Not my smartest move.
Peyton winced and her head fell back against my chest, hiding her face, and if I could’ve kicked my own ass in that moment, I would have.
“Hey, listen.” Gently lifting her chin again, I bent my knees so I could look into her eyes. “I’m glad you haven’t done this before.” She scoffed at this, and my smile grew smug. “No, I’m serious. I’m damn proud to be your first. You think I don’t love knowing I beat out all the other dudes with their heads up their asses?”
“Ha, yeah, cause there was a real line forming, let me tell you.” Peyton rolled her eyes. She really had no clue how amazing she was.
“Maybe you didn’t notice,” I said, sliding my thumb over her lips. “But guys were watching. Trust me. How could anyone see this mouth and not go insane wanting a taste?”
Evidently, this was better. I was bound to say the right thing eventually.
Peyton’s lashes lowered as a soft smile curved beneath the rough pad of my thumb. Something heavy moved inside my chest.
“Well, it’s hard to be kissed when you’re in and out of hospitals for a year,” she said, latching onto my wrists. “Before that, there were guys in my homeschool co-op, and I was around a bunch at rodeo events, but there’s never been anyone I was really interested in.”
“Until me,” I clarified because I was an arrogant ass. Also because I wanted her to smile again. She didn’t disappoint.
A musical laugh sprang free, her happy smile trailing behind, and I was in heaven. “Until you,” she agreed. She squinted one eye and added, “Though you should know, I’m probably gonna be really, really bad at it.”
The expression on her face said she honestly believed it, and I couldn’t wait to prove her wrong. I leaned close to her ear and whispered across her skin, “That’s impossible.”
Peyton’s breath caught in a gasp, and I angled back to see her face.
That’s when the moment changed.
Sounds of the emptying baseball field fell away. The cool air around us kindled. The soft smile on her face faded as she looked into my eyes, shifting her gaze between them to see what I’d do next. Part of me wondered the same thing.
I’d kissed dozens of girls before. Some I wanted, others purely because I was bored. But I’d never felt anything like this. Anticipation. Want. Fear. Unlike any other kiss I’d ever shared, this one needed to be epic. Girls remembered their first kiss for the rest of their lives, and I had to leave Peyton with something good to cling to later… when I inevitably screwed everything up.
Gauging her reaction, I slowly lowered my head and watched her soft lips part. Adrenaline surged through my veins at the swipe of her tongue. She nodded once, silently giving me permission, then closed her eyes.
Inhaling the scent of sunflowers, I kissed her.
Soft and sweet. Those two words defined this girl. She tasted like sugar and her sigh was addictive as I brushed her mouth with mine. Again and again. I couldn’t get enough. Her hands clenched my wrists, tugging me closer. I could’ve lived in that moment forever.
My restless hands memorized the curve of Peyton’s spine, the dip of her waist. Hers slid down my arms and around my back, fisting my shirt before slipping underneath. A jolt of electricity ran over my skin. When her nails raked down my spine, I jerked and groaned into her mouth. She was a fast learner.
I kissed the corners of her triumphant smile, licked the bow of her top lip, and nipped at the bottom one. She sighed again and sank in my arms, matching me kiss for kiss, playful tug for playful tug. And still, I needed more. I’d probably always need more.
Tilting my head for better access, I grazed her cheeks with my fingertips. Traced the seam of her mouth with my tongue, silently asking for what I wanted. Hoping like hell she’d open up. Her answer was one shy flick. The shiver reached my toes.
No girl had gotten to me like this. Burrowed under my skin, held my interest, or had me thinking about tomorrow. Wishing I could be that guy. I lost myself in the strawberry taste of Peyton’s mouth, the sweet sounds in her throat, and I didn’t fully emerge until hours later. When I did, it was with one thought circling my brain:
How long until I mess this up?
SATURDAY, MAY 24TH
2 Weeks until Graduation
♥Senior Year
PEYTON
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY BASEBALL FIELD 3:30 P.M.
