The Natural History of Us Page 9

  Maybe I’m that transparent.

  Maybe he did know me, and our relationship wasn’t a total lie.

  But none of that matters. The only thing that does is how we ended.

  Misreading the sudden stiffness in my arms, Cade’s grip around me tightens. “Don’t you have anyone else to annoy right now?”

  Justin continues undeterred. “I get it, okay? I hurt you. I made a mistake three years ago that I desperately regret and I have to live with that. But, Peyton, I know you. Right now, you’re scared as hell. You’re telling yourself that you’re scared of the horse, of failing, or even letting down your parents, and hey, all that might be true,” he says before I can jump in. “But what you won’t admit is what really scares you.”

  Showing just how weak I am, I fall right into his trap. “And what’s that?”

  Justin grins like he won some kind of battle and the effect does insane things to my belly.

  “What really scares you,” he says, “is the huge part of you that so badly wants to do this. Wants to push herself again and prove to everyone that she can.”

  His gaze holds me entranced as breaths saw in and out of my chest. Fear pools with what dangerously feels like excitement in my core, shooting out through my body until it reaches my fingertips. My mouth tumbles open in an exhale, unable to contain it, and that wicked grin detonates into a full-on devastating smile.

  Beside me, Faith whispers, “Hot damn.”

  Justin releases me from his stare but he doesn’t swing it to Faith. He targets Cade as he delivers his final blow. “And I, for one, believe in you.”

  Cade sucks in air, staggering a bit as if he got the wind knocked out of him, and I snap out of the trance. What in heaven’s name is happening here? Have I learned nothing from the past? Justin is persuasive and charming. He’s proven time and again that he can sweet-talk the pants off any girl he wants, flooding the school with victims of his smile. That doesn’t mean he gets to work his magic on me. Not anymore.

  Standing tall, I throw my shoulders back and stare into his smug, all-knowing eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s too bad I stopped caring what you think the day you broke my heart,” I tell him with a bitter smile before turning on my heel and walking away.

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 28TH

  18 Weeks until Disaster

  ♥Freshman Year

  JUSTIN

  JUSTIN’S HOUSE 8:49 P.M.

  “Kid are you sure your old man won’t check his stash?”

  I lifted my eyes from my phone and smirked at Carlos, each of his hands wrapped around the neck of a bottle from my father’s liquor cabinet. “Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter,” I replied. Hell, if he did happen to notice and thrash me around, at least he’d remember I existed.

  Carlos squinted at me but went back to moving all the liquor to the living room, and I returned to staring at Peyton’s text.

  Dandelion and Oakley think you should stop back by sometime :)

  Who the hell named their pit bull Dandelion? Evidently, the same girl who named her horse after a tough-ass gunslinger, quoted inspirational posters, and had a smile sweeter than honey. And damn it if all those things didn’t make me want her that much more.

  Two weeks had passed since the day at her ranch. Two weeks since she’d told me about her illness and showed that inner-fire. When I got home, I’d looked up GBS on the Internet. She was right—it was rare. Even crazier, no one seemed to know how people got it. It wasn’t genetic. Sometimes it was preceded by a cold or the flu, but not in every case. Often, healthy people, athletes even, went from walking around and living life one day to lying immobilized in a hospital bed the next.

  I still couldn’t believe she’d gone through that and came out the way she had. Positive. Determined. If I’d been in her place, losing the ability to move and control my body, just lying there helpless without any answers, who knows what I would’ve done. Most likely complained and given up.

  More than attraction, I admired this girl. Which honestly pissed me off.

  Peyton was off-limits. I knew that. I just kept forgetting why.

  “Do you guys mind if I fast forward through this crap?” Brandon asked, already skipping ahead on the video. I pocketed my phone without replying to Peyton’s message. “We’re behind time and I want to get to the action.”

  “Hell yes I mind,” Drew replied, snatching the remote from our pitcher’s hand. “I like the human interest shit. If I’m gonna watch two dudes beat the shit out of each other, I want to be emotionally invested.”

