So far, all that hoping has gone about as well as Gabi Avila’s covert spy mission.
The girl’s blue-black mane is speckled with bright, candy-apple-red chunks—her fashion sense rivals that of Lady Gaga—and she’s wearing thick, dark sunglasses indoors, yet she somehow expects to hide from Carlos and Lauren behind a peeling menu. She’s almost as deranged as I am for agreeing to come out here tonight.
“Look,” I say, gaze still glued to the latest “Gablos” drama explosion, “Can we please just stick to the list of questions Coach gave us? That’s why we’re here, not for whatever weird game you’re trying to play.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Hmm. That went over a bit too easily. Shifting my eyes back across the table, I watch as Justin’s smile softens. I pretend the sight does nothing to my stomach.
“Peyton.” He lifts a hand as if to cover mine, but, at my raised eyebrow, brings it back to his lap. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I snort, a totally attractive sound, I know. But hey, it’s not as if I’m trying to impress him.
That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
“Moving on.”
Yanking out the sheet detailing tonight’s assignment, I scan the list of questions, eager to get this horrific show on the road. Maybe if I’m lucky, we’ll fly through the suckers and be done before the waitress even appears.
Some of these I already know the answers to, like what are your feelings on marriage? What with Justin cheating on me, his never-ending stream of women, and the heartless stunts his dad and stepmom have pulled through the years, I think it’s safe to say his stance is a hard “no” on that one.
“What do you think are the components of a satisfying, successful marriage?” I ask instead, setting the paper down so he won’t see how badly my hands are shaking.
I avoided the blatantly obvious question, but this one is every bit as pointless. Based on our prior history, it’s almost a given he’ll say there’s no such thing as a successful marriage. Which makes it surprising when he replies:
“Honesty. Commit—”
“Really?” I interrupt with a laugh. “You’re gonna start with honesty? You?”
Justin leans forward, the paper tablecloth crinkling as he rests his elbows on the surface. With the way he stares into my eyes, it’s like he can see straight through to my soul. Maybe Gabi had the right idea hiding behind the menu.
“Yeah,” he answers. “I am. Look, Peyton, I know you don’t believe it, but people change a lot in three years. I’m not the complete asshole you think I am.” I scoff under my breath, and he holds my gaze for another long moment before the thick knot in his throat bobs and he glances away. “At least not anymore.”
A twinge of guilt hits my stomach. Which, when you think about it, is so stupid. He cheated on me! But, luckily, before I can do something even more foolish, like apologize for my well-founded doubts, he turns back and continues.
“Honesty,” he says it again, this time emphasizing the word. He holds up a hand and starts listing components on his long fingers. “Commitment. Telling your wife she’s the most beautiful girl in the room.” He pauses there, three fingers extended, and my hand clenches beneath the table. With a grin, he adds, “Remembering what a lucky bastard you are that she ever chose you in the first place.”
That’s four, according to the tally, and my pulse picks up speed with each uptick.
“Never going to sleep angry.” Five. “Getting all your shit out there before it can build.” Six. “And kissing her every damn chance you get.” Seven.
He leans back, leaving his hands extended in the air, and I just keep staring at his fingers. I chastise myself—stupid heart, he’s not saying these things about YOU!—but the longer the fingers remain up, the longer the moment stretches, the more the air around us shifts. The cool tickle of awareness races up my spine, and as I shiver, chill bumps prick my skin.
Justin’s eyes dip to my arms. The corner of his mouth twitches and as he curls his hands closed, he shrugs. “That’s my opinion, anyway. What about you?”
My opinion? I’m discombobulated.
Before dinner = fully combobulated.
Now = completely and totally without combobs.
“Uh.” My head is void of all thought but I clear my throat, grasping to pull something out of the air. Another trait to list or quality to check that he didn’t already cover.
Since when did the player of Fairfield Academy become a frigging marriage expert?
