Dinner, Corbin says with a clipped voice.
He takes a while to adapt.
Miles looks at me again and stares for a few silent seconds. Hey, Tate, he says.
I grin. Hey.
How were midterms? His eyes are everywhere on me but my face.
Good, I say.
He mouths, You look pretty.
I smile and wish more than anything that Corbin wasnt standing here right now, because its taking all I have not to throw my arms around Miles and kiss the hell out of him.
Corbin knows why Miles is here. Miles and I just try to respect the fact that Corbin still doesnt like whats going on between us, so we keep it behind closed doors.
Miles is chewing on the inside of his cheek, fidgeting with his shirtsleeve, watching me. Its quiet in the kitchen, and Corbin still hasnt turned around to acknowledge him. Miles looks like hes about to burst at the seams.
Fuck it, he says, gliding across the kitchen toward me. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, hard, in front of Corbin.
Hes kissing me.
In front of Corbin.
Dont analyze this, Tate.
Hes pulling my hands, dragging me out of the kitchen. As far as I know, Corbin is still facing the stove, trying his best to ignore us.
Still adapting.
We get to the living room, and Miles separates his mouth from mine. I havent been able to think about anything else today, he says. At all.
Me, neither.
He pulls me by the hand toward the front door. I follow. He opens it, walks to his apartment, and pulls his keys out of his pocket. His luggage is still outside in the hallway.
Why is your luggage out here?
Miles pushes open his apartment door. I havent been home yet, he says. He turns around and grabs his things from the hallway, then holds the door open for me.
You came to my apartment first?
He nods, then tosses his duffel bag onto the couch and pushes his suitcase against the wall. Yep, he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. I told you, Tate. Havent thought about anything else. He smiles and lowers his head to kiss me.
I laugh. Aw, you missed me, I say teasingly.
He pulls back. You would think Id just told him I loved him with the way his body tenses up.
Relax, I say. Youre allowed to miss me, Miles. It doesnt break your rules.
He backs up a few steps. You thirsty? he asks, changing the subject like he always does. He turns and heads toward the kitchen, but everything about him just changed. His demeanor, his smile, his excitement over finally seeing me after ten days.
I stand in the living room and watch it all crumble.
Im hit by a reality check, but it feels more like a meteor.
This man cant even admit that he misses me.
Ive been holding out hope that if I take it slowly enough with him, hell eventually break through whatever it is thats holding him back. The entire past few months, Ive been under the assumption that maybe he just cant handle the way things have developed between us and he needs time, but its clear now. Its not him.
Its me.
Im the one who cant handle this thing between us.
You okay? Miles says from the kitchen. He walks out from behind the obstructed view of the cabinets so he can see me. He waits for me to answer him, but I cant.
Did you miss me, Miles?
And up comes the armor again, shielding him. He looks away and walks back into the kitchen. We dont say things like that, Tate, he says. The hardness is back in his voice.
Is he serious?
We dont? I take a few steps toward the kitchen. Miles. Its a common phrase. It doesnt mean commitment. It doesnt even mean love. Friends say it to friends.
He leans against the bar in the kitchen and calmly looks up at me. But we were never friends. And I dont want to break your one and only rule by giving you false hope, so Im not saying it.
I cant explain what happens to me, because I dont know. But its as if every single thing hes ever said and done thats hurt me impales me all at once. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him. I want to know what the hell happened that made him capable of saying things that can hurt me more than any other words have ever come close to doing.
Im tired of treading water.
Im tired of pretending its not killing me to want to know everything about him.
Im tired of pretending hes not everywhere. Everything. My only thing.
What did she do to you? I whisper.
Dont, he says. The word is a warning. A threat.
Im so tired of seeing the pain in his eyes and not knowing the reason for it. Im tired of not knowing what words are off-limits with him.
Tell me.
He looks away from me. Go home, Tate. He turns around and grips the edge of the counter, dropping his head between his shoulders.
Fuck you. I turn and exit the kitchen. When I reach the living room, I hear him coming after me, so I speed up. I make it to the front door and open it, but his palm meets the door above my head, and he slams it shut.
I squeeze my eyes tightly, bracing for whatever words are about to completely slay me, because I know they will.
His face is right next to my ear, and his chest is pressed against my back. Thats what weve been doing, Tate. Fucking. Ive made that clear from day one.
I laugh, because I dont know what else to do. I turn around and look up at him. He doesnt back away, and hes so much more intimidating in this moment than Ive ever seen him be before.
You think youve made that clear? I ask him. You are so full of shit, Miles.
He still doesnt move, but his jaw tenses. How have I not been clear? Two rules. Cant get any simpler than that.
I laugh incredulously, then get everything off my chest at once. Theres a huge difference between f**king someone and making love to them. You havent f**ked me in more than a month. Every time youre inside me, youre making love to me. I can see it in the way you look at me. You miss me when we arent together. You think about me all the time. You cant even wait ten seconds to walk in your own front door before coming to see me. So dont you dare try to tell me youve been clear from day one, because you are the murkiest goddamn man Ive ever met.