“It drives me insane the way he stares at you.” Cade’s voice is low, meant for my ears only, but that doesn’t hide the edge of possession in his tone. And there’s no need to ask who he is. “Shouldn’t he be concerned with, oh, I don’t know, the game he’s in the middle of?”
“We’re ahead by two runs,” I say, watching Drew’s follow through and pretending not to feel Justin’s gaze on my cheek. “Plus, Justin’s ranked 25 in ESPN’s top 100 high school players. He could hit off this guy in his sleep.”
Sometimes, I seriously need to think before I speak.
What Cade wants to hear right now is, “God, you’re right, he’s so annoying.” Or, “Who cares? Let him look. It’s not like he’s got a shot with me anyway.” Or even, “Justin could stare at me all day long and it wouldn’t touch us at all. We’re solid.”
What my current boyfriend definitely does not want to hear is a frigging fangirl report on my ex’s stats. Normally, I’m much more accommodating. Today, my brain’s just muddled.
Can you blame me? Between my epic fail at the ranch, the pressure on Dad for his team to win, the constant memories of Justin, the tension with Cade (and not the romantic, sexy kind, either), finals, graduation, and college on the horizon—it’s amazing I’m not checking myself into the looney bin.
A muscle in Cade’s jaw flinches. “You were able to spit that out pretty quickly.”
I lift a shoulder and shrug but hold my tongue before anything else stupid can fall out.
The truth is, I’ve always been aware of Justin. It’s never stopped. I know about his game, I see him in the cafeteria, and I sense when he’s near me in the hall. Other than Cade, he’s the only boy I’ve ever dated, so I always just assumed this behavior was normal. Sure, things are different with Cade—there’s no itch under my skin, or desire to be around him constantly—but Justin was my first love. It made sense that my body reacted differently with him.
Only, why don’t I feel that way with Cade? And why do I still feel it with Justin? One boy hurt me beyond repair, the other stitched me back up. Cade and I have been together for almost a year. There should be no confusion here. My heart shouldn’t be so torn.
I steal another glance at the dugout and find Justin watching me again.
The sick pleasure I get from it warms my toes.
The problem is this Justin is so different from the boy I once knew. Well, in some ways he’s different... in other ways, the best ways, he’s exactly the same. He’s still charming and easy to talk to. Crazy determined and driven. From the little I’ve seen and heard over the last few weeks, he’s also still surprisingly introspective and protective. But there’s a confidence there that wasn’t before. Justin as a freshman was cocky and arrogant for sure, but this new self-confidence is quieter. Deeper. It’s like he knows what he wants now and isn’t trying to hide it.
A few feet away, his gaze sharpens as if he can read my thoughts.
What he wants now is me.
“Thank God this project’s almost over,” Cade mutters, and I blink and look away, breaking eye contact with Justin. “The sooner we get that loser away from you, the better.”
My tongue is going to be sore tomorrow from all the biting. “Uh huh.”
Usually, Cade is the least jealous guy I know. He doesn’t act like a caveman or like those possessive jerks I read about in some of my books. He’s actually really chill. It’s just that Justin Carter has always been his kryptonite. To this, I can relate.
A pop fly is caught for the second out and Justin heads to the plate. I loop my arm through Cade’s, feeling guilty for making him ins
ecure, and lay my head on his shoulder.
A few minutes pass, enough for Justin to hit a double, and I think the subject is dropped. But then Cade says, “The whole thing is stupid anyway. If anything, I should be the one doing this project with you, not him. I’m the one you’re gonna be with in the end.”
Cade has our whole future planned. After we’re married, we’ll continue working both ranches, my family’s and his, until the day we take over and merge the two together. Most of the horses will then relocate to his land, along with the future riding school, while my family’s land will host all the birthday parties, scout events, and, of course, the dog boarding business.
Where exactly running my own veterinary practice fits in the middle of all that, I’m not really sure, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. This is Cade, after all. He’s a problem solver.