“Those are good,” I say, stalling as I think about my parents who have, hands down, the most incredible marriage ever. They support each other, they listen, and they make room for daily bouts of silliness. Remembering a few of their more gooberific moments I add, “Laughter.” Justin looks at me. “I think it’s important to laugh with the person you’re in love with.”
He nods as a small smile plays on his lips. “I like that one. You should write it down.”
Oh, right.
We’re not just sitting here, dredging up our pain-filled past for kicks. We’re actually supposed to turn these answers in and use them to begin our joint paper. Grateful for the excuse to break eye contact, I grab my oversized purse and dig for something to write on other than the tiny margin of the question sheet or the butcher-paper tablecloth. Usually I’m much more prepared.
And much more combobulated.
“Here.”
I glance up to find Justin holding out a pocket-sized notebook. The same kind he always used to scribble in, filling the pages with his secret thoughts. Thoughts I once felt honored to read.
He jiggles it, both daring and telling me to take it, so I reach across the table and grab it, meeting his eyes as I do.
“Hey guys, welcome to Carmela’s.”
I jump, wrenching my hand back.
“I’m Francine, and I’ll be your server tonight.”
As my pounding heart leaves my throat, the waitress reaches for a crayon. She writes her name upside down and backwards in the middle of the tablecloth along with a drawing of a sun. “Sorry for the wait. They sat you guys all at once.”
I give a closed-mouth smile as she grabs an overflowing bowl of chips and bright red salsa from the tray behind her and plops it on the table. This girl has impeccable timing.
Blowing a fringe of bangs from her forehead, Francine reaches into an apron adorned with impressive anime flair. “The school’s pre-approved menu is on the insert,” she says, hoisting an order pad. “If you want to pay separately, tonight’s special is chicken fajitas for two. What can I get y’all to drink?”
I go to answer, but Justin beats me to it. “I’ll have a Coke, and she’ll have a Sprite along with a glass of water with lemon.”
He glances at me, obviously proud at knowing one of my many odd little quirks, and lifts an eyebrow as if to say, “I remember everything about you.”
Swallowing hard, I force myself to look away, watching our waitress instead as she grins, taps a black-painted fingernail on the corner of her cute frames, and then skips off for the kitchen with seemingly no more pressing concerns than a bunch of high school kids stiffing her on tips. I stare at the bowl of salsa she left behind, wondering when was the last time I felt free.
I snag a chip from the bowl and scoop a large glob of the red stuff. “We should get back to the assignment.”
If Justin is disappointed I didn’t take his bait with the drinks, I can’t tell. He simply reaches over and slides the sheet across the table before reading, “A strong marriage depends on the ability to share with each other at the deepest levels. One of the foundational elements to a strong relationship is to let your partner know you appreciate them. Think of three positive characteristics that your partner embodies and tell them in a statement that says, ‘I appreciate…’”
He looks up. “Does this remind you of that time we played three questions?”
I snatch the paper from his hand.
“I’ll start,” I sa
y, determined to focus on the here and now and take this assignment seriously. Even if it bloody kills me.
My fingers hesitate only for a moment before opening the spiral notebook. It requires Hulk-like strength to beat back the impulse to read the words Justin has tucked within the pages, but I do it, turning to a clean one near the middle.
“Justin, I appreciate what a leader you are on the team,” I say, staring at the page and not the confounding boy in front of me. It’s been three years since we were together, but some things I can’t escape. Listening to my dad praise his favorite catcher and watching the results myself from the bleachers are two of them. “The other guys listen to you, they respect how hard you play, and Dad relies on your work ethic to set an example.”
The bench seat groans as he shifts his weight. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“But it is.” I glance up to meet his eyes. For all of Justin’s bravado and confidence, he’s never been able to take a sincere compliment. And although he’s my ex and deserves to roast in the fiery pits of hell, or at the very least a really hot sauna, he’s not without his strengths.
When his eyes fill with what appears to be cautious optimism, I quickly look down again and continue. “I appreciate your sense of humor. Even in the most stressful of situations, you can always make people smile.”