  He glanced at me and grinned, rewinding to the beginning. I shrugged, honestly not caring either way. As long as I wasn’t alone, they could do whatever the hell they wanted.

  Dad was traveling again, and Annabeth had taken my brother to her parents’ house. Rosalyn always had weekends off, which meant I’d have the house to myself until Monday. Most people think this would be awesome—visions of Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear in that old movie flash through their mind. But the truth is, being alone sucks. The walls close in, the silence is deafening, and you can only play so many video games before you slowly go insane.

  Unfortunately, my usual distractions weren’t appealing, so I’d invited a few of the guys to watch the fight on Pay-Per-View.

  “The personal stories are all fluff,” Carlos replied, settling down with a bottle of Jim Beam. “But if you fast-forward through the octagon girls, I’m gonna have to hurt you.”

  I shook my head with a laugh. Carlos, I’d quickly learned, was all talk. Pushing to my feet, I headed to the large cooler in the corner as the announcers began discussing the title fight.

  “Did you guys watch that dude on Ultimate Fighter last season?” I asked, pointing at Alex Ryan’s face on the screen. Taking out an ice-cold beer, I twisted off the cap. “Broke his damn toe in the middle of the first round and kept on attacking. This match is gonna be a bloodbath.”

  Drew turned up the volume and we all fell silent as we listened to Joe Rogan make his predictions. A video package started, showing Alex and his opponent training in their home gyms and wrapping up their previous fights. They’d both bested the most insane competition ever to enter the octagon, proven themselves when and where it counted, and made it to the top. Win or lose tonight, they deserved their spots.

  That’s all I wanted at the end of the day—for people to say that about me. That I’d beaten the best and earned my spot. That I belonged there… wherever there was. I hoped it was baseball, and so far, Coach seemed to agree. He’d already pulled me aside a few times after practice, gave me tips during unstructured period, and was even nominating me for an invite-only catcher showcase, despite the fact that I was only a freshman. Things were trucking along exactly the way I wanted them to. I just had to make sure it stayed that way.

  “Now there’s my honey right there,” Carlos said as a girl with a deep tan, long dark hair, and a huge rack strutted away from the cage. She sat back in her chair and winked at the camera. “That girl wants me.”

  I waved away the tequila Brandon held in my direction and plopped my ass on the couch. “Man, if a girl like that ever came at you, you’d piss your pants.”

  The guys cracked up laughing, and Carlos scoffed. “False.” Then, after thinking about it, said, “Actually, truth. But only because her muscle-head boyfriend would kick my ass. I’m really more of a lover than a fighter.”

  Brandon shook his head, holding back a smile. “From where I’m sitting, I’ve got to say… I don’t think you’re much of either.”

  “Have you not seen Ashley Walsh all over my junk?” he asked indignantly. “She thinks I’m the shit.”

  “You mean your Diamond Doll?” Drew threw his head against the back of the sofa. “Jesus, dude. I bet you’d think strippers like you, too.”

  I choked on my beer, and Carlos flipped us all off. “Screw you guys.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder and he shoved my hand away. “We’re just fucking with you, man.”

  “
Yeah, well, what the hell do I care why she’s with me? Have you seen Ashley? Her ass is smoking, and her Rice Krispie treats taste like tiny bits of heaven.” He raised a shot glass full of whiskey in salute. “If she’s with me because I’m on the team, then all I can say is, ‘bring on the games.’”

  He downed the shot, Brandon followed, and Drew caught my eye.

  I didn’t know much about the dude, other than he played third base and seemed to be a good guy. Didn’t talk a lot of shit, mostly kept to himself. He didn’t even appear all that interested in Bethany, the hot cheerleader that trailed his ass since they’d announced he made the roster.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Don’t y’all think the whole

  Diamond Doll thing is a little stupid? I mean, the only thing those girls care about is that we play ball. If I weren’t on the team, I doubt Beth would give me a second look.” Around a mouthful of popcorn he mumbled, “And she’s not exactly my type, either.”

  “Ah, okay, so your type isn’t hot blonde.” Carlos nodded seriously. “Gotcha.”

