ground floor, I’m relieved he steps off first, because I have to inhale a pretty noticeable breath, considering I haven’t inhaled in at least sixty seconds.

“Where you three headed?” Cap asks once we’re all off the elevator.

“Home to San Diego,” Corbin says. “You have any plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Gonna be a busy day for flights,” Cap says. “Reckon I’ll be here working.” He winks in my direction, and I wink back before he shifts his attention toward Miles. “How about you, boy? You headed home yourself?”

Miles silently watches Cap in the same way he silently stared at me on the elevator. This disappoints me tremendously, because on the elevator, I had a small glimmer of hope that Miles was staring at me like he was because he feels the same pull to me that I feel when I’m around him. But now, watching his visual standoff with Cap, I’m almost certain it doesn’t mean Miles is attracted to a person simply because he stares unabashedly. Miles apparently just looks at everyone this way. A very silent and awkward five seconds follows, with neither of them speaking. Maybe Miles doesn’t like being referred to as “boy”?

“Have a good Thanksgiving, Cap,” Miles finally utters, not even bothering to answer Cap’s question. He turns and begins walking through the lobby with Corbin.

I look at Cap and shrug my shoulders. “Wish me luck,” I say quietly. “Seems Mr. Archer might be having another bad day.”

Cap smiles. “Nah,” he says, backing up a step toward his chair. “Some people just don’t like questions is all.” He falls into his chair. He gives me a farewell salute, and I salute him back before walking toward the exit.
     



I can’t tell if Cap excuses Miles’s rude behavior because he likes Miles or if he just makes excuses for everyone.

“I’ll drive there if you want,” Miles says to Corbin when we all reach the car. “I know you haven’t slept yet. You can drive back tomorrow.”

Corbin agrees, and Miles opens the driver’s-side door. I climb into the backseat and try to figure out where to sit. I don’t know if I should sit directly behind Miles, in the middle, or behind Corbin. Anywhere I sit, I’ll feel him. He’s everywhere.

Everything is Miles.

That’s how it is when a person develops an attraction toward someone. He’s nowhere, then suddenly he’s everywhere, whether you want him to be or not.

It makes me wonder if I’m anywhere to him, but the thought doesn’t last long. I can tell when a guy is attracted to me, and Miles definitely does not fall into that category. Which is why I need to figure out how to stop whatever this is I feel when I’m around him. The last thing I want right now is a silly crush on a guy when I’ve barely got time to focus on both work and school.

I pull a paperback out of my purse and begin to read. Miles turns on the radio, and Corbin lays his seat back and kicks his feet up on the dash. “Don’t wake me up until we’re there,” he says, pulling his cap over his eyes.

I glance at Miles, and he’s adjusting his rearview mirror. He turns around and looks behind us to back out of the spot, and his eyes briefly meet mine.

“You comfortable?” he asks. He turns around before getting my answer and puts the car in drive, then glances at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yep,” I say. I make sure to tack a smile onto the end of that word. I don’t want him to think I’m upset that he came, but it’s hard for me not to appear closed off when I’m around him, since I’m trying so hard to be.

He looks straight ahead, and I look back down at my book.

Thirty minutes pass, and the movement of the car accompanied by my attempt to read is making my head hurt. I set the book down beside me and readjust myself in the backseat. I lean my head back and prop my feet up on the console between Miles and Corbin. He glances at me in the rearview mirror, and his eyes feel like they’re hands, running over every inch of me. He holds his stare for no longer than two seconds, then looks back at the road.

I hate this.

I have no idea what’s going through his head. He never smiles. He never laughs. He doesn’t flirt. His face appears as if he keeps a constant veil of armor between his expressions and the rest of the world.

I’ve always been a sucker for the quiet types of guys. Primarily because most guys talk too much, and it’s painful having to suffer through every single thought that goes through their heads. Miles makes me wish he were the opposite of the quiet type, though. I want to know all the thoughts that pass through his head. Especially the one thought that’s in there right now, hiding behind that unwavering, stoic expression.

I’m still staring at him in the rearview mirror, trying to figure him out, when he glances at me again. I look down at my phone, a little embarrassed that he caught me staring at him. But that mirror is like a magnet, and dammit if my eyes don’t shoot back up to it.

The second I look into the mirror again, so does he.

I look back down.

Shit.

This drive is about to be the longest drive of my entire life.

I make it three minutes, then I look again.

Shit. So does he.

I smile, amused by whatever game this is we’re playing.

He smiles, too.

He.

Smiles.

Too.

Miles looks back at the road, but his smile remains for several seconds. I know, because I can’t stop staring at it. I want to take a picture of it before it disappears again, but that would be weird.

He lowers his arm to rest it on the console, but my feet are in his way. I push up on my hands. “Sorry,” I say, as I begin to pull them back.

His fingers wrap around my bare foot, stopping me. “You’re fine,” he says.

His hand is still wrapped around my foot. I’m staring at it.

Holy hell, his thumb just moved. Deliberately moved, stroking the side of my foot. My thighs clench together and my breath halts in my lungs and my legs tense, because I’ll be damned if his hand didn’t just caress my foot before he pulled it away.

I have to chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

I think you’re attracted to me, Miles.

? ? ?

As soon as we arrive at my parents’ place, my father puts Corbin and Miles to work hanging Christmas lights. I take our things into the house and give Corbin and Miles my room, since it’s the only one with two beds. I take Corbin’s old bedroom, then head to the kitchen to help my mom finish prepping dinner.

Thanksgiving has always been a small affair at our house. Mom and Dad didn’t like having to choose between families, and my dad was hardly ever home, since a pilot’s busiest times of year are the holidays. My mother decided Thanksgiving would be reserved for immediate family only, so every year on Thanksgiving Day, it’s always just been me, Corbin, Mom, and Dad, when Dad is home. Last year, it was just Mom and me, since Dad and Corbin were both working.

This year, it’s all of us.

And Miles.

It’s strange, him being here like this. Mom seemed happy to meet him, so I guess she didn’t mind too much. My dad loves everyone, and he’s more than happy to have someone else helping with the Christmas lights, so I know the presence of a third person doesn’t bother him in the least.

My mother passes me the pan of boiled eggs. I begin cracking them to prepare them for deviled eggs, and she leans across the kitchen island and rests her chin in her hands. “That Miles sure is a looker,” she says with an arch of her eyebrow.

Let me explain something about my mother. She’s a great mom. A really great mom. But I have never been comfortable talking to her about guys. It started when I was twelve and I got my first period. She was so excited she called three of her friends to tell them before she even explained what the hell was happening to me. I learned pretty early on that secrets aren’t secrets once they reach her ears.

“He’s not bad,” I say, completely lying. I’m absolutely lying, because he is a looker. His golden-brown hair paired with those mesmerizing blue eyes, his broad shoulders, the scruff that lines his firm jaw when he’s had a couple of days off work, the way he always smells so fantastically delicious, like he just stepped out of the shower and hasn’t even towel-dried yet.
     



Oh, my God.

Who the hell am I right now?

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

I shrug. “I don’t really know him, Mom.” I take the pan to the sink and run water over the eggs to loosen the shells. “How is Dad liking retirement?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.

My mother grins. It’s a knowing grin, and I absolutely hate it.

I guess I never have to tell her anything, because she’s my mom. She already knows.

I blush, then turn around and finish cracking the damn eggs.