“Carlos is the clown,” he mutters, drumming his knuckles on the table. If I weren’t so eager to complete this assignment, I’d sort of enjoy seeing him sweat.
“Carlos gets laughs by acting up and pulling stunts,” I say, for reasons unknown, needing him to believe I mean it. Clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment. “You make a self-effacing joke, say something unexpected, or even flirt, making people feel good. You distract them.”
When Justin doesn’t argue again, I write down the third and final trait. “I appreciate the way you listen. If someone has your attention, they have all of you.” I swallow hard as my eyes bore into the thin paper. “They’re the only thing on the planet that matters for those brief precious moments.”
Snapshot images flash in my mind. Us talking in his room, at the ranch… in the doghouse.
“You listen without always needing to give advice,” I tell him, “but you offer it when asked. You look them in the eye and you remember everything.”
Even when it’s annoying.
I finish writing and when I have nothing left to do, I lift my head. Soft brown eyes drill into me, almost pleading with an expression that wavers between disbelief and hope. The hope confuses me, and for his sake, I pray the disbelief fades once he gets away from his parents. Either way, I have to force myself to hold still under his scrutiny, not to flinch or look away.
Finally, he asks softly, “Do you really mean that?”
Clenching my hand underneath the table, I nod.
Because the truth is, as torturous as being here with him is and as revealing as that question was, I did mean it. And I’m glad I answered. With my own broken heart and embarrassment, it’s easy to forget that Justin doesn’t have people to tell him these things. There’s the guys, I guess, and his brother, Chase. His housekeeper, and my dad… but that’s it.
Cheating asshat or not, Justin Carter isn’t a completely horrible human being.
He deserves to know that.
We watch each other for the space of two heartbeats until Lauren lifts her voice above the chaos, as if she can sense my weakening resolve. “Baseball players make the best kissers.”
I almost roll my eyes. For one, I’m almost certain she just spotted Gabi and said that to annoy her, and for two, there are no words for how dumb that categorical statement is. But I’m grateful for the not-so-subtle reminder. Pressing my shoulders into the soft cushion of the bench, I grab another chip.
“Too bad Stasi didn’t pair you with your girlfriend,” I say, shooting for levity. I fail miserably since my voice wobbles, but I laugh anyway, even as pressure mounts behind my eyes. I’m nothing if not stubborn. “I’m sure her list would’ve been much more fun.”
“I love your list.” Justin’s voice is gruff and he reaches over, this time boldly and without hesitation taking my hand. I’m too shocked by the contact to pull it back.
“And Lauren’s not my girlfriend.” He stares into me again, never blinking as he says it, and after a slight pause to let that sink in he adds, “She was never my girlfriend, and we haven’t hooked up all year.”
His grip is warm and firm, and panic sets in. I’m not sure what Justin’s trying to prove here or what he hopes to gain, but he’s messing with my head. The skip down memory lane. The way he keeps looking at me like he can truly see me, all the way down to the marrow. It’s as if he’s forgotten all the pain and fear and confusion.
Or worse, that he was never into me at all.
“Whatever labels you two want to slap on it,” I say, tugging on my hand. Justin tightens his hold, and I narrow my eyes. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
Honestly? Girlfriend, casual hookup, whatever term they use, it still hurts. Actually, it hurts worse to think that he ditched me for a simple fling.
Justin grunts. “I wasn’t gonna do this now.” His free hand rakes through his hair and fists the ends in a tight grip. “I planned to wait a few days at least but I can’t. Sunshine, you’ve got to know that there was more to what happened that day. I’m not making excuses, I know I screwed up, but you don’t know the full truth.”
“First,” I say, finally yanking my hand from his grasp. “Don’t call me Sunshine. Second, as crazy as this may be, I’m great with not knowing the sordid details. Fantastic, even. Believe me, I’ve imagined every possibility anyway.”
