Ugly Love

by Colleen Hoover

  "Feels like we're on a stage," I say, still looking up at the light.

  He tilts his head back and joins my inspection of the odd lighting. "The English Patient," he says. I look at him questioningly. He gestures to the streetlamp above our heads. "If we were on a stage, it would probably be a production of The English Patient." He flicks his hand back and forth between us. "We're already dressed the part. A nurse and a pilot."

  I mull over what he says, probably a little too much. I know he says he's the pilot, but if this really were a stage production of The English Patient, I think he would be the soldier rather than the pilot. The soldier is the character who is sexually involved with the nurse. Not the pilot.

  But the pilot is the one with the secretive past . . .

  "That movie is the reason I became a nurse," I say, looking at him with a straight face.

  He returns his hands to his pockets, shifting his gaze from the light overhead back to me. "For real?"

  My laugh escapes. "No."

  Miles smiles.

  That rhymes.

  We both turn at the same time to head back toward the hospital. I find myself using the lull in our conversation to construct a really bad poem in my head.

  Miles smiles

  For no one else

  Miles only smiles

  For me.

  "Why are you grinning?" he asks.

  Because I'm reciting embarrassing third-grade-level rhymes about you.

  I pin my lips together, forcing my smile away. When I know it's gone for good, I answer him. "Just thinking about how tired I am. Looking forward to a really good"--I cut my eyes to his--"sleep tonight."

  He's the one smiling now. "I know what you mean. I don't think I've ever been this tired. I might even sleep as soon as we're inside your car."

  That would be nice.

  I smile but bow out of the metaphor-laden conversation. It's been a long day, and I actually really am tired. We walk in silence, and I can't help but notice that his hands are shoved firmly into his jacket pockets, as if he's protecting me from them. Or maybe he's protecting them from me.

  We're only a block away from the parking lot when his footsteps slow, then stop completely. Naturally, I stop walking and turn around to see what caught his attention. He's looking up at the sky, and my eyes focus on the scar that runs the length of his jaw. I want to ask him about it. I want to ask him about everything. I want to ask him a million questions, starting with when his birthday is and then what his first kiss was like. After that, I want to ask him about his parents and his entire childhood and his first love.

  I want to ask him about Rachel. I want to know what happened with them and why whatever happened caused him to want to avoid any form of intimacy for more than six years.

  Most of all, I want to know what it was about me that finally put an end to it.

  "Miles," I say, each question wanting to dive off the tip of my tongue.

  "I felt a raindrop," he says.

  Before the sentence leaves his mouth, I feel one, too. We're both looking up at the sky now, and I'm swallowing all the questions along with the lump in my throat. The drops begin to fall faster, but we continue to stand there with our faces tilted up toward the sky. The sporadic drops turn into sprinkles, which then turn into full-on rain, but neither of us has moved. Neither of us is making a mad dash for the car. The rain is sliding down my skin, down my neck, into my hair, and soaking my shirt. My face is still tilted toward the sky, but my eyes are closed now.

  There's nothing in the world that compares to the feel and smell of brand-new rain.

  As soon as that thought crosses my mind, warm hands meet my cheeks and slide to the nape of my neck, stealing the strength from my knees and the air from my lungs. His height is shielding me from most of the rain now, but I keep my eyes closed and tilted toward the sky. His lips come down gently over mine, and I find myself comparing the feel and smell of brand-new rain to his kiss.

  His kiss is much, much better.

  His lips are wet from the rain, and they're a little bit cold, but he counterbalances that with the warm caress of his tongue against mine. The falling rain, the darkness surrounding us, and being kissed like this make it feel like we really are on a stage and our story has just reached its climax. It feels as if my heart and my stomach and my soul are all scrambling to get out of me and into him. If all my twenty-three years were laid on a graph, this moment would be the crest in my bell curve.

  I should probably be a little bit sad and disappointed about this realization. I've had a few serious relationships in my past, but I can't recall a single kiss with any of those guys where I felt this much. The fact that I'm not even in a relationship with Miles and I feel this affected by him should tell me something, but I'm too invested in his mouth to scrutinize that thought.

  The rain has turned into a downpour, but neither of us seems to be affected by it. His hands drop to my lower back, and I fist his shirt in my hands, pulling him closer. His mouth fits mine as if we're two pieces from the same puzzle.

  The only thing that could possibly separate me from him right now would be a bolt of lightning.

  Or the fact that it's raining so hard I can't breathe. My clothes are stuck to parts of me I didn't even know clothes could stick to. My hair is so saturated it can't absorb another drop of water.

  I push against him until he releases my mouth from his, and then I bury my head under his chin and look down so I can take a breath without drowning. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and ushers me toward the parking lot, lifting his jacket over my head. He picks up his pace, and I match him step for step until we're both running.

  We finally reach my car, and he approaches the driver's-side door with me, still shielding me from the rain. Once I'm inside the car, he rushes around to the passenger side. When both of our doors are shut, the silence inside the car magnifies the intensity of our heavy breathing. I reach my hands behind my head and gather my hair, then squeeze the excess water from it. It runs down my neck, my back, and my seat. It's the first time I'm relieved to have leather seats in California.

