Ugly Love

Page 14

I should have given myself ten minutes rather than five, because I havent had a shower today. After a ten-hour shift last night, Im sure I need one. If I knew he was home, a shower would have been my top priority, but I thought he wasnt due back until tomorrow.
I pull my hair up into a loose bun and change from my pajama bottoms into a pair of jeans. Its not quite noon yet, but Im embarrassed to admit I was still in bed.
He yells for me to come in after I knock on his door, so I push it open. Hes standing on a chair next to one of the living-room windows. He glances down at me, then nods his head toward a chair.
Grab that chair and push it right there, he says, pointing to a spot a few feet away from him. Im trying to measure these, but Ive never bought curtains before. I dont know if Im supposed to measure the outside frame or the actual window itself.
Well, Ill be damned. Hes buying curtains.
I scoot the chair to the other side of the window and climb up onto it. He hands me one end of the measuring tape and begins to pull.
It all depends on what kind of curtains you want, so Id get measurements for both, I suggest.
Hes dressed casually again in a pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Somehow the dark blue in his shirt make his eyes look less blue. It makes them look clear. See-through, almost, but I know thats impossible. His eyes are anything but see-through with that wall he keeps up behind them.
He enters the measurement into his phone, and then we take a second measurement. Once hes got both entered into his phone, we step down and push the chairs back under the table.
What about a rug? he asks, staring at the floor beneath the table. You think I should get a rug?
I shrug. Depends on what you like.
He nods his head slowly, still staring down at the bare floor.
I dont know what I like anymore, he says quietly. He tosses the tape measure onto the couch and looks at me. You want to come?
I refrain from immediately nodding. Where to?
He brushes his hair off his forehead and reaches for his jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Wherever people buy curtains.
I should say no. Picking out curtains is something couples do. Picking out curtains is something friends do. Picking out curtains is not something Miles and Tate should do if they want to stick to their rules, but I absolutely, positively, most definitely dont want to do anything else.
I shrug to make my answer appear much more casual than it is. Sure. Let me lock my door.
Whats your favorite color? I ask him once were on the elevator. Im trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but I cant deny the desire I have for him to reach out and touch me. A kiss, a hug … anything. Were standing on opposite sides of the elevator, though. We havent touched since the night we first had sex. We havent even spoken or texted since then, either.
Black? he says, unsure of his own answer. I like black.
I shake my head. You cant decorate with black curtains. You need color. Maybe something close to black but not black.
Navy? he asks. I notice his eyes arent focused on mine anymore. His eyes are scrolling slowly from my neck all the way down to my feet. Everywhere his eyes focus, I can feel it.
Navy might work, I say quietly. Im pretty sure this conversation is only taking place for the sake of having conversation. I can see by the way hes looking at me that neither of us is thinking about colors or curtains or rugs right now.
Do you have to work tonight, Tate?
I nod. I like that hes thinking about tonight, and I love how he ends most of his questions with my name. I love how he says my name. I should require him to say my name every time he speaks to me. I dont have to be in until ten.
The elevator reaches the bottom floor, and we both move to the doors at the same time. His hand connects with the small of my back, and the current that moves through me is undeniable. Ive had crushes on guys before, hell, Ive even been in love with guys before, but none of their touches have ever been able to make me respond the way his do.
As soon as I step off the elevator, his hand leaves my back. Im more aware of the absence of his touch now than before he even touched me. Each little bit I get, I crave it that much more.
Cap isnt in his usual spot. Thats not surprising, though, considering its only noon. Hes not much of a morning person. Maybe thats why we get along so well.
You feel like walking? Miles asks.
I tell him yes, despite the fact that its cold out. I prefer walking, and were near several stores that would work for what hes looking for. I suggest a store I passed a couple of weeks ago thats only two blocks from where we are.
After you, he says, holding the door open for me. I step outside and pull my coat a little tighter around me. I highly doubt Miles is the type of guy who holds hands in public, so I dont even worry about making my hands available to him. I hug myself to keep warm, and we begin walking side-by-side.
Were quiet most of the way, but Im fine with it. Im not someone who feels the need for constant conversation, and Im learning that he might be the same way.
Its right up here, I say, pointing to the right when we reach a crosswalk. I glance down at an elderly man seated on the sidewalk, bundled up in a tattered, thin coat. His eyes are closed, and the gloves on his shivering hands are rifled with holes.
Ive always been sympathetic to people who have nothing and nowhere to go. Corbin hates that I can never pass homeless people without giving them money or food. He says the majority of them are homeless because they have addictions and that when I give them money, it only feeds those addictions.
Honestly, I dont care if thats the case. If someone is homeless because he has a need for something that is stronger than his need for a home, it doesnt deter me in the least. Maybe its because Im a nurse, but I dont believe addiction is a choice. Addiction is an illness, and it pains me to see people forced to live this way because theyre unable to help themselves.
I would give him money if I had brought my purse.
I realize Im no longer walking when I feel Miles steal a glance back in my direction. Hes watching me watch the old man, so I pick up my pace and catch back up with him. I dont say anything to defend the troubled expression on my face. Its pointless. Ive been through it enough with Corbin to know that I dont have the desire to try to change all the opinions I disagree with.
This is it, I say, coming to a pause in front of the store.
Miles stops walking and inspects the display inside the store window. Do you like that? he asks, pointing at the window. I take a step closer and look at it with him. Its a bedroom display, but there are elements in it that hes looking for. The rug on the floor is gray with several geometric shapes in various shades of blue and black. It actually looks like something that would fit his taste.
The curtains arent navy, though. Theyre a slate gray, with one solid white line running vertically down the left side of the panel.
I do like it, I reply.
