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.
His hair can’t decide if it wants to be brown or blond or wavy or straight. His personality flips between inviting and callously indifferent, muddling my ability to discern hot from cold. His casual posture is at war with the fierceness I’ve seen in his eyes. His composure this morning contradicts his inebriated state from last night. His eyes can’t decide if they want to look at his phone or at me, because they waver back and forth several times before the elevator doors open.
I stop staring and step off the elevator first. Cap is seated in his chair, ever so vigilant. He glances at the three of us exiting the elevator and pushes up on the arms of his chair, coming to a slow, shaky stand. Corbin and Miles both nod at him and continue walking.
“How was your first night, Tate?” he asks with a smile, stopping me midstride. The fact that he already knows my name doesn’t surprise me, since he knew what floor I was going to last night.
I look at the back of Miles’s head as they continue without me. “Kind of eventful, actually. I think my brother might have made a poor choice in the company he keeps.”
I look at Cap, and he’s staring at Miles now, too. His wrinkle--lined lips purse into a thin line, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “Ah, that boy probably can’t help it none,” he says, dismissing my comment.
I’m not sure if he’s referring to Corbin or Miles when he says “that boy,” but I don’t ask.
Cap turns away from me and begins shuffling in the direction of the lobby restrooms. “I think I just pissed on myself,” he mutters.
I watch him disappear through the restroom door, wondering at what point in a person’s life he becomes old enough to lose his filter. Although Cap doesn’t seem like the type of man who ever even had a filter. I kind of like that about him.
“Tate, let’s go!” Corbin yells from the far end of the lobby. I catch up with them to show them the way to my car.
It takes three trips to get all my things up, not two.
Three entire trips where Miles doesn’t speak another word to me.
chapter four
MILES
Six years earlier
Dad: “Where are you?”
Me: “Ian’s house.”
Dad: “We need to talk.”
Me: “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’ll be home late.”
Dad: “No. I need you home now. I’ve been waiting for you since school let out.”
Me: “Fine. On my way.”
That was the conversation that led to this moment. Me, sitting in front of my dad on the couch. My dad, telling me something I don’t care to hear.
“I would have told you sooner, Miles. I just—”
“Felt guilty?” I interrupt. “Like you’re doing something wrong?”
His eyes meet mine, and I begin to feel bad for saying what I said, but I push the feeling down and keep going.
“She’s been dead less than a year.”