  I drop my head back and sigh heavily, then steal a glance in his direction. "I don't think I've ever been this wet in my life."

  I watch as a slow grin spreads across his face. His thoughts obviously plummet into the gutter with that statement.

  "Pervert," I whisper playfully.

  He cocks his eyebrow and smirks. "Your fault." He reaches across the seat and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me toward him. "Come here."

  I make a quick inventory of our surroundings, but the rain is falling so hard I can't even see outside. Which means no one can see in.

  I adjust myself on top of him and straddle his lap as he scoots the seat as far back as it goes. He doesn't kiss me, though. His hands slide down my arms and come to rest on my hips.

  "I've never had sex in a car before," he says with a little bit of hope in his confession.

  "I've never had sex with a captain before," I offer.

  He runs his hands under my scrub top, sliding them up my stomach until they meet my bra. He cups both breasts, then leans forward and kisses me. His kiss doesn't last long, because he breaks it to speak again. "I've never had sex as a captain before."

  I smile. "I've never had sex in scrubs before."

  His hands slide around to my back, and he dips them inside my waistband. He pulls my hips toward him at the same time as he lifts himself ever so slightly, immediately causing my grip to tighten around his shoulders and a gasp to pass my lips. His mouth moves to my ear as his hands re-create the sensual rhythm between us by pulling my hips forward again. "As hot as you look in uniform, I'd much rather have sex with you in nothing at all."

  I'm embarrassed at how easily his words alone can make me moan. I'm also embarrassed at how quickly his voice can undo me, to the point where I probably want my clothes to come off more than he does. "Please tell me you came prepared," I say, my voice already heavy with wan
t.

  He shakes his head. "Just because I knew I would see you tonight doesn't mean I came with expectations." I'm immediately filled with disappointment. He lifts himself off the seat and slides his hand into his back pocket. "I did, however, come with a hell of a lot of hope." He pulls the condom out of his wallet with a grin, and we both immediately begin to take action. My hands connect with the button on his jeans faster than our mouths connect. He slides his hands up the back of my top and begins to unclasp my bra, but I shake my head.

  "Just leave it on," I say breathlessly. The less clothes we take off, the faster we'll be able to get dressed if we get caught.

  He continues to unfasten it, despite my protest. "I don't want to be inside you unless I can feel you against me."

  Wow. Okay, then.

  When my bra is undone, he lifts my shirt over my head, and his fingers slide under the straps of my bra. He pulls them down my arms until the bra falls away. He tosses it into the backseat and then pulls his own shirt over his head. After his shirt joins my bra in the backseat, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him until our bare chests meet.

  We both immediately inhale sharp breaths. The warmth of his body creates a sensation that I don't want to pull away from. He begins kissing his way down my neck, his breath coming in rough waves against my skin.

  "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers against my throat.

  I smile, because that same exact thought just went through my own head. "Oh, I think I have an idea," I reply.

  His left hand palms one of my breasts, and he groans as his right hand dips into my pants.

  "Off," he says simply, tugging at the elastic band.

  He doesn't have to ask twice. I scoot back to my empty seat and begin removing the rest of my clothes while I watch him unzip his jeans.

  His eyes are all over me as he rips open the condom wrapper with his teeth. When the only article of clothing remaining between us is his unbuttoned pair of jeans, I scoot toward him.

  I feel ridiculously self-conscious that I'm in my car in the parking lot of my workplace and I'm completely naked. I've never done anything like this before. I've never really wanted to do anything like this before. I love how desperate we are for each other right now, but I also know I've never felt this kind of chemistry with anyone before.

  I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to straddle him while he slides on the condom.

  "Keep it quiet," he says teasingly. "I'd hate to be the reason you get fired."

  I glance at the window, still unable to see outside. "It's raining too hard for anyone to hear us," I say. "Besides, you were the louder one last time."

  He dismisses that with a quick laugh and begins kissing me again. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me to him, readying himself against me. This position would normally cause me to moan, but I'm suddenly feeling stubborn with my noises now that he's mentioned it.

  "There's no way I was the louder one," he says with his lips still touching mine. "If anything, we tied."

  I shake my head. "I don't believe in ending things with a tie. That's a copout for people who are too scared they might lose."

  His hands meet my hips, and he's positioned against me in such a way all I would have to do to take him inside me would be to allow it to happen. However, I'm refusing to lower myself onto him simply because I like competition and I feel one about to begin.

  He lifts his hips, obviously ready to get things going between us. My legs tense, and I pull away just enough.

  He laughs at my resistance. "What's wrong, Tate? You scared now? Afraid once I'm inside you, we'll both see who the loud one really is?"

  There's a challenging gleam in his eyes. I don't verbally accept his challenge to see who can stay quieter. Instead, I keep my eyes locked with his while I slowly ease myself onto him. Both of us gasp simultaneously, but that's the only sound that passes between us.

  As soon as he's all the way inside me, his hands meet my back, and he pulls me against him. The only sounds we make are heavy sighs and even heavier gasps. The rain slapping against the windows and the roof magnifies the silence we're experiencing inside the car.

