Ugly Love Part 32

I pause in his living room and look at him, waiting to see what mood he's in today.

"You're in a bikini," he says pointedly.

I look down at my attire. "And shorts," I say defensively. I look back up at him. "What are people supposed to wear when they swim in February?"

He's still standing frozen in his doorway, staring at my attire. I fold my towel across my arms and over my stomach. I suddenly feel extremely awkward and underdressed.

He shakes his head and finally begins moving toward me. "I just . . ." He's still staring at my bikini. "I hope no one is up there, because if you're wearing that bikini, these swim shorts are going to be really embarra.s.sing." He looks down at his shorts. At the obvious bulge in them.

I laugh. So he actually likes the bikini.

He takes another step forward and slides his hands around to the back of my shorts, then pulls me against him. "I changed my mind," he says with a grin. "I want to stay here."

I immediately shake my head. "I'm going swimming," I say. "You can stay here if you want, but you'll be alone."

He kisses me, then backs me toward his apartment door. "Then I guess I'm going swimming," he says.

Miles enters the pa.s.scode for rooftop access, then opens the door for me. I'm relieved to see that no one else is out here, and I am taken by how breathtakingly beautiful it is. It's an infinity pool, overlooking the city, and it's lined with patio chairs, all the way to the opposite end, where it's capped off with an attached hot tub.

"I can't believe neither of you thought to mention this before now," I say. "All these months, and I've been missing out."

Miles takes my towel and lays it on one of the tables surrounding the pool. He walks back over to me and drops his hands to the b.u.t.ton on my shorts. "This is actually the first time I've ever been out here." He unzips my shorts and pushes them over my hips. His lips are close to mine, and his expression is playful. "Come on," he whispers. "Let's get wet."

I kick off the shorts at the same time as he takes off his shirt. The air is incredibly cold, but the steam rising from the water is promising. I walk to the shallow end to descend the steps, but Miles dives headfirst into the deep end of the pool. I step in, and my feet are swallowed up in the warmth of the water, so I quickly step in the rest of the way. I make my way toward the middle of the pool and walk to the edge, then rest my arms on the concrete ledge looking out over the city.

Miles swims up behind me and cages me in by pressing his chest against my back and placing his hands on either side of the ledge. He rests his head against mine as we both take in the view.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

He's quiet.

We watch the city in silence for what seems like forever. Every now and then, he'll cup his hands and bring water up to my shoulders to warm my chills away.

"Have you always lived in San Francisco?" I ask him. I turn so that my back is against the ledge now and I'm facing him. He keeps his arms on either side of me and nods.

"Close to it," he says, still looking at the city over my shoulder.

I want to ask him where, but I don't. I can tell by his body language that he doesn't want to talk about himself. He never wants to talk about himself.

"Are you an only child?" I ask, trying to see what I can get away with. "Any brothers or sisters?"

He looks me in the eyes now. His lips are pressed into a firm, agitated line. "What are you doing, Tate?" He doesn't ask it in a rude way, but there's no other way his question can come across.

"Just making conversation," I say. My voice is soft and sounds offended.

"I can think of a lot more things I'd rather talk about than myself."

But that's all I want to know about, Miles.

I nod, understanding that although I'm technically not breaking his rules, I'm bending them. He doesn't feel comfortable with that.

I turn around and face the ledge again. He's still in the same position, pressed against me, but it's different now. He's stiff. Guarded. Defensive.

I don't know anything about him. I don't know a single thing about his family, and he's already met mine. I don't know a single thing about his past, but he's slept in my childhood bed. I don't know what subjects I bring up or what actions I take that will cause him to close off, but I've got nothing to hide from him.

He sees me for exactly who I am.

I don't see him at all.

I quickly bring a hand up and wipe away a tear that somehow just escaped down my cheek. The absolute last thing I want is for him to see me cry. As much as I know I'm too far gone to continue treating this as casual s.e.x, I'm also too far gone to stop it. I'm terrified to lose him for good, so I sell myself short and take what I can from him, even though I know I deserve better.

Miles places a hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him. When I choose to stare down at the water instead, he hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him. I allow him to tilt my face up to his, but I don't make eye contact. I look up and to the right, attempting to blink back the tears.

"I'm sorry."

I don't even know what he's apologizing for. I don't even know if he knows what he's apologizing for. But we both know my tears have everything to do with him, so he's more than likely just apologizing for that simple reason alone. Because he knows he's incapable of giving me what I want.

He stops making me look at him and instead pulls me to his chest. I rest my ear against his heart, and he rests his chin on top of my head.

"Do you think we should stop?" he asks quietly. His voice is fearful, like he's hoping my answer is no, yet he feels compelled to ask me anyway.

"No," I whisper.

He sighs heavily. It sounds like it could be a sigh of relief, but I'm not sure. "If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?"

I shrug, because there's no way I'm answering that with a yes until I hear his question first.

"Are you still doing this with me because you think I'll change my mind? Because you think there's a chance I'll fall in love with you?"

That's the only reason I'm still doing this, Miles.

I don't say that out loud, though. I don't say anything.

"Because I can't, Tate. I just . . ." His voice fades away, and he grows quiet. I a.n.a.lyze his words and the fact that he said I can't rather than I won't. I want to ask him why he can't. Is he scared? Is it because I'm not right for him? Is he afraid he'll break my heart? I don't ask him, because none of his answers to these questions would rea.s.sure me. None of these scenarios is reason enough to absolutely deny a heart happiness.

Which is why I don't question him, because I feel like maybe I'm not prepared for the truth. Maybe I'm underestimating whatever it was that happened in his past to make him this way. Because something happened. Something I more than likely couldn't relate to, even if I found out what it was. Something that stole the spirit right out of him, just like Cap said.

