“And what’s the smile for?”
I immediately wipe away the grin I didn’t realize was plastered on my face. I scrunch up my nose. “What smile?”
Cap laughs. “Oh, hell,” he says. “You and the boy? Are you fallin’ in love, Tate?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say immediately. “It’s not like that.”
“How so, then?”
I quickly look away as soon as I feel the blush creep up my neck. Cap laughs when he sees my cheeks turn as red as the chairs we’re seated on.
“I may be old, but that don’t mean I can’t read body language,” he says. “Does this mean you and the boy are . . . what’s the term they use now? Hookin’ up? Bumpin’ uglies?”
I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with an eighty-year-old man.
I quickly shake my head. “I’m not answering that.”
“I see,” Cap says with a nod. We’re both quiet for a moment while we process what I more or less just told him. “Well, good,” he says. “Maybe that boy will actually smile every now and then.”
I nod in complete agreement. I could definitely use more of his smile. “Can we change the subject now?”
Cap slowly turns his head toward me and arches his bushy gray eyebrow. “I ever tell you about the time I found a dead body on the third floor?”
I shake my head, relieved that he changed the subject but confused that the subject of a dead body has somehow helped me find relief.
I’m just as morbid as Cap.
chapter fourteen
MILES
Six years earlier
“Do you think the fact that we shouldn’t be doing this is why we like doing it so much?” Rachel asks.
She’s referring to kissing me.
We kiss a lot.
Every chance we get and even chances we don’t get.
“When you say shouldn’t, do you mean because our parents are together?”
She says yes. Her voice is breathless, because I’m currently kissing my way up her neck.
I like that I take her breath away.
“Remember the first time I saw you, Rachel?”
She moans a sound that means yes.
“And do you remember me walking you to Mr. Clayton’s class?”
She gives me another wordless yes.
“I wanted to kiss you that day.” I work my way back up to her mouth and look her in the eyes. “Did you want to kiss me?”
She says yes, and I can see in her eyes that she’s thinking back to that day.
To the day she
Became
My
Everything.
“We didn’t know about our parents that day,” I explain. “Yet we still wanted to be doing this. So no, I don’t think that’s why we like it now.”
She smiles.
“See?” I whisper, brushing my lips softly across hers to show her how good it feels.
She lifts off her pillow and holds herself up on her elbow.
“What if we just like kissing in general?” she asks. “What if it has nothing to do with me or you in particular?”
She always does this. I tell her she should be a lawyer, because she likes playing devil’s advocate so much. But I love it when she does it, so I always go along with it.
“Good point,” I tell her. “I do like kissing. I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t like it. But there’s a difference between this and simply liking to kiss.”
She looks at me curiously. “What’s the difference?”
I lower my mouth to hers once more. “You,” I whisper. “I like kissing you.”
That answers her question, because she shuts up and brings her mouth back to mine.
I like that Rachel questions everything.
It makes me look at things in a different way.
I have always enjoyed kissing the girls I’ve kissed in the past but only because I was attracted to them. It didn’t really have anything to do with them in particular.
When I kissed all the other girls, I felt pleasure. That’s why people enjoy kissing, because it feels good.
But when you like to kiss someone because of who she is, the difference isn’t found in the pleasure.
The difference is found in the pain you feel when you’re not kissing her.
It doesn’t hurt when I’m not kissing any of the other girls I’ve kissed.
It only hurts when I’m not kissing Rachel.
Maybe this explains why falling in love is so damn painful.
I like kissing you, Rachel.
chapter fifteen
TATE
Miles: Are you busy?
Me: Always busy. What’s up?
Miles: I need your help. Won’t take long.
Me: Be there in five.
I should have given myself ten minutes rather than five, because I haven’t had a shower today. After a ten-hour shift last night, I’m sure I need one. If I knew he was home, a shower would have been my top priority, but I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow.
I pull my hair up into a loose bun and change from my pajama bottoms into a pair of jeans. It’s not quite noon yet, but I’m 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. He’s 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. “I’m trying to measure these, but I’ve never bought curtains before. I don’t know if I’m supposed to measure the outside frame or the actual window itself.”
Well, I’ll be damned. He’s 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 I’d get measurements for both,” I suggest.
He’s 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 that’s 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 he’s 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 don’t 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 don’t want to do anything else.
I shrug to make my answer appear much more casual than it is. “Sure. Let me lock my door.”