He steps in front of me and opens the door to let me walk in first. A saleswoman is making her way toward the front before the door even closes behind us. She asks if she can help us find anything. Miles points to the window. I want those curtains. Four of them. And the rug.
The saleswoman smiles and motions for us to follow her. What width and height do you need?
Miles pulls his phone out and reads off the measurements to her. She helps him pick out curtain rods and then tells us shell be a few minutes. She heads to the back and leaves us alone at the register. I look around, suddenly developing the urge to pick out decorations for my own place. I plan on staying with Corbin for a couple more months, but it wouldnt hurt to have an idea of what Ill want for my own place when I do finally move out. Im hoping itll be just as easy to shop when that time comes as it was for Miles today.
Ive never seen anyone shop this fast, I tell him.
Disappointed?
I quickly shake my head. If theres one thing I dont do well as a girl, its shop. Im actually relieved it only took him a minute.
You think I should look around longer? he asks. Hes leaning against the counter now, watching me. I like the way he looks at melike Im the most interesting thing in the store.
If you like what you already picked out, I wouldnt keep looking. When you know, you know.
I meet his gaze, and the second I do, my mouth gets dry. Hes concentrating on me, and the serious look on his face makes me feel uncomfortable and nervous and interesting, all at once. He pushes off the counter and takes a step toward me.
Come here. His fingers reach down and wrap around mine, and he begins to pull me behind him.
My pulse is being ridiculous. Its sad, really.
Theyre just fingers, Tate. Dont let them affect you like this.
He continues walking until he reaches a wooden trifold screen, decorated with Asian writing on the outside. Its the kind of screen people place in the corners of bedrooms. I never understood them. My mother has one, and I doubt shes ever once stepped behind it to change clothes.
What are you doing? I ask him.
He turns and faces me, still holding on to my hand. He grins and steps behind the screen, pulling me with him so were both shielded from the rest of the store. I cant help but laugh, because it feels like were in high school, hiding from the teacher.
His finger meets my lips. Shh, he whispers, smiling down at me while he stares at my mouth.
I immediately stop laughing but not because I dont find this amusing anymore. I stop laughing because as soon as his finger is pressed against my lips, I forget how to laugh.
I forget everything.
Right now, the only thing I can focus on is his finger as it slides softly down my mouth and chin. His eyes follow the tip of his finger as it keeps moving, trailing gently down my throat, all the way to my chest, down, down, down to my stomach.
That one finger feels as if its touching me with the sensation of a thousand hands. My lungs and their inability to keep up are signs of that.
His eyes are still focused on his finger as it comes to a pause at the top of my jeans, right above the button. His finger isnt even making contact with my skin, but you wouldnt know that based on the rapid response of my pulse. His entire hand comes into play now as he lightly traces my stomach over the top of my shirt until his hand meets my waist. Both of his hands grip my h*ps and pull me forward, securing me against him.
His eyes close briefly, and when he opens them again, hes no longer looking down. Hes looking straight at me.
Ive been wanting to kiss you since you walked through my front door today, he says.
His confession makes me smile. You have incredible patience.
His right hand leaves my hip, and he brings it up to the side of my head, touching my hair as softly as possible. He begins to shake his head in slow disagreement. If I had incredible patience, you wouldnt be with me right now.
I latch on to that sentence and immediately try to figure out the meaning behind it, but the second his lips touch mine, Im no longer interested in the words that left his mouth. Im only interested in his mouth and how it feels when it invades mine.
His kiss is slow and calmthe complete opposite of my pulse. His right hand moves to the back of my head, and his left hand slips around to my lower back. He explores my mouth patiently, as if he plans on keeping me behind this partition for the rest of the day.
Im summoning every last bit of willpower I can find in order to keep myself from wrapping my arms and legs around him. Im trying to find the patience he somehow shows, but its hard when his fingers and hands and lips can pull these kinds of physical reactions out of me.
The door to the back room opens, and the click of the saleswomans heels can be heard against the floor. He stops kissing me, and my heart cries out. Luckily, the cry can only be felt, not heard.
Rather than pulling away to walk back to the counter, he brings both his hands to my face and holds me still while he looks at me in silence for several seconds. His thumbs brush lightly across my jaw, and he releases a soft breath. His brows furrow, and his eyes close. He presses his forehead to mine, still holding on to my face, and I can feel his internal struggle.
Tate.
He says my name so quietly I can feel his regret in the words he hasnt even spoken yet. I like … He opens his eyes and looks at me. I like kissing you, Tate.
I dont know why that sentence seemed hard for him to say, but his voice trailed off toward the end as though he was attempting to stop himself from finishing his words.
As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he releases me and quickly steps around the partition as if hes trying to escape from his own confession.
I like kissing you, Tate.
Despite the regret I think he feels for saying them, Im pretty sure Ill be silently repeating those words for the rest of the day.
I spend a good ten minutes mindlessly browsing, running his compliment through my head over and over while I wait for him to finish his transaction. Hes handing over his credit card when I reach the counter.
Well have these delivered within the hour, the saleswoman says. She hands him back his credit card and begins to take the bags off the counter to place them behind her. He takes one of the bags from her when she begins to lift it. Ill take this one, he says.
He turns and faces me. Ready?
We make our way outside, and it somehow feels as if it dropped twenty degrees since we were last out here. That may just be because he made things seem a lot warmer inside.
We reach the corner, and I begin to head back in the direction of the apartment complex, but I notice hes stopped walking. I turn around, and hes pulling something out of the bag hes holding. He tears away a tag, and a blanket unfolds.
No, he didnt.
He holds the blanket out to the old man still there bundled up on the sidewalk. The man looks up at him and takes the blanket. Neither of them says a word.