  The strength it takes to hold back is coupled with a need to hold on to each other with more desperation. His arms are around my waist, gripping me so tightly it makes it hard to move. My arms are wrapped around his neck, and my eyes are shut. We're barely moving now because of the tight grips we have on each other, but I like it. I like how slow and steady our rhythm remains while we both focus on how to continue suppressing the moans caught in our throats.

  For several minutes, we continue in the same manner, moving just enough but at the same time not nearly enough. I think we're both too afraid to make any sudden movements, or the intensity will cause one of us to lose.

  One of his hands glides around to my lower back, and the other hand meets the back of my head. He takes a handful of my hair and gently tugs until my throat is exposed to his mouth. I wince the second his lips meet my neck, because staying quiet is a lot more challenging than I imagined it would be. Especially since he's at an advantage with the way we're positioned. His hands are free to roam anywhere they want, and that's exactly what they're doing right now.

  Roaming, caressing, trailing down my stomach so that he can touch the one place that could make me cede victory.

  I feel like he's cheating somehow.

  As soon as his fingers find the exact spot that would normally make me scream his name, I tighten my hold around his shoulders and reposition my knees so that I have more control of my movements. I want to put him through just as much torture as he's putting me through right now.

  As soon as I'm repositioned and able to ease myself further onto him, the slow-and-steady disappears. His mouth meets mine in a frantic kiss--one with more need and more force than any kiss before it. It's as if we're attempting to kiss away our natural desire to verbalize just how good this feels.

  I'm suddenly hit with a sensation that ripples through my entire body, and I have to lift myself off of him and hold still before I lose. Despite my need to slow things down, he does the opposite and applies more pressure to me with his hand. I bury my face against his neck and bite down gently on his shoulder in order to stop myself from moaning his name.

  The second my teeth meet his skin, I hear the hitch in his breath and feel the stiffening in his legs.

  He almost loses.

  Almost.

  If he moves inside me even an inch more while he's touching me this way, he'll win. I don't want him to win.

  Then again, I kind of do want him to win, and I'm thinking he wants to win with the way he breathes against my neck, gently lowering me back down onto him.

  Miles, Miles, Miles.

  He can sense that this isn't about to end in a tie, so he adds more pressure against me with his fingers at the same time as his tongue meets my ear.

  Oh, wow.

  I'm about to lose.

  Any second now.

  Oh, my word.

  He lifts his hips when he pulls me against him, forcing an involuntary "Miles!" out of my mouth, along with a gasp and a moan. I lift off of him, but as soon as he realizes he just won, he exhales heavily and pulls me back onto him with more force.

  "Finally," he says breathlessly against my neck. "I didn't think I could last another second."

  Now that the competition is over, both of us let loose completely until we're being so loud we have to kiss again to stifle our sounds. Our bodies are moving in sync, speeding up, crashing harder together. We continue our frantic pace for a few more minutes, escalating in intensity until I'm positive I can't take another second of him.

  "Tate," he says against my mouth, slowing the rhythm of my hips with his hands. "I want us to come together."

  Oh, holy hell.

  If he wants me to last any longer, he can't say things like that. I nod my head, unable to form a coherent response.

  "Are you almost there?" he asks.

>   I nod again and try my best to speak this time, but nothing comes out other than another moan.

  "Is that a yes?"

  His lips have stopped kissing mine, and he's focused on my response now. I bring my hands to the back of his head and press my cheek to his.

  "Yes," I somehow utter. "Yes, Miles. Yes." I feel myself begin to tense at the same time as he sucks in a sharp breath.

  I thought we were holding each other tightly before, but that doesn't begin to compare to this moment. It feels as if all our senses have magically melded together and we're feeling the exact same sensations, making the exact same noises, experiencing the exact same intensity, and sharing the exact same response.

  Our rhythm gradually begins to slow, right along with the tremors in our bodies. The tight grips we have around each other begin to loosen. He buries his face into my hair and exhales heavily.

  "Loser," he whispers.

  I laugh and move to bite him playfully on his neck. "You cheated," I say. "You brought in illegal reinforcement when you started using your hands."

  He laughs with a shake of his head. "Hands are fair game. But if you think I cheated, maybe we should have a rematch."

  I raise my eyebrows. "Best two out of three?"

  He lifts me by my waist and begins to push me toward the passenger door as he struggles to get behind the steering wheel. He hands me my clothes, pulls his shirt back over his head, and buttons his jeans. Once he's situated, I adjust myself in the passenger seat and finish dressing while he cranks the car. He throws it in reverse and begins backing out. "Buckle up," he says with a wink.

  *

  We barely made it out of the elevator, much less to his bed. He almost took me right there in the hallway. The sad part is, I wouldn't have minded.

  He won again. I'm beginning to realize that competing for who can stay the quietest isn't really a good idea when my competitor is naturally the quietest person I've ever met.

  I'll get him in round three. Just not tonight, because Corbin will more than likely be heading home soon.

  Miles is staring at me. He's on his stomach, with his hands folded across his pillow and his head resting on his arms. I'm getting dressed, because I want to beat Corbin to our apartment so I don't have to lie about where I've been.

  Miles follows me around his bedroom with his eyes as I dress.