Ugly Love(13)

Why the hell are any of them here?

I glare at Miles as I kick off my shoes and drop my purse on the counter. Corbin isn’t due back for two more days, and I was looking forward to the peace and quiet tonight so I could get some studying done.

“It’s Thursday,” Miles says when he sees the scowl on my face, like the day of the week is supposed to be some sort of explanation. He’s watching me from his position in the kitchen. He can see I’m not happy.

“So it is,” I reply. “And tomorrow is Friday.” I turn to the other two guys sitting on Corbin’s couch. “Why are you all in my apartment?”

The blond, lanky guy immediately stands up and walks over to me. He extends his hand. “Tate?” he asks. “I’m Ian. I grew up with Miles. I’m a friend of your brother’s.” He points to the elevator guy, who is still seated on the couch. “This is Dillon.”

Dillon gives me a nod but doesn’t bother speaking. He doesn’t have to. His shit-eating grin says enough about what he’s thinking right now.

Miles walks back into the living room and points to the television. “This is kind of a thing we do some Thursdays if either of us is home. Game night.”

I don’t care if it’s their thing. I have homework.

“Corbin isn’t even home tonight. Can’t you do this at your apartment? I need to study.”

Miles hands Dillon a beer and then looks back at me. “I don’t have cable.” Of course you don’t. “And Dillon’s wife doesn’t let us use his place.” Of course she doesn’t.

I roll my eyes and walk to my bedroom, slamming the door unintentionally.

I change out of my scrubs and pull on a pair of jeans. I grab the shirt I slept in last night and just get it over my head when someone knocks on the door. I swing it open almost as dramatically as I slammed it earlier.

He’s so tall.

I didn’t realize how tall he was, but now that he’s standing in my doorway—filling it—he seems really tall. If he were to wrap his arms around me right now, my ear would press against his heart. Then his cheek would rest comfortably on top of my head.

If he were to kiss me, I’d have to tilt my face up to meet his, but it would be nice, because he would probably wrap his arms around my lower back and pull me to him so that our mouths would come together like two pieces of a puzzle. Only they wouldn’t fit very well, because they are most definitely not two pieces from the same puzzle.

Something strange is going on in my chest. A flutter, flutter kind of thing. I hate it, because I know what it means. It means my body is really starting to like Miles.

I just hope my brain never catches up.

“If you need quiet, you can go to my place,” he says.

I cringe at the way his offer works knots into my stomach. I shouldn’t be excited about the possibility of being inside his apartment, but I am.

“We’ll probably be here another two hours,” he adds.

There’s regret in his voice somewhere. It would more than likely take a search party to locate it, but it’s buried there somewhere, beneath all the sultriness.

I expel a quick, relinquishing breath. I’m being a bitch. This isn’t even my apartment. This is their thing that they obviously do on a regular basis, and who am I to think I can just move in and put a stop to it?

“I’m just tired,” I say to him. “It’s fine. I’m sorry if I was rude to your friends.”

“Friend,” he says as clarification. “Dillon is not my friend.”

I don’t ask him what he means by that. He glances into the living room, then looks back at me. He leans against the frame of the door, an indication that my relinquishing the apartment for their game wasn’t the end of our conversation. He swings his eyes to the scrubs strewn across my mattress. “You got a job?”

“Yeah,” I say, wondering why he’s suddenly up for conversation. “Registered nurse in an ER.”

A crease appears on his forehead, and I can’t tell if it’s a result of confusion or fascination. “Aren’t you still in nursing school? How can you already work as an RN?”

“I’m getting my master’s in nursing so I can work as a CRNA. I already have my RN license.”

His expression is obstinate, so I clarify.

“It allows me to administer anesthesia.”

He stares at me for a few seconds before standing up straight and pushing off the doorframe. “Good for you,” he says.

There’s no smile, though.

Why doesn’t he ever smile?

He walks back to the living room. I step out of the doorway and watch him. Miles takes his seat on the couch and gives the TV his full attention.