  “What I mean is,” Drew said, beaning him with a kernel, “casual isn’t really my thing. I prefer one girl, a sweet, normal, cool girl I can be with, not a bunch of meaningless hookups.”

  “And I’m the exact opposite,” I replied, even as a pair of blue-gray eyes and a shock of strawberry blonde hair flashed in my mind. After witnessing my dad and step-monster’s joke of a marriage, I’d learned relationships were a waste of time. “I don’t do commitment.”

  “Too bad girls don’t come with some sort of label, huh?” Brandon asked. “A name tag that said if they wanted a relationship or are cool with just hanging out. Nothing serious. Just…” He glanced at Drew. “Casual.”

  Onscreen, the first fight of the night began. The guy in the red corner was a huge favorite, not much of a matchup. We watched the fighters size each other up, and Carlos said, “Maybe we should make a list for ourselves.”

  “Huh?”

  He lifted a shoulder and said, “We’ve been going to school with most of these girls for years, some since kindergarten. Odds are at least one of us has a good read on them, knows what type of relationship they’re looking for. May make it easier on the rest of us, you know?”

  Brandon looked at Drew. Drew glanced at me. I turned to Carlos and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  In my room, I headed straight for the bookshelf. Although several private schools fed into the high school, mine had been just down the block and was where the majority of the students came from. My eighth grade yearbook would have at least half the girls in our class.

  When I snatched it off my shelf, the corner of the book hit the stand holding my baseball. It rolled under my bed and I quickly stooped to get it. Palming it, I stood back up and glanced at Larry Dierker’s name. Everything about that day flooded over me. Dad taking me to the game. Standing beside me in line while we waited to meet his favorite player. Larry signing my ball and showing me a proper grip.

  I tossed it in the air, caught it, and put it back on the stand. Then, grabbing a legal pad and a pen, I left the room.

  “Back,” I announced, brandishing the yearbook like some sort of answer key. “This should help with that list.”

  Cracking open the book, I quickly flipped to the eighth grade photos and tossed the pad to Carlos. He drew a long line down the center and at the top wrote “Casual” on one side and “Commitment” on the other.

  “Gabi Avila,” I read, looking at the tough chick from English class. “Huh. You know, I can’t get a read on this girl at all. I’ve gone to school with her for a while but haven’t said like two words to her.”

  Carlos glanced over and I held up the book. “Hot,” he announced. “And my luck, a ‘Commitment.’”

  “She’s friends with Aly Reed, so I’d say that’s probably right.” Brandon pointed at the right side of the legal pad. “I’ve known that girl for a long time and she’s one of my closest friends. I can tell you she’s absolutely a ‘Commitment.’”

  As Carlos jotted down both names, I flipped to the end of the class photos and found Aly. She was cute. If I remembered right, she played for the volleyball team. In her picture, she was laughing instead of smiling, and something about the way her eyes crinkled reminded me of Peyton.

  “I think it’s safe to say most of the Diamond Dolls are ‘Casuals,’” Carlos said, already writing Ashley’s name. “They seem cool with just hanging out and having fun, not trying to call any of us their boyfriends or anything, right?”

  The other guys nodded in agreement. I wasn’t sure what Lauren wanted from me, but she’d never brought up labels. She left notes in my locker before games, cheered for me in the stands, and saved me a seat at lunch—basically the same things all the Diamond Dolls did. She also ignored me the other six days of the week, openly flirted with the other players, and kissed random dudes in the hallway. I’d say that was probably the definition of “Casual.”

  “What about that new girl?” I asked. “I think her name is Peyton?”

  Carlos side-eyed me, having seen her that day in the bleachers, but he didn’t out me.

  Drew scratched his chin. “Who?”

  “You know, the cute girl who started this semester. Strawberry blonde, kind of quiet, spends most of her lunch break reading a book?”

  From the way all three of them turned to stare at me, it was clear my attempt for nonchalance missed by a mile. Carlos smirked, but replied, “Yeah, I’ve seen her around a few times. She came to the game the other day, didn’t she?”

  Yes, she had. And I’d felt her watching my ass from behind home plate.

