Imnot fine with you studying here. Not until everyone leaves. Go. Take your sandwiches with you.
I look down at my sandwiches. I dont know why I feel like he just insulted them. They arent both for me, I say defensively. Im taking one to Cap.
I look back up at him, and hes doing that unfathomable staring thing again. With eyes like his, that should be illegal. I raise my eyebrows expectantly, because hes making me feel really awkward. Im not an exhibit, yet the way he watches me makes me feel like one.
You made a sandwich for Cap?
I nod. Food makes him happy, I say with a shrug.
He studies the exhibit a little longer before leaning into me again. He grabs the key off the bar behind me and slides it into my front pocket.
Im not even sure if his fingers touched my jeans, but I inhale sharply and look down at my pocket as his hand pulls away, because holy hell, I wasnt expecting that.
Im frozen while hes casually making his way back into the living room, unaffected. It feels like my pocket is on fire.
I persuade my feet to move, needing some time to process all of that. After delivering Caps sandwich, I do as Miles says and head over to his apartment. I go on my own accord, not because he wants me over there and not because I really dohave a lot of homework but because the thought of being inside his apartment without him there is sadistically exciting to me. I feel like Ive just been handed a free pass to all his secrets.
I should have known better than to think his apartment would give me any sort of glimpse into who he is. Not even his eyes can do that.
Sure, it really is a lot quieter over here, and yeah, Ive finished two solid hours of homework, but thats only because there arent any distractions.
At all.
No paintings on the sterile white walls. No decorations. No color whatsoever. Even the solid oak table dividing the kitchen from the living room is undecorated. Its so unlike the home I grew up in, where the kitchen table was the focal point of my mothers entire house, complete with a table runner, an elaborate overhead chandelier, and plates to match whatever the current season was.
Miles doesnt even have a fruit bowl.
The only impressive thing about this apartment is the bookshelf in the living room. Its lined with dozens of books, which is more of a turn-on to me than anything else that could potentially line his barren walls. I walk over to the bookshelf to inspect his selection, hoping to get a glimpse of him based on his choice of literature.
Row after row of aeronautical themed books is all I find.
Im a little disappointed that after a free inspection of his apartment, the best I can conclude is that he might be a workaholic with little to no taste in décor.
I give up on the living room and walk into the kitchen. I open the refrigerator, but theres hardly anything in it. There are a few takeout boxes. Condiments. Orange juice. It resembles Corbins refrigeratorempty and sad and so very bachelor.
I open a cabinet, grab a cup, then pour myself some juice. I drink it and rinse the cup out in the sink. There are a few other dishes piled up on the left side of the sink, so I begin washing those, too. Even his plates and cups lack personalityplain and white and sad.
I have the sudden urge to take my credit card straight to the store and buy him some curtains, a new set of vibrant dishes, a few paintings, and maybe even a plant or two. This place needs a little life.
I wonder what his story is. I dont think he has a girlfriend. Ive yet to see him with one up to this point, and the apartment and obvious lack of a females touch make it a likely assumption. I dont think a girl could walk into this apartment without decorating it at least a little bit before she left, so Im assuming girls just never walk into this apartment.
It makes me wonder about Corbin, too. All our years growing up together, hes never been open about his relationships, but Im pretty sure thats because hes never been ina relationship. Every time Ive ever been introduced to a girl in his past, she never seems to make it through an entire week with him. I dont know if thats because he doesnt like keeping someone around or if its a sign that hes too difficult to bearound. Im sure its the former, based on the number of random phone calls he receives from women.
Considering his abundance of one-night stands and lack of commitment, it confuses me how he could be so protective of me growing up. I guess he just knew himself too well. He didnt want me dating guys like him.
I wonder if Miles is a guy like Corbin.
Are you washing my dishes?
His voice catches me completely off guard, making me jump in my skin. I spin around and catch sight of a looming Miles, almost dropping the glass in my hands in the process. It slips, but I somehow manage to catch it before it crashes to the floor. I take a calming breath and set it down gently in the sink.
Finished my homework, I say, swallowing the thickness that just swelled in my throat. I look at the dishes that are now in the strainer. They were dirty.
He smiles.
I think.
Just as soon as his lips start to curl up, they mash back into a straight line. False alarm.
Everyones gone, Miles says, giving me the all clear to vacate his premises. He notices the orange juice still out on the counter, so he picks it up and puts it back in the refrigerator.
Sorry, I mutter. I was thirsty.
He turns to face me and leans his shoulder into the refrigerator, folding his arms over his chest. I dont care if you drink my juice, Tate.
Oh, wow.
That was an oddly sexy sentence. So was his presence in delivering it.
Still no smile, though. Jesus Christ, this man. Does he not realize that facial expressions are supposed to accompany speech?