“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.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 29TH
18 Weeks until Disaster
?Freshman Year
PEYTON
JUSTIN’S HOUSE 4:20 P.M.
“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.”