  “The girl who screamed bloody murder at the umpire for missing that call?” Brandon asked, and I nodded, fighting a smile at the memory. It had been a horrific mistake, almost cost us the game, but hearing Sunshine yell so loud, and seeing her face turn red while she did it in the stands, had made it damn hard to stay angry.

  The guys looked at each other for confirmation before saying in unison, “‘Commitment.’”

  I went to argue. I wanted to believe Peyton could be a “Casual.” If she didn’t want anything serious, then there would be no problem with us hooking up, having some fun, and hopefully getting her out of my head, since nothing else seemed to work. But, I knew the guys were right.

  Carlos glanced at me, the pen pressed to the paper. I released a breath and said, “Yeah, she’s totally a ‘Commitment.’”

  And completely off limits.

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 29TH

  18 Weeks until Disaster

  ♥Freshman Year

  PEYTON

  JUSTIN’S HOUSE 4:20 P.M.

  “Peyton?”

  Justin blinked at me in confusion as he raked his hand through a severe case of bedhead. He fisted the ends, causing them to stand straight up, clearly not a hair product in sight, and I decided this was my favorite look on him by far. Sleep-rumpled, almost innocent, and completely off-guard.

  “Did I wake you from a nap?” It was late in the day so while I’d been prepared for a slew of potential scenarios, Justin sleeping hadn’t been one of them. My determination waffled. “Maybe this is a bad time…”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” he replied on a yawn, bringing his hand down to scratch his stomach. The hem of his white T-shirt lifted, exposing a strip of tan skin. Definitely worth it. He shook his head as if to clear it, then squinted at me. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Uh.” My gaze wandered from that strip of skin, over his ratty sweat pants, down to his bare feet. My mouth flooded with saliva. Why was that so hot? Dragging my eyes back to his, I stuttered, “I, uh, I was bored… at home… and thinking of you, and I decided that was rather silly.” I beamed up at him. “Why sit there all alone when I could swing by here and see you in person?”

  Amusement and wonder washed over Justin’s face and I rolled onto the balls of my feet. “So… mind if I come in?”

  Smiling indulgently, he tugged the door open wi
der. Victory coursed through my veins as I turned, suppressing a shimmy, and waved goodbye to Mama.

  “I know I should’ve called or even texted,” I said when I stepped inside the grand entrance. I took in the marble tile, soaring ceiling, and three-level staircase. Impressive. “But if I’d done that, then you could’ve said no. I’m much harder to deny in person.”

  Justin laughed and the rich sound gave me goose bumps. “Anyone ever tell you you’re crazy?” I frowned at that and he tugged a strand of my hair. “Good crazy. You say whatever you think, whatever you feel. You don’t hold back.” He craned an eyebrow. “I like that. But it doesn’t make you normal.”

  “Normalcy is overrated,” I replied, although normal was exactly what I’d longed to be. Unfortunately, after almost a month of being the freshman class nerd-slash-weirdo, I was discovering ordinary might not be in the cards. Hard to be heartbroken, though, when Justin Carter smiled like that “It’s all part of my new life philosophy: Do what scares you.”

  He leaned against an ornate side table. “Was coming here scary?”

  “Are you kidding?” I huffed a laugh. “You could’ve told me to get lost, laughed in my face, or been busy with your friends.” Not to mention another girl. “Of course it was scary!”

  “What about me?” he asked and his firm lips twitched. “Do I scare you?”

  “Justin, you terrify me.”

  His smile was slow and dangerous and full of every wicked thing I’d ever fantasized about. Sweet baby Jesus. Biting my lip, I spun on my heel before I attacked him, and escaped down the hall, following the familiar opening notes of Sports Center.

  Today, I was on a mission of cute-boy discovery. I’d learned lots of little things about the mysterious guy trailing me over the last few weeks. Scraps of intel pieced together from text conversations, stealthy spy missions, and hours of focused pondering. Unfortunately, that was all I really had since we never spoke much in school. We didn’t share any classes, and I had zero interest in duking it out with Queen Bee Barbie at the lunch table. Lauren still held court as his Diamond Doll and she made sure everyone at Fairfield knew it, too.