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doesn’t like it. But there’s a difference between this and simply liking to
kiss.”
She looks at me curiously. “What’s the difference?”
I lower my mouth to hers once more. “You,” I whisper. “I like kissing
you.”
That answers her question, because she shuts up and brings her mouth
back to mine.
I like that Rachel questions everything.
It makes me look at things in a different way.
I have always enjoyed kissing the girls I’ve kissed in the past but only
because I was attracted to them. It didn’t really have anything to do with
them in particular.
When I kissed all the other girls, I felt pleasure. That’s why people
enjoy kissing, because it feels good.

---

But when you like to kiss someone because of who she is, the difference
isn’t found in the pleasure.
The difference is found in the pain you feel when you’re not kissing her.
It doesn’t hurt when I’m not kissing any of the other girls I’ve kissed.
It only hurts when I’m not kissing Rachel.
Maybe this explains why falling in love is so damn painful.
I like kissing you, Rachel.

---

chapter fifteen
TATE
Miles: Are you busy?
Me: Always busy. What’s up?
Miles: I need your help. Won’t take long.
Me: Be there in five.
I should have given myself ten minutes rather than five, because I
haven’t had a shower today. After a ten-hour shift last night, I’m sure I
need one. If I knew he was home, a shower would have been my top
priority, but I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow.
I pull my hair up into a loose bun and change from my pajama
bottoms into a pair of jeans. It’s not quite noon yet, but I’m embarrassed
to admit I was still in bed.
He yells for me to come in after I knock on his door, so I push it
open. He’s standing on a chair next to one of the living-room windows.
He glances down at me, then nods his head toward a chair.
“Grab that chair and push it right there,” he says, pointing to a spot a
few feet away from him. “I’m trying to measure these, but I’ve never
bought curtains before. I don’t know if I’m supposed to measure the
outside frame or the actual window itself.”
Well, I’ll be damned. He’s buying curtains.
I scoot the chair to the other side of the window and climb up onto
it. He hands me one end of the measuring tape and begins to pull.

---

“It all depends on what kind of curtains you want, so I’d get
measurements for both,” I suggest.
He’s dressed casually again in a pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.
Somehow the dark blue in his shirt make his eyes look less blue. It
makes them look clear. See-through, almost, but I know that’s
impossible. His eyes are anything but see-through with that wall he
keeps up behind them.
He enters the measurement into his phone, and then we take a
second measurement. Once he’s got both entered into his phone, we
step down and push the chairs back under the table.
“What about a rug?” he asks, staring at the floor beneath the table.
“You think I should get a rug?”
I shrug. “Depends on what you like.”
He nods his head slowly, still staring down at the bare floor.
“I don’t know what I like anymore,” he says quietly. He tosses the
tape measure onto the couch and looks at me. “You want to come?”
I refrain from immediately nodding. “Where to?”
He brushes his hair off his forehead and reaches for his jacket tossed
over the back of his couch. “Wherever people buy curtains.”
I should say no. Picking out curtains is something couples do.
Picking out curtains is something friends do. Picking out curtains is not
something Miles and Tate should do if they want to stick to their rules,
but I absolutely, positively, most definitely don’t want to do anything
else.
I shrug to make my answer appear much more casual than it is.
“Sure. Let me lock my door.”
•••

---

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask him once we’re on the elevator. I’m
trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but I can’t deny the desire I
have for him to reach out and touch me. A kiss, a hug . . . anything.
We’re standing on opposite sides of the elevator, though. We haven’t
touched since the night we first had sex. We haven’t even spoken or
texted since then, either.
“Black?” he says, unsure of his own answer. “I like black.”
I shake my head. “You can’t decorate with black curtains. You need
color. Maybe something close to black but not black.”
“Navy?” he asks. I notice his eyes aren’t focused on mine anymore.
His eyes are scrolling slowly from my neck all the way down to my feet.
Everywhere his eyes focus, I can feel it.
“Navy might work,” I say quietly. I’m pretty sure this conversation is
only taking place for the sake of having conversation. I can see by the
way he’s looking at me that neither of us is thinking about colors or
curtains or rugs right now.
“Do you have to work tonight, Tate?”
I nod. I like that he’s thinking about tonight, and I love how he ends
most of his questions with my name. I love how he says my name. I
should require him to say my name every time he speaks to me. “I don’t
have to be in until ten.”
The elevator reaches the bottom floor, and we both move to the
doors at the same time. His hand connects with the small of my back,
and the current that moves through me is undeniable. I’ve had crushes
on guys before, hell, I’ve even been in love with guys before, but none of
their touches have ever been able to make me respond the way his do.
As soon as I step off the elevator, his hand leaves my back. I’m more
aware of the absence of his touch now than before he even touched me.
Each little bit I get, I crave it that much more.

