Micah: Be there in ten.
Peyton: Perfect timing. Pizza just arrived.
On more than one occasion, the word love has come to mind when talking with or thinking of Peyton. Oddly enough, it doesn’t freak me out. Not like it did past me and guys in my inner circle.
Love is an anomaly. Every life form on the planet experiences love in some capacity. For a parent, friend, family member, or partner. Each type different from the previous. But one difference happens among humans versus all others.
Humans often resist what they feel. Especially when it comes to love. Time and again, they fear voicing emotion for someone. Fear the outcome it may bring. The possibility of rejection weighs heavier than acceptance.
Why?
When did humans start to fear the key to our existence? When did loving someone become something to dread? Wish I had the answers. Right now—as my heart pounds a vicious rhythm and dizziness whirls beneath my diaphragm—answers would be handy.
I park my truck across and a few spaces over from Peyton. Cutting the engine, I stare a moment at her bedroom window. Watch her silhouette haloed by the soft lamplight in her room. Her form, her profile, soft and angelic. Watch as she combs her fingers through her hair and secures it with a hair tie. The move makes me want to run my fingers through her silky, wavy locks.
The times I have been on the cusp of dropping the infamous L word, I force myself to resist.
I resist because I don’t know if Peyton is ready to hear the word. I resist because I don’t want to ruin what we have if my emotional decree isn’t reciprocated. Granted, my worries may be all for nothing. But no use in voicing how I feel until the time is right.
And the time hasn’t arrived. Not yet.
Exiting the truck, I grab my overnight bag and stroll across the lot to her door. Seconds after I knock, the door swings open and her bright smile greets me. Renders me speechless, breathless. Has me swallowing past the knot in my throat as my heart rattles in my rib cage.
And just like that, all coherent thought goes out the window. That four-letter word scoots a little closer to the tip of my tongue.
“Hey,” I croak out, then swallow. Stepping into her, I tug at the hem of her shirt, bring her closer and press my lips to hers. “You look cute.” I skim the side of her nose with the tip of mine.
“Cute, huh?” Peyton glances down at the oversized band tee and baggy sweats. My band tee and sweats. Fuck, I love her in my clothes. “Do I get to say you look cute when you wear them?”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Sure. If it makes you happy, I don’t give a fuck.” Then I pull her in, kiss her harder, and close the door behind me.
The night goes much the same as normal. We eat dinner, snuggle on the couch watching an episode of her show choice or mine, then we fall into bed but don’t sleep for hours. Everything else in the world slips away.
And that four-letter word begs to be spoken as she wraps her limbs around me and falls into a deep sleep. This right here… life couldn’t be more perfect.