He's grunting with every thrust, and I'm making noises I didn't even know I could make. I've never experienced anything like this before.

I didn't know it could be this intense. This raw. This animalistic.

I lower my face and press my cheek against the table.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I let him f.u.c.k me.

It's quiet.

It's so quiet, and I don't know if it's because we were both so loud just a few seconds ago or if he just needs a minute to recover.

He's still inside me, but he's finished. He's just not moving. One of his hands is still covering my mouth, the other still squeezing my fingers. His face is still buried against my neck.

But he's so incredibly still I'm afraid to move. I don't even feel him breathing.

The first thing to move is his hand, away from my mouth. He unlocks his fingers from mine and straightens them, pulling them slowly apart from mine. He presses both palms against the table and lifts his face away from my neck. He pulls out of me without a sound.

It's still too quiet, so I don't move.

I hear him as he pulls his pants back into position and zips them.

I hear his footsteps as he walks away.

He's walking away.

His bedroom door slams shut, and I flinch. My cheek and palms and stomach are still flat against his table, but now so are my tears.

They're falling.

Falling, falling, falling, and I can't stop them.

I'm embarra.s.sed. I'm ashamed. I don't have a clue what the h.e.l.l is wrong with him, but I have too much pride and too little courage to go find out.

This felt like an end. I'm not sure I was ready for this to be the end. I'm not sure I was ready for there ever to be an end, and I hate myself for allowing my feelings to get to that point.

I'm also angry because here I am, standing in his apartment, looking for my pants, trying to stop my ridiculous tears, still feeling the remnants of him sliding down my leg, and I have no f.u.c.king clue why he had to ruin it.

Ruin me.

I finish getting dressed, and I leave.

chapter twenty.

MILES.

Six years earlier "You're getting an outie," I tell her. I run my fingers over her bare stomach, and I kiss it. "It's cute."

I press my ear to her skin and close my eyes. "I bet he's lonely in there," I say. "Are you lonely in there, buddy?"

Rachel laughs. "You keep calling him a boy. What if he's a girl?"

I tell Rachel whatever he is, I'll love him the same. I already love him.

Or her.

Our parents are out of town. We're playing house again, except this time, we aren't really playing. It's kind of serious.

"So what happens if he really does propose to her this time?"

she asks.

I tell her not to worry. I tell her he's not proposing. He would ask me first before he did it. I know that much about him.

"We have to tell them," I say to her.

She nods. She knows we have to tell them. It's been three months. We graduate in two. She's starting to show.

She's getting an outie. It's cute.

"We should tell them tomorrow," I say.

She says okay.

I move away from her stomach and lie beside her. I pull her against me. I touch her face.

"I love you, Rachel," I tell her.

She's not as scared now. She tells me she loves me, too.

"You're doing a good job," I say. She doesn't know what I'm talking about, so I grin and touch her stomach. "You're doing a good job growing him. I'm pretty sure you're gonna grow the best baby any woman has ever grown."

She laughs at my silliness.

You love me so much, Rachel.

I look at her-at the girl I gave my heart to-and I wonder how I got so lucky.

I wonder why she loves me just as much as I love her.

I wonder what my dad is going to say when he finds out about us.

I wonder if Lisa will hate me. I wonder if she'll want to take Rachel back to Phoenix.

I wonder how I can convince them that we've got this.

"What are we going to name him?" I ask her.

She's excited when I ask her this. She likes talking about names.

She says if it's a girl, she wants to name her Claire. After her grandmother.

I tell her I wish I knew her grandmother. I want to know the woman my daughter will be named after. She tells me her grandmother would have loved me. I tell her I love the name Claire.

"What if he's a boy?" I ask.

"You can pick the boy name," she says.

I tell her that's a lot of pressure. I tell her he'll have to live with his name the rest of his life. She says, "Then you'd better pick a good one."

I'd better pick a good one.

"One that means something to you," she says.

One that means something to me.

I tell her I have the perfect name for him.