His arms pull me in tighter, and the hold he has on me speaks volumes. It's more than an embrace. More than a hug. He's holding me like he's terrified I'd drown if he were to release me.

"Tate," he whispers. "I know I'll regret saying this, but I want you to hear it." He pulls back just enough for his lips to meet my hair, then grips me tightly again. "If I were capable of loving someone . . . it would be you." My heart cracks with his words, and I feel the hope seep in and leak right back out again. "But I'm not capable. So if it's too hard-"

"It's not," I interrupt, doing whatever I can to stop him from ending this. I somehow find it in me to look him in the eyes and tell the best lie I've ever told in my whole life. "I like things exactly how they are."

He knows I'm lying. I can see the doubt in his concerned eyes, but he nods anyway. I try to get his mind off of it before he sees right through me. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck, but his attention is pulled to the door, which is now opening. I turn, too, and see Cap slowly shuffling his way onto the rooftop deck. He walks toward the switch on the wall that turns off the jets to the hot tub. He flips it off and slowly turns back toward the door but not before noticing us out of the corner of his eye. He turns and faces us full on, standing no more than five feet away.

"That you, Tate?" he says, squinting.

"It's me," I say, still in the same position with Miles.

"Hmm," Cap says, taking us both in. "Anyone ever told the two of you that you make a pretty darn good-looking couple?"

I wince, because I know this isn't the best moment for Miles to hear that, especially after the awkward conversation we just had. I also know what Cap is up to with that comment.

"We'll shut the lights off when we leave, Cap," Miles says, ignoring Cap's question and redirecting the conversation.

Cap narrows his eyes at him, shakes his head as though he's disappointed, and begins to turn back to the door. "It was a rhetorical question anyway," he mumbles. I see his hand go up to his forehead, and he salutes the air in front of him. "Good night, Tate," he says loudly.

"Good night, Cap."

Miles and I both watch until the door closes behind Cap. I pull my hands away from his neck and gently push against his chest until he steps back in order for me to make my way around him. I swim backward toward the other side of the pool.

"Why are you always so rude to him?" I ask.

Miles lowers himself in the water, parting his arms in front of him and kicking off the wall behind him. He swims toward me, and I watch as his eyes remain focused on mine. I swim backward until my back is against the opposite wall of the pool. He continues toward me, almost crashing into me, but he stops himself by gripping the ledge on both sides of my head, sending waves of water against my chest.

"I'm not rude to him." His lips meet my neck, and he kisses it softly, trailing slowly upward until his mouth is close to my ear. "I just don't like answering questions."

I think we've established that already.

I pull my neck away a few inches in order to see his face. I try to focus on his eyes, but there are drops of water on his lips, and it's hard not to stare. "He's an old man, though. You're not supposed to be rude to old people. And he's pretty d.a.m.n funny, if you'd just get to know him."

Miles laughs a little. "You like him, huh?" He seems amused.

I nod. "Yeah. I like him a lot. Sometimes I like him more than I like you."

He laughs loudly this time and leans in again, planting a kiss on my cheek. His hand conforms to the nape of my neck, and his eyes drop to my mouth. "I like that you like him," he says, bringing his eyes up to mine. "I won't be rude to him again. Promise."

I bite my lip so that he doesn't see how much I want to smile at the fact that he just made me a promise. It was a simple promise. But it still feels good.

He slides his hand around to my jaw, and his thumb meets my lip. He pulls it away from my teeth. "What did I tell you about hiding that smile?" He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and bites it gently, then releases it.

It feels as if the temperature in the pool just shot up twenty degrees.

His mouth meets my throat, and he breathes out a heavy sigh against my skin. I tilt my head back and let it rest against the ledge of the pool as he kisses his way down my neck.

"I don't want to swim any more," he says, sliding his lips from the base of my throat all the way up to my mouth again.

"Well, then, what do you want to do?" I whisper weakly.

"You," he says without hesitation. "In my shower. From behind."

I swallow a huge gulp of air and feel it fall all the way to the pit of my stomach. "Wow. That's very specific."

"And also in my bed," he whispers. "With you on top, still soaking wet from the shower."

I inhale sharply, and we can both hear the tremble of my breath as I exhale. "Okay," I try to say, but his mouth is on mine before the word is even all the way out.

And once again, what should have been an eye-opening conversation for me is shoved aside to make room for the only thing he's willing to give me.

chapter thirty.

MILES.

Six years earlier We quietly walk to an empty waiting area. My father sits first, and I reluctantly sit across from him.

I wait for his confession, but he doesn't know I don't need it. I know about his relationship with Lisa.

I know how long it's been going on.

"Your mother and I . . ." He's looking at the floor.

He can't even make eye contact with me.

"We decided to separate when you were sixteen. However, with as much as I traveled, it made financial sense for us to wait until you graduated before filing for divorce, so that's what we decided to do."

Sixteen?

She got sick when I was sixteen.

"We had been split up for almost a year when I met Lisa."

He's looking at me now. He's being honest.

"When she found out she was sick, it was the right thing to do, Miles. She was your mother, and I wasn't going to leave her when she needed me the most."

My chest hurts.

"I know you've put two and two together," he says. "I know you've done the math. I know you've been hating me, thinking I was having an affair while she was sick, and I hated allowing you to think that."

"Then why did you?" I ask him. "Why did you let me think that?"

He looks at the floor again. "I don't know," he says. "I thought maybe there was a chance that you didn't realize I'd been dating Lisa for longer than I let on, so I thought bringing it up would do more harm than good. I didn't like the thought of you knowing my marriage with your mother had failed. I didn't want you to think she died unhappy."

"She didn't," I rea.s.sure him. "You were there for her, Dad. We both were."

He appreciates that I say this, because he knows it's true.

My mother was happy with her life.

Happy with me.