“What sort of things do the two of you talk about anyway?”
I tear my gaze away from the field. “Huh?”
Cade gives me a patient smile, the one that drives me just the tiniest bit batty, and says, “For the project. You said it’s mostly answering a bunch of questions and writing the paper. What sort of things do they want to know?”
Hmm. This sounds like the beginning of a slippery slope if I’ve heard of one. Warning signs practically blind me with their flashes. But answering does seem like the better of two evils, the other option being to say nothing or change the subject, and let Cade imagine the worst. That would not end well at all. So, I give him an example.
“Okay, here’s one of the questions we went over in class yesterday.” I turn slightly to face him on the bleachers. “If we only had $1,000 and three days for a honeymoon, where would we go, and what would we do?”
Cade makes a scoffing sound in his throat and I withhold a sigh. “It’s about learning how to live on a budget and compromise,” I explain, wishing we’d never started this to begin with. “You said you wanted to know.”
“Yeah, well what’s he know about living on a budget anyway?” He motions to Justin who is taking the field with the team and my hackles rise. Cade’s family is loaded too, almost as much as the Carters, so his attitude is completely ridiculous. But I say nothing.
“Do you want to answer the question or not?”
Cade exhales, shaking off whatever he’d been thinking, and sits up straight. “Three-day honeymoon and only a grand, huh?”
I nod in confirmation, more than slightly annoyed, but also extremely curious to hear his answer.
“Easy,” he says. “Stay home.”
He shrugs as if this is the most obvious choice, and my mouth parts in confusion. “We’d throw most of it towards your student loans,” he explains. “It wouldn’t make a huge dent or anything, but every little bit helps, right? Besides, we don’t need a big, fancy vacation. We’ve got each other. If anything, maybe we’d take a couple hundred and go down to Galveston, invite Faith and whoever she’s stringing along at the time, and make a party out of it.”
Right. A party with my bestie at the beach. Because nothing spells romance like a group date and smart financial planning.
I school my expression as best I can because, I mean, I get it. Thanks to those medical bills, it’s pretty much a given that my college experience will be funded by the good old folks at Sallie Mae. But must Cade always be so stinking practical?
Unfortunately, my acting job apparently sucks because he catches my reaction and says, “All right then, what did Mr. Baseball suggest?”
Something a lot closer to my answer. “Well, he suggested a small weekend getaway to the mountains,” I say, trying to ignore the couple to our left hanging on our every word. “Rent a cabin, hike a few trails, sit by the fire, that sort of thing.”
Actually, Justin’s exact words were that money didn’t equal happiness, but if ever there was a time to be frivolous, a wedding would be it. Then he spun his romantic version of a honeymoon which seemed to be plucked right out of my own head. It was almost eerie.
Justin didn’t know about my cousin’s recent vacation to Tennessee. He didn’t see the pictures of the big roaring fireplace, the cute little chalet, or the gorgeous waterfalls nearby. He didn’t hear me say that I’d love to go there some day, too. But Cade did.
“Of course he said that.” He huffs with laugher and removes his glasses, closing his eyes as he squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Peyton, why can’t you see—?”
If there is an end to that question, I don’t hear it.
Along with most of the crowd, my attention turns to the ball field. Specifically, to the runner rounding third and sprinting for home.
I’ve never believed in female intuition. To me, sixth sense is merely a weird Bruce Willis movie. But as I watch the runner drop his head and charge ahead like some sort of enraged bull, every hair on my body stands on end. Justin moves into position on homeplate, prepared to catch the ball and tag him out, and a scream builds from somewhere deep within my belly.
The smack of the hit as they collide. The roar from the crowd as we surge to our feet. The cry that rips from my throat. It feels like it takes an eternity.
In reality, it all happens way too fast.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 28TH
1 Week until Graduation
♥Senior Year
PEYTON
SWEET SERENITY RANCH 4:22 P.M.
