The Natural History of Us (30 page)

“No,” Cade says, the scowl emerging again. “He conveniently left that part out.”

He tosses his bag on the empty bed, his posture saying louder than words how he feels about the setup. Ignoring Aly's watchful gaze, I turn to the window and pretend to be fascinated with the view.

Waves break and foam on the beach, boats bob in the distance. And on the sand just below us, a group of guys cradling babies like footballs stand around laughing. As if he can feel
my stare, Justin turns and looks up, finding me standing in the window. His player smile falls for just a moment, revealing the sweet, vulnerable one he seems to only reserve for me.

My heart kicks in my chest.

Oh, he's smooth. Justin Carter suddenly has a problem with co-habitation?
Please
. We both know the reason for his sudden modesty—Cade does, too, and I have a suspicion so does Aly. But I can't quite summon the energy to be angry. In fact, I'm grateful.

I'm not ready to sleep with Cade. Not the way that he wants. So, as crazy as it is, and whether he realizes it or not, in this case, Justin's selfish motives actually work for me.

“You're rooming with Carlos,” Aly says, snapping my attention away from the window. “Heads up, he's a bit of a slob, but hopefully his wicked guitar skills will make up for it. Peyton, you're right across the hall.”

“See?” I say, trying my best to steer this ship of positivity. “We're still close. Besides, you'll be so exhausted at night that you won't even notice you're not rooming with me.”

The look Cade shoots me says, “nice try.”

We head across the hall, but Aly makes a sudden stop in front of the bathroom. Biting her lip, she gives the closed door a look before leaning in and lowering her voice. “I hope you don't mind, but right before you got here, we had a little switch up. Originally you were going to room with Mi-Mi, but once Kara saw who she was paired with, she sort of claimed your bed. If you have a problem with it, though, she said she'll totally move back.”

She winces slightly and bounces on her feet, clearly anxious but giving me a hopeful look, and dread hits my gut like a rock. I already know where this is going.

“We just figured if anyone could handle
her
, it's you. Somehow, you've survived our entire high school experience without once clashing heads or getting on Lauren's shit list.”

I almost laugh aloud. It's true that most of Lauren's former victims are well-known. Added that to the fact that no one at school knows Justin and I ever dated, much less what happened with him and Lauren right after, of course Aly would assume this wouldn't be a big deal. I'm Peyton Williams. The quiet senior who barely has any friends, much less enemies, and miraculously avoided all the Fairfield Academy drama.

Ha!

Obviously taking my silence for agreement, Aly knocks on the closed bedroom door and an annoyed voice within says, “
Yeah
?” Immediately, cold chills creep down my spine. A sudden case of the giggles hits me and Cade gives me a worried look.

A minute ago, I was worrying about fighting with my boyfriend about sex. Now, I'd gladly trade that problem for this. Aly rolls her eyes toward the door, mumbling under her breath, and turns the knob, and I steel my spine before following her into the room.

The blonde bombshell near the dresser spares me a glance before returning to her unpacking. “I claimed the bed by the window because it's better. Also, I'm gonna need the whole dresser.”

Cade's eyebrows lift and then his jaw clenches, clearly picking up on the tension in the room. I squeeze his hand, letting him know it's fine. There's no point in arguing over her theatrics. I'm used to her bitchiness, and really, it's only two days. How bad can it be?

I force my lips into a smile I don't feel. “Whatever you say, Lauren.”

Soft
whines, muffled yaps, and low scratching didn't exactly equal a lullaby, but I'd eat nails before I ever complained. Noise meant I wasn't alone. It reminded me that someone, a whole family, actually, cared about me. And the cloying scent of bleach stinging my nose… well, it gave me something to focus on
other
than the hard on from hell that wouldn't go away.

Flipping on my stomach, I punched the pillow and slammed my face against the cotton.

Peyton was taunting me. Walking around in those little short shorts, finding excuses to touch me whenever she passed. Flushing pink and sending flirtatious looks my way whenever her parents weren't watching. That kiss at the pond shifted things. Made me feel things I never felt before. Think things I never thought I would. Like what a future with her would be like… and asking her to be mine, officially. Introducing her to my friends, telling the whole damn school I was taken. Because I was.

Official or not, Peyton Williams owned me.

But that was where it got dangerous. With Sunshine, it wasn't about the chase. It wasn't even about the possibility of sex. I'd been turned on before, I was used to the pounding heart, the restless itch under my skin, the need for physical connection. This went beyond that. As hot as other girls had gotten me, I'd always been able to walk away. So much so that, despite my impressive reputation, I'd yet to take a girl to my bed.

I wasn't claiming to be a saint. I'd hooked up plenty, and rounded three of the bases. Multiple times. But technically, if you wanted to get picky about it, I'd never made it to home. Something had always turned me off before it reached that point.

Turning
off
wasn't even a possibility with Peyton. Every kiss, every touch, was fucking fantastic. She got me on a level that blew my mind. Honestly, it scared the hell out of me. I no longer knew which way was up, and the only thing keeping me from sneaking over to the main house, finding her bedroom, and seeing if she wanted me as badly as I wanted her was knowing how perfect she was. How innocent and pure and too damn good for me.

