The Natural History of Us (14 page)

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.

“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 wider. 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.

Strangely enough, I was content with our
secret
friendship. Oh, sure, I daydreamed about him grabbing me up in the cafeteria, unable to deny his feelings anymore, and kissing me senseless in front of God and everyone. But it's what would come
after
the kiss that kept me from truly wanting that to play out. The constant stares, the endless questions, the confrontation with Lauren… that, I wanted no part of. I was still getting my feet wet with not being homeschooled, and shooting to instant fame was not on my to-do list.

Besides, other than simple flirting, Justin gave no signs he even
wanted
to kiss me. Some days, he barely acknowledged we were friends, letting two, three days go by without a single text, and I'd wonder if he'd had his fill with me. But then, out of the blue, he'd reach out again. Mostly at night, a few texts even during school hours, and they always sucked me back in. They also hinted at a hidden loneliness, a need for connection, something I understood perhaps better than anyone. I wanted to be the one who gave that to him.

Also, let's be real—I had a mad crush on the guy. There was no use in denying it. I was falling for him. Hard.