She wants to know what it is. I tell her I'm not telling her. I'll tell her his name after it becomes his name.

After he's born.

She tells me I'm insane. She says she refuses to give birth to our baby until she knows his name.

I laugh. I tell her she has no choice.

She tells me I'm crazy.

You love that about me, Rachel.

chapter twenty-one.

TATE.

I worked all weekend, so I haven't seen or spoken to Miles since Thursday night. I keep telling myself it's for the best, but it sure as h.e.l.l doesn't feel like it with the way I've been letting it eat at me. Tonight is Monday, and it's the first of three days when Corbin won't be home and Miles will be. I know he knows Corbin is gone, but based on the way he left things Thursday, I doubt he cares much. I half expected that he would eventually explain if I did something wrong or at least tell me what upset him so much, but the last I got from him was the slam of his bedroom door after he walked away.

I can see why he hasn't been in a relationship for six years. He's obviously clueless when it comes to how a guy should treat a girl, which surprises me, because I get these vibes from him that he's really a decent guy. However, his actions during and after s.e.x seem to contradict his character. It's as if pieces of the guy he used to be bleed over into the guy he's trying to be.

If any other man ever treated me like he did, it would be the one and only time. I don't put up with the things I've seen a lot of my friends put up with. However, I find myself continuing to make excuses for him, like something could actually justify his actions last week.

I'm beginning to fear that maybe I'm not so tough after all.

That fear is immediately confirmed with the skip of my heart as soon as I step off the elevator. There's a note taped to my apartment door, so I rush to it and pull it down. It's just a folded piece of paper without anything written on the outside of it. I open it: I need to run an errand. I'll stop by at seven if you want to come with me. I read the note several times. It's obviously from him, and it's obviously for me, but the note reads so incredibly casual that for a second, I begin to doubt that Thursday even happened.

He was there, though. He knows how that night ended between us. He knows I must be upset or angry, but nothing in his note reveals that at all.

I unlock my door and walk inside before I can work myself up to the point of beating on his door to scream at him.

I drop my things once I'm inside my apartment and read the note one more time, dissecting everything from his handwriting down to his selection of words. I wad it up in my hands and throw it toward the kitchen, completely p.i.s.sed off.

I'm p.i.s.sed because I already know I'll be going with him.

I don't know how not to.

There's a soft knock on the door at exactly seven o'clock. His punctuality p.i.s.ses me off, and there's no reason for it. I have nothing against punctuality. I have a feeling every single thing Miles does tonight is going to p.i.s.s me off.

I walk to the front door and open it.

He's standing in the hallway, several feet away. He's probably closer to his door than to mine, actually. He's looking down at his feet when I open the door, but he eventually lifts his eyes to meet mine. His hands are tucked away in his jacket pockets again, and he doesn't lift his head all the way up. I take this as a sign of submission from him, even though it's more than likely not.

"Want to come?"

His voice invades me. Weakens me. Turns me into liquid again. I nod as I step out into the hall and close the door behind me. I lock it and turn around to face him. He nods his head toward the elevators, silently telling me he'll follow behind me. I try to read the expression in his eyes, but I should know better.

I walk toward the elevator and press the down b.u.t.ton.

He stands next to me, but neither of us speaks. It takes the elevator what seems like years to get to us. When it finally opens, we both breathe a quiet sigh of relief, but as soon as we're inside and the doors close, neither of us can breathe again.

I can feel him watching me, but I don't look at him.

I can't.

I feel stupid. I feel like I want to cry again. Now that I'm here and I have no idea where we're going, I feel like a fool for allowing him to even get me this far.

"I'm sorry." His voice is weak, but it's also surprisingly sincere.

I don't look at him. I don't even respond.

He takes three steps across the elevator, and then he reaches down beside me and presses the emergency stop b.u.t.ton. His finger lingers on the b.u.t.ton as he watches me, but I keep my eyes down. My face is level with his chest, but my jaw is tense, and I won't look up at him.

I won't.