I’ve never had anyone in my life I could keep. My grandparents hung around as long as they could, but I only got a few years. My mom never wanted me, my dad couldn’t care less, and Annabeth… well, I won’t even go there. As for the others, Chase is only a kid, Rosalyn is paid to be there, and Carlos, as much as he has my back, has his own thing going.
With girls, every relationship before and after Peyton has been transient. Blink and you missed it, no attachments. Casual. I did that on purpose, so no one ever got too close. No one could ever hurt me.
But with this beautiful, brave, brilliant girl in front of me, I never even stood a chance.
Peyton’s smile transforms, growing wider until it takes over her entire face. The skin around her eyes crinkles, two small dimples pop, and true happiness exudes from her pores. My breath catches.
“Justin, that poem… I loved it. You have to know how gifted and amazing you are.” She presses her open palm against her chest, over my hand that’s still resting on her heart, and says, “I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts.”
Her confession weakens my knees. By the grace of God I don’t fall on my ass in front of the crowd, and instead tighten my hold around her waist. She slides her arms over my shoulders, circling around my neck, and I lift her off her toes, responding to that the best way I know how. Kissing her senseless.
Peyton’s taste explodes on my tongue, and the word mine pops into my head. I repeat it over and over as I kiss her again and again and again, locking my greedy lips onto hers and tangling our tongues together.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
My fingers thread through her hair, loving that she’s wearing it down so I can feel the soft strands glide across my rough fingertips. She moans in the back of her throat and I grin, grateful for the shadows, and gently back her against the wall.
It’s not until she’s good and flustered and clinging to my shoulders, breathless, that I lift my head. Gasping for breath myself, I brokenly whisper, “Peyton Williams, I’m crazy in love with you.”
I slide my nose against hers, tilting my head to brush her lips once, twice, three times before saying, “You’re not my dream… you’re my everything.”
Peyton’s eyes fill with love, happiness, and awe as her mouth forms a smile nothing short of dazzling. Lowering her gaze to my lips, she tugs my head down and says, “More.”
Grinning like I just won the damn lottery, I happily comply.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
What a journey this has been! When I first sat down to write The Fine Art of Pretending in 2010, I had no clue it would ever be finished, much less published. That writing experiment turned into nine published books—nine. It seriously boggles the mind. But Fine Art was my first book baby, and it was soon after I typed ‘The End’ that I realized there were more stories to tell in this world. Particularly Justin’s story.
Luckily, many of you agreed, asking for more stories of these characters that I love so much. Your emails, your tweets, your messages, and your reviews made this book possible. Because truthfully? This book wasn’t easy to write. In fact, it tried to kill me. Turns out, writing a dual point-of-view story with a dual timeline isn’t for the faint of heart. I confused myself more often than not while drafting, but your enthusiasm and support for this book motivated me to continue. I’m so very grateful. Justin and Peyton may be my two favorite characters I’ve ever written, and their journey to discovering true strength and forgiveness is a story I believe that needed to be told.
So, first and foremost, I want to thank YOU! I hope this book was worth the wait and that you fell even more in love with Justin in these pages. I know I did!
That being said, The Natural History of Us wouldn’t even exist without the help of several people. Here is where I will slobber over them all:
Melissa West and Cindi Madsen, I’d be a complete mess without you. You are my soul sisters, and you talked me out of my confusion so many times. Melissa, your spot-on notes made this book stronger. I love you girls!
If you love Justin’s poetic soul as much as I do, we all have Megan Rigdon to thank. As my assistant, she read over multiple versions of this book as it was being created, and while doing so she was somehow inspired by my crazy mess of words to write poetry. Poetry that became the very snippets that Justin wrote in his journal and were shared within these pages. Megan, your friendship and talent lifted this book to another level. Thank you, sweet girl.