---

Cap isn’t in his usual spot. That’s not surprising, though, considering
it’s only noon. He’s not much of a morning person. Maybe that’s why we
get along so well.
“You feel like walking?” Miles asks.
I tell him yes, despite the fact that it’s cold out. I prefer walking, and
we’re near several stores that would work for what he’s looking for. I
suggest a store I passed a couple of weeks ago that’s only two blocks
from where we are.
“After you,” he says, holding the door open for me. I step outside and
pull my coat a little tighter around me. I highly doubt Miles is the type
of guy who holds hands in public, so I don’t even worry about making
my hands available to him. I hug myself to keep warm, and we begin
walking side-by-side.
We’re quiet most of the way, but I’m fine with it. I’m not someone
who feels the need for constant conversation, and I’m learning that he
might be the same way.
“It’s right up here,” I say, pointing to the right when we reach a
crosswalk. I glance down at an elderly man seated on the sidewalk,
bundled up in a tattered, thin coat. His eyes are closed, and the gloves
on his shivering hands are rifled with holes.
I’ve always been sympathetic to people who have nothing and
nowhere to go. Corbin hates that I can never pass homeless people
without giving them money or food. He says the majority of them are
homeless because they have addictions and that when I give them
money, it only feeds those addictions.
Honestly, I don’t care if that’s the case. If someone is homeless
because he has a need for something that is stronger than his need for a
home, it doesn’t deter me in the least. Maybe it’s because I’m a nurse,
but I don’t believe addiction is a choice. Addiction is an illness, and it

---

pains me to see people forced to live this way because they’re unable to
help themselves.
I would give him money if I had brought my purse.
I realize I’m no longer walking when I feel Miles steal a glance back
in my direction. He’s watching me watch the old man, so I pick up my
pace and catch back up with him. I don’t say anything to defend the
troubled expression on my face. It’s pointless. I’ve been through it
enough with Corbin to know that I don’t have the desire to try to
change all the opinions I disagree with.
“This is it,” I say, coming to a pause in front of the store.
Miles stops walking and inspects the display inside the store window.
“Do you like that?” he asks, pointing at the window. I take a step closer
and look at it with him. It’s a bedroom display, but there are elements in
it that he’s looking for. The rug on the floor is gray with several
geometric shapes in various shades of blue and black. It actually looks
like something that would fit his taste.
The curtains aren’t navy, though. They’re a slate gray, with one solid
white line running vertically down the left side of the panel.
“I do like it,” I reply.
He steps in front of me and opens the door to let me walk in first. A
saleswoman is making her way toward the front before the door even
closes behind us. She asks if she can help us find anything. Miles points
to the window. “I want those curtains. Four of them. And the rug.”
The saleswoman smiles and motions for us to follow her. “What
width and height do you need?”
Miles pulls his phone out and reads off the measurements to her. She
helps him pick out curtain rods and then tells us she’ll be a few minutes.
She heads to the back and leaves us alone at the register. I look around,
suddenly developing the urge to pick out decorations for my own place.

---

I plan on staying with Corbin for a couple more months, but it wouldn’t
hurt to have an idea of what I’ll want for my own place when I do finally
move out. I’m hoping it’ll be just as easy to shop when that time comes
as it was for Miles today.
“I’ve never seen anyone shop this fast,” I tell him.
“Disappointed?”
I quickly shake my head. If there’s one thing I don’t do well as a girl,
it’s shop. I’m actually relieved it only took him a minute.
“You think I should look around longer?” he asks. He’s leaning
against the counter now, watching me. I like the way he looks at me—
like I’m the most interesting thing in the store.
“If you like what you already picked out, I wouldn’t keep looking.
When you know, you know.”
I meet his gaze, and the second I do, my mouth gets dry. He’s
concentrating on me, and the serious look on his face makes me feel
uncomfortable and nervous and interesting, all at once. He pushes off
the counter and takes a step toward me.
“Come here.” His fingers reach down and wrap around mine, and he
begins to pull me behind him.
My pulse is being ridiculous. It’s sad, really.