His shirt isn't b.u.t.toned.

I'm staring at his stomach.

Stop staring at his stomach.

Oh my word, he has the V.Those beautiful indentations on men that run the length of their outer abdominal muscles, disappearing beneath their jeans as if the indentations are pointing to a secret bull's-eye.

Jesus Christ, Tate, you're staring at his d.a.m.n crotch!

He's b.u.t.toning his shirt now, so I somehow gain superhuman strength and force my eyes to look back up at his face.

Thoughts. I should have some of those, but I can't find them. Maybe it's because I just found out he's an airline pilot.

But why would that impress me?

It doesn't impress me that Dillon's a pilot. But then again, I didn't find out Dillon was a pilot while he was doing laundry and flaunting his abs. A guy folding laundry while flaunting his abs and being a pilot is seriously impressive.

Miles is fully dressed now. He's putting on his shoes, and I'm watching him like I'm in a theater and he's the main attraction.

"Is that safe?" I ask, finding a coherent thought somehow. "You've been drinking with the guys, and now you're about to be at the controls of a commercial jet?"

Miles zips his jacket, then picks up an already packed duffel bag from the floor. "I've only had water tonight," he says, right before exiting the kitchen. "I'm not much of a drinker. And I definitely don't drink on work nights."

I laugh and follow him toward the living room. I walk to the table to grab my things. "I think you're forgetting how we met," I say. "Move-in day? Someone-pa.s.sed-out-drunk-in-the-hallway day?"

He opens the front door to let me out. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Tate," he says. "We met on an elevator. Remember?"

I can't tell if he's kidding, because there's no smile or gleam in his eyes.

He closes the door behind us. I hand him back his apartment key, and he locks his door. I walk to mine and open it.

"Tate?"

I almost pretend I don't hear him just so he'll have to say my name again. Instead, I turn around and face him, pretending to be completely unaffected by this man.

"That night you found me in the hallway? That was an exception. A very rare exception."

There's something unspoken in his eyes and maybe even in his voice.

He stands paused at his front door, poised to walk toward the elevators. He's waiting to see if I have anything to say in response. I should tell him good-bye. Maybe I should tell him to have a safe flight. That could be considered bad luck, though. I should just say good night.

"Was the exception because of what happened with Rachel?"

Yes. I really just chose to say that instead.

WHY did I just say that?

His posture changes. His expression freezes, as if my words jolted him with a bolt of lightning. He's more than likely confused that I said that, because he obviously doesn't remember anything about that night.

Quick, Tate. Recover.

"You thought I was someone named Rachel," I blurt out, explaining away the awkwardness as best I can. "I just thought maybe something happened between the two of you and that's why . . . you know."

Miles inhales a deep breath, but he tries to hide it. I hit a nerve.

We don't talk about Rachel, apparently.

"Good night, Tate," he says, turning away.

I can't tell what just happened. Did I embarra.s.s him? p.i.s.s him off? Make him sad?

Whatever I did, I hate this thing now. This awkwardness that's filling the s.p.a.ce between my door and the elevator he's now standing in front of.

I walk inside my apartment and close my door, but the awkwardness is everywhere. It didn't remain out in the hallway.

chapter six.

MILES.

Six years earlier We eat dinner, but it's awkward.

Lisa and Dad try to include us in the conversation, but neither of us is in the mood to talk. We stare at our plates. We push around the food with our forks.

We don't want to eat.

Dad asks Lisa if she wants to go sit out back.

Lisa says yes.

Lisa asks Rachel to help me clear the table.

Rachel says okay.

We take the plates to the kitchen.

We're quiet.

Rachel leans against the counter while I load the dishwasher.

She watches me do my best to ignore her. She doesn't realize she's everywhere. She's in everything. Every single thing has just become Rachel.

It's consuming me.

My thoughts aren't thoughts anymore.

My thoughts are Rachel.

I can't fall in love with you, Rachel.

I look at the sink. I want to look at Rachel.

I breathe in air. I want to breathe in Rachel.

I close my eyes. I only see Rachel.

I wash my hands. I want to touch Rachel.

I dry my hands on a towel before turning around to face her.

Her hands are gripping the counter behind her. Mine are folded across my chest.

"They're the worst parents in the world," she whispers.

Her voice cracks.

My heart cracks.

"Despicable," I say to her.

She laughs.

I'm not supposed to fall in love with your laugh, Rachel.

She sighs. I fall in love with that, too.

"How long have they been seeing each other?" I ask her.

She'll be honest.

She shrugs. "About a year. It's been long-distance until she moved us here to be closer to him."

I feel my mother's heart breaking.

We hate him.

"A year?" I ask. "Are you sure?"

She nods.

She doesn't know about my mother. I can tell.

"Rachel?"

I say her name out loud, just like I've wanted to do since the second I met her.

She continues to look directly at me. She swallows, then breathes out a shallow "Yeah?"

I step toward her.

Her body reacts. She stands taller but not by much. She breathes heavier but not by much. Her cheeks grow redder but not by much.

It's all just enough.

My hand fits her waist. My eyes search hers.

They don't tell me no, so I do.

When my lips touch hers, it's so many things. It's good and bad and right and wrong and revenge.

She inhales, stealing some of my breaths. I breathe into her, giving her more. Our tongues touch and our guilt intertwines and my fingers slide through the hair G.o.d made specifically for her.

My new favorite flavor is Rachel.

My new favorite thing is Rachel.

I want Rachel for my birthday. I want Rachel for Christmas. I want Rachel for graduation.

Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

I'm gonna fall in love with you anyway, Rachel.

The back door opens.

I release Rachel.

She releases me but only physically. I can still feel her in every other way.

I look away from her, but everything is still Rachel.

Lisa walks into the kitchen. She looks happy.

She has a right to be happy. She's not the one who died.

Lisa tells Rachel it's time to go.

I tell them both good-bye, but my words are only for Rachel.

She knows this.

I finish the dishes.

I tell my father Lisa was nice.