“No, that’s not what I meant—”
“The details don’t even matter,” I continue, hearing how my voice borders on hysteria. Licking my lips, I glance around the room and lower my voice to a more discreet level. “The past is in the past. I’m with someone else now, and you’re… doing whatever it is you do.”
“But I’m not doing anything—” He stops abruptly. “Wait. You have a boyfriend?”
He looks gobsmacked, which is kind of like the icing on the craptastic experience that is this night. Shocking, other guys find me attractive! If my self-esteem hadn’t been running on empty already, this night would’ve sent the needle straight to E.
Then Justin nods, his lips twitching into a smirk, and I know he’s figured it out. “So, Cade finally grew a pair, huh?”
THURSDAY, MAY 13TH
20 Weeks until Disaster
♥Freshman Year
PEYTON
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY FRONT STEPS 4:56 P.M.
Gilbert Blythe was a bona fide literary babe. No matter how many times I re-read Anne of Green Gables, I always got sucked in, turning each page a bit slower than the last, wanting to prolong the journey. Wishing with everything in me that I were as daring and confident as fellow redhead Anne Shirley, and that a boy like Gilbert would fall head over boots for me.
I’d even let him call me Carrots… or Sunshine.
Smiling at my book, I began another chapter, wondering what Anne would do with a boy like Justin Carter. Not that Justin was my Gilbert. Two weeks into the semester and I’d already gotten an earful about his exploits with girls—a certain Diamond Doll in particular—and knew that he was way out of my league.
That didn’t stop my Gilbert-like crush on him, though. Overinflated ego and all.
As far as the Diamond Dolls went, according to my highly impressive investigative efforts (eavesdropping on hallway conversations and asking my dad), they were a group of girls who pretty much worshipped the baseball team. Some of them were cheerleaders, others were on the dance team, and the rest were just regular students. It was like a weird, non-school-sanctioned version of the Pink Ladies. They wore cute outfits on game day, decorated players’ lockers, brought the guys snacks, and sat in a large group at the games, holding up glittery signs and cheering.
Or, according to Dad, “Distracting our
boys.”
Clearly, he wasn’t a fan, and after witnessing a week of their shenanigans, neither was I. The day after the team officially welcomed Justin, Lauren Hays unofficially assigned herself as his Doll… and all but peed a circle around him while she was at it. It wasn’t that I’d fooled myself into believing I actually had a shot at dating the boy. Justin was a notorious flirt, and I blushed scarlet just thinking of a comeback. But the loss of possibility was a bit disheartening.
“There’s my Sunshine.” At the familiar voice whispered against my ear, I jumped, book to heart, and spun around guiltily as if he’d heard my thoughts. From the devilish grin Justin wore, I wasn’t certain that he hadn’t. “Whatcha doing, pretty girl? In case you didn’t get the memo, school ended two hours ago.”
“Oh, is that what the bell meant?” My voice was full of snark, but inwardly I was doing a happy dance. This was the first time we’d spoken since team tryouts and I was secretly thrilled that he remembered me.
Justin was dressed in normal clothes, jeans and a T-shirt, and his hair was wet, fresh from the shower after practice. If I leaned in, I bet I could smell the clean scent of his soap.
“Mom’s car is in the shop,” I explained, squeezing my book tighter against me. “And Dad is in meetings for another hour, so I’m just hanging out.”
His gaze lowered to my hand. “Ah, well, as exciting as reading alone on the school steps can be, what do you say I take you home?”
The idea of being in a car alone with the object of my recent obsession was almost too awesome to comprehend. Then I realized it was too awesome. Justin was in my grade, which meant that unless he’d failed at some point, he was fourteen or fifteen at the most.
“You drive?”
“No, but Rosalyn does.” He jerked his thumb toward a green Expedition idling near the curb, and my Gilbert-like hopes deflated like a sad, old balloon. Le sigh.
“That’s all right,” I said, honestly having zero interest in riding backseat to him and one of his many female admirers. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure y’all would rather be alone anyway.”
The Natural History of Us Page 4