Plus, I owed Coach way too much to disrespect him like that.

I groaned into my pillow. I closed my eyes but the image of her kiss-swollen lips still burned my mind. Seeking relief, I tilted my hips and pushed deeper into the mattress.

One more night of this madness and then I'd be home. One more night and I'd be away from temptation, away from those short shorts, tan legs, and perky little—

A loud, angry bark pierced the fog of lust and stilled my movements.

“What the hell?”

A muted
thump
came from down the hall. My head snapped up, and I stretched my hearing, not even breathing
so I wouldn't miss a sound. I knew every door was locked, I'd checked them myself, so there was no way a dog was loose.

Another
bump
, this one closer, and the Doberman across the hall went nuts. I shot to my feet, reached for the baseball bat sticking out of my bag, and inched closer to the door. My chest felt like it was about to explode.

Holy shit. Someone had broken in and was trying to steal the dogs.

Who
did
that?

I popped my neck and tightened my grip on the wooden bat, the familiar feel centering me for the fight. No one messed with Coach and his family. Not when he trusted me with patrol. I inhaled a breath and reached for the doorknob, bracing myself as I leaned toward the door… just as it swung open for me.

“Shit!”

“Holy crap!”

The Doberman howled again, and I grabbed Peyton's wrist, yanking her inside.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I asked, whispering like a dumbass even as the dogs went crazy around us. The baseball bat dropped from my fingertips and I slapped my hand over my thundering heart. “What—what the hell are you doing here?”

Through the faint light of my bedside lamp, I saw the rosy glow in her cheeks. Peyton tugged on the hem of her long tee, drawing my gaze to her bare legs, and I swallowed hard.

“Well—” the Doberman snarled again and she swiveled her head to hiss, “
Nein
!”

Miraculously, that shut the dog up.

The other ones fell quiet in quick succession, no longer being instigated by the large animal. The lone holdout was a little yappy dog that continued to yelp for another twenty seconds. I kept expecting Mrs. Grace to dash through the door
in her bathrobe and slippers. Kept waiting for Coach to storm in and find me with his daughter. That would go over about as well as telling Annabeth her expensive skincare crap got discontinued—he'd flip.

When tiny Napoleon finally went silent, Peyton parted her lips and I shook my head, trying not to breathe, scared to make a sound, and listened for their approach.

“My parents aren't coming,” she said after a minute, taking a step closer. She placed her hand over mine, right over my heart. “You'd be surprised how soundproof this house is.”

“But aren't…” I swallowed again and tried to catch my breath. It felt like it was trying to pound out of my body. “Aren't they worried about people breaking in?”

Peyton smiled, a small one that said she thought I was adorable. I wasn't adorable—I was protective. I was strong. I was her freaking hero. I
wasn't
adorable.

“We have an alarm and we lock the doors,” she said, telling me like I didn't already know. I did know; I just, well, I'd forgotten about the alarm. “Plus we have the code at the gate. The likelihood of anyone getting in here is pretty slim. So, Dad insulated the crap out of both houses to keep us from getting woken up every night.”

My ears heard what she said. My thoughts were just too scattered to grasp them right away. When I did, the relief was almost paralyzing. My knees went weak, the fear of the last few minutes fully catching up with me, and I blindly reached back for the mattress, tugging her with me onto the bed.

“Oh, thank God.”

For the next few minutes we just sat there, holding each other, letting my racing heart match its rhythm to hers. I wasn't cut out for this shit. Fifteen years of living pretty much by myself, only having to look out for myself, messed with my survival instincts. Thankfully, the longer the dogs stayed quiet, the more my breathing relaxed.

Slowly, I became less and less focused on the excitement of the last few minutes… and more and more aware of the girl in my arms.

I inhaled naturally, easily, the tightness of my chest easing, and the floral scent of her skin mixed with coconut shampoo hit my senses.

“Christ, you smell amazing.” I took another drag and locked it in my lungs. She always smelled amazing—like the perfect summer day. Breathing her in, my head clouded and my skin blazed hot. I felt drunk, drunk on the scent, drunk on
her
, and the craving I had just before she got here—that I've had ever since I met her—stirred again. My fingers clenched at the thin cotton of her shirt.

We were alone in the near darkness. Her parents were asleep. And Peyton was in my bed.

I repeated my question from before. “What are you doing here?”

I softened my words by cradling her cheek, but I needed to be sure. My control was hanging by a thread. She shivered in my arms and her neck tilted back, lifting her eyes to mine. They shimmered with want.

Calmly, deliberately, she untangled herself from my arms. She stood from the bed, and I panicked, grabbing for her hand, thinking she was leaving. But she wasn't. She came closer and nudged my knees apart.

Peyton's long, smooth, completely bare thighs, exposed by her flimsy tee, slid between my legs, light next to dark, and I looked down, realizing for the first time what
I
was wearing. A pair of nylon basketball shorts—that did jack to hide my current condition—and that was it.

“I'm here,” she whispered, eyes steady on me, “because I need you to make me feel alive.” As she watched me absorb her words, her hands drifted toward the hem of her shirt.