Justin swings the driver’s side door closed with his right hand, his left one hanging limply from a sling. It’s been several days since the accident, and I’ve seen him at school, but I can’t stop staring at his arm. Remembering my mad dash to the field when he didn’t immediately get up. The confusion on Dad’s face when he gently pulled me away, assuring me that Justin would be fine. The hurt simmering in Cade’s eyes.
“Looking good,” I tease, wanting to break the tension. Only, it works against me when that slow, confident smirk forms and I flush to my toes. “How ya feeling?”
He lets out a sigh. “Useless.” Resting his hip against the hood of his Jeep, he gazes out at the paddock. “Your dad’s ban from practice is slowly driving me insane, Sunshine. I can’t even think about them playing the semi-finals without me.”
I know how hard this is for him. Justin lives and breathes baseball. He’s a damn good player, and he’s a leader on the team. Dad only wants to protect him, keep him safe—a concussion and shoulder sprain are nothing to joke about, and it could’ve been so much worse. When he finally sat up, dazed and confused as to what happened, and later threw up after staggering off the field, I thought it was.
Waiting to hear how bad the injury was had been terrifying. I know how much the sport means to Justin. If he’d torn a ligament and couldn’t play again, it would crush him. In the end, he got lucky. The shoulder was sprained, not dislocated or torn, and the concussion mild. Scouts making their final decisions have already seen Justin play. They know these types of injuries and, more importantly, they understand the need to be smart. Missing one game, even the semi-finals, is nothing compared to his future. We’re expected to win anyway, and pushing now could lead to a much greater injury. With adequate rest, combined with cold therapy and eventual light stretching on his shoulder, Justin will be healthy and set to play in next week’s Championship when it counts.
Unfortunately, knowing that doesn’t make sitting out now any easier.
Walking down the porch steps, I smile and say, “So, what, you decided to come by and drive me crazy instead?”
“I thought we could work on our project,” he replies with a smile. A real one this time, not one of his player ones. “We have a few questions left to answer and the next section of our paper to nail down. Besides, I couldn’t spend another second in that empty house.”
I nod because I get it. I’ve heard how quiet that huge place gets when no one else is there. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’m going a little stir-crazy, too. Cade is at his own ranch today—he’s been giving me some space since the game this weekend. Faith has dance practice and Dad, well, he’s at scho
ol doing the very thing Justin wishes he was right now. It’s only me, Trevor, and Mama here today.
As if my thoughts summoned her, Mama comes flying out of the house, arms out for a hug. Luckily for Justin, she slows before she reaches him.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right,” she says, eyes misty, hands looking for a place to settle. Like he’s made of glass. She finally decides on his face, cupping it between her palms and shaking his chin a little as she says, “I was so worried when they told me what happened, that boy slamming into you like that. I can’t imagine. If I’d been there…” She takes a breath and moves her hands to his shoulders. “How do you feel? Does your shoulder hurt? You want some cookies?”
I hide my laugh behind a smile. That’s Mama for you. Never lets you get a word in, but never leaves you guessing how much she cares. Cookies are her love language.
As I watch Justin stare back at my mom, pressure builds behind my eyes. Our childhoods were so vastly different. He didn’t get chocolate chip cookies when he fell and hurt himself. Didn’t have a parent coddle him when he was sick. I wonder if his parents even know he was injured. Or, if they do, if they worried about him at all.
“Thank you, Mrs. Grace,” he finally says, though his voice is husky. “Cookies sound amazing.”
Mama, the old softie, clamps her lips together as her eyes fill with tears. She nods, pats the side of his face, and gives a close-mouthed, trembling smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Justin watches her walk away, inhaling deeply through his nose. I both love and hate that his only real moments of parenting seem to come from my family. Did he have anyone filling that role since we broke up?
The screen door closes and he turns back to me.
“Let me go grab my binder,” I say cheerily… perhaps a little too cheerily.
The Natural History of Us Page 13
