The Natural History of Us (The Fine Art of Pretending #2)

Something inside me sighs in relief.

Steering us deeper into the shadows, I press my palm against the curve of her spine. “On the drive up, I wrote another poem,” I say, swaying us softly to the music.

She glances up at me. “Oh yeah?” she asks, batting her lashes. “Inspired by anyone I know?”

“Just some girl who drives me crazy,” I reply, earning a playful pinch to the waist.

Peyton holds my gaze, not pushing, but clearly curious, and I tuck a curl of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not written down yet or anything. I mean, I just got here. But if you want…” A strange concoction of nerves and nausea explodes in my stomach and I swallow thickly. “I can tell it to you. You know, if you’d like to hear it.”

My heart pounds harder than it did earlier when we won the game.

Peyton has read my stuff before. She flipped through my notebook that weekend over Easter, and over the course of our relationship, I texted her a handful of poems. But I never read them to her. I never had to say the words aloud. Even that day out by her barn, I purposefully kept my face averted so I couldn’t see her face.

What if I’m not good enough? What if she thinks I suck but is too nice to say it?

Freshman year, I couldn’t have handled that. Truthfully, I’m not that sure I can handle it now, either, but I’m here, prepared to stare straight into her eyes as I share my most honest, naked thoughts about her, about me, about the two of us together.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

Peyton wraps her hand around my wrist and says earnestly, “I’d love nothing more.”

I nod as I soak in the stark sincerity in her eyes, and I inhale a deep breath, prepping myself for exposure. This is by far scarier than staring down a no-hit pitcher. This is me, the real me, on display for the one person who matters more than anything.

Exhaling the fear, I remind myself it doesn’t have to be perfect. That I don’t have to be perfect. This isn’t my father… it’s Peyton. She loves me, truly loves me, and it’s okay if my poetry sucks. She’ll love me regardless.

Sliding my hand up the slope of her back, I draw her close against me.

“I loved you then,” I say, my voice shaking only the slightest bit on the delivery. I pause to collect myself and rein it in. “I love you now. I’ll love you always, because you showed me how. You always see the best in me, and because of you, I’m the man I want to be.”

Peyton’s eyes fill with tears, shining bright with love and pride, and the last of my anxiety fades.

“You’ve taught me that there’s so much more, that I don’t need the mask I wore. I’m casting it off, ready to walk in the light. Being with you is the only thing that’s right.” I smile down at her, feeling the truth of that in my bones. “I’m through with being patient, I’m not doing it anymore. Peyton, you’re the girl I’m fighting for. You’re the prize I’m gonna win—”

Through her tears, she lifts an amused eyebrow, and I shake my head. So damn cute.

“I promise you,” I continue, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I’ll be the best I’ve ever been.”

The last line is delivered against her lips as I wipe away a tear with my thumb. Then I rest my forehead against hers, my heart completely laid open. But it doesn’t matter… it’s always been hers anyway.

Peyton sniffles, her eyebrow still raised. “Prize you’re gonna win, huh?”

I huff a laugh and feign annoyance. “It’s poetic, woman!” I shake my head, rocking hers back and forth in the process, and grin. “It means you’re worth it. That I know my work’s cut out for me when it comes to you, but I’m signing on anyway. You deserve better, and I know it, but I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving myself. To you, to your father, to anyone who tries to steal you away.”

I lean my head back and give her a pointed look, letting her know no one was flirting with her on my watch, and she rolls her eyes with that cute little smirk on her lips. Damn, I can’t believe she’s mine.

“You’ll never be sorry you risked your heart again on me,” I vow, hoping she hears the ring of sincerity in my voice. I slide my hand across the silky fabric of her dress, over her waist and up her torso, resting it right over her pounding heart. “I promise you, I’ll keep it safe.”

She gifts me with a soft smile and says, “I know you will. And I’ll protect yours. Nothing is getting between us again, Justin. I won’t let it. Not even your stubborn assumption that I deserve better.”

As the determination in her gaze fully sinks in, my eyes close with contentment.

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