Ugly Love Page 21
Author: Colleen Hoover

“Eight hours,” he replies without hesitation. I raise my eyes to his, and he grins, because he knows what I’m asking him. “The same,” he utters quietly. “Six years.”

I don’t know what happens to me, but something changes. Something melts. Something hard or cold or covered in my own personal armor is turning to liquid now that I’m realizing what that kiss really meant. I feel like I’m nothing but liquid, and liquid doesn’t do a good job of standing or walking away, so I don’t move.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask, disbelievingly.

I think he’s the one blushing now.

I’m so confused. I don’t understand how I’ve pegged him so wrong or how what he’s saying is even possible. He’s good-looking. He has a great job. He definitely knows how to kiss, so why hasn’t he been doing it?

“What’s your deal, then?” I ask him. “You have STDs?” It’s the nurse in me. I have no medical filter.

He laughs. “Pretty damn clean,” he says. He still doesn’t explain himself, though.

“If it’s been six years since you kissed a girl, then why did you kiss me? I was under the impression you didn’t even really like me. You’re really hard to read.”

He doesn’t ask me why I’m under the impression that he doesn’t like me.

I think if it’s obvious to me that he’s different when he’s around me, it’s been intentional on his part.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Tate.” He sighs heavily and runs his hands through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. “I just don’t want to like you. I don’t want to like anyone. I don’t want to date anyone. I don’t want to love anyone. I just …” He folds his arms back across his chest and looks down at the floor.

“You just what?” I ask, urging him to finish that sentence. His eyes slowly lift back to mine, and it takes all I have to stay seated on this counter with the way he’s looking at me right now—like I’m Thanksgiving dinner.

“I’m attracted to you, Tate,” he says, his voice low. “I want you, but I want you without any of that other stuff.”

I have no thoughts left.

Brain = Liquid.

Heart = Butter.

I can still sigh, though, so I do.

I wait until I can think again. Then I think a lot.

He just admitted that he wants to have sex with me; he just doesn’t want it to lead to anything. I don’t know why this flatters me. It should make me want to punch him, but the fact that he chose to kiss me after not having kissed anyone for six straight years makes this new confession seem like I just won a Pulitzer.

We’re staring at each other again, and he looks a little bit nervous. I’m sure he’s wondering if he just pissed me off. I don’t want him to think that, because, honestly, I want to yell “I won!” at the top of my lungs.

I have no idea what to say. We’ve had the strangest and most awkward conversations since I met him, and this one definitely takes the cake.

“Our conversations are so weird,” I say.

He laughs with relief. “Yes.”

The word yes is so much more beautiful coming from his mouth, laced with that voice. He could probably make any word beautiful. I try to think of a word I hate. I kind of hate the word ox. It’s an ugly word. Too short and clipped. I wonder if his voice could make me love that word.

“Say the word ox.”

His eyebrow rises, like he’s wondering if he heard me right. He thinks I’m weird.

I don’t care.

“Just say it,” I tell him.

“Ox,” he says, with slight hesitation.

I smile. I love the word ox. It’s my new favorite word.

“You’re so weird,” he says, amused.

I uncross my legs. He notices. “So, Miles,” I say. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You haven’t had sex in six years. You haven’t had a girlfriend in six years. You haven’t kissed a girl in eight hours. You don’t like relationships, obviously. Or love. But you’re a guy. Guys have needs.”

He’s watching me, still amused. “Go on,” he says with that unintentionally sexy smirk.

“You don’t want to be attracted to me, but you are. You want to have sex with me, but you don’t want to date me. You also don’t want to love me. You also don’t want me to want to love you.”

I’m still amusing him. He’s still smiling. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

You’re not, Miles. Believe me.

“If we do this, I think we should take it slow,” I say teasingly. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for. You’re practically a virgin.”

He loses his smile and takes three deliberately slow steps toward me. I stop smiling, because he is seriously intimidating. When he reaches me, he places his hands on either side of me, then leans in close to my neck. “It’s been six years, Tate. Believe me when I tell you … I’m ready.”

Those all just became my new favorite words, too. Believe and me and when and I and tell and you and I’m and ready.

Favorites. All of them.

He pulls back and can more than likely tell I’m not breathing at the moment. He steps back to his spot opposite from me. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what just happened. “I can’t believe I just asked you for sex. What kind of guy does that?”

I swallow. “Pretty much all of them.”

He laughs, but I can tell he feels guilty. Maybe he’s afraid I can’t handle this. He might be right, but I’m not about to let him know that. If he thinks I can’t handle this, he’ll retract everything he’s saying. If he retracts everything he’s saying, that means I don’t get to experience another kiss like the one he gave me earlier.

I’d agree to anything if it means I get to be kissed by him again. Especially if it means I get to experience more than just his kiss.

Simply thinking about it makes my throat dry. I pick up my glass and take another slow sip of my juice while I silently work this out in my head.

He wants me for sex.