He looks nervous, but his boys are behind him, so he doesn't want to get punked. “Asshole,” he says weakly. “I called you an asshole.”
His second admission is a bit stronger, but he’s still a greasy piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as that beauty sitting in my truck.
“That’s what I thought you said.”
I nod and make half a turn before I’m planting my fist in his face. The loud crack echoes through the parking lot, and my knuckles sting. I welcome the pain as I stand over him and look down at his limp body. His friends hesitantly come over to check on him.
Waiting half a second to see if anyone else feels brave enough to fuck with me, I watch Owen regain consciousness and sit up, blood running down his face.
“What the fuck, Jasper?” he complains, his hands cupped over his bloody nose.
“Don’t touch Libby again. And watch your mouth. There are ladies present.”
I look over to see some of the older church ladies standing outside the Sunshine Diner. I tip my hat to them and smile like nothing happened here.
“Afternoon,” I say as I pass them.
I feel a smile pulling at my face as I make my way to the truck. I see Libby sitting in the passenger seat, and as much as I don’t want to like it, she looks so fucking good in there. She looks good anywhere, for that matter, but by my side is where I always picture her.
Some days I wish I could burn the image of her and me together out of my mind, but then other days, it feels so right that I don’t want to imagine it’s anyone else. Every dark-haired woman is compared to her, and every light-haired woman is lost in comparison.
I’ve decided to succumb to my fate and realize that there is truly only one person for me for the rest of my life. And if I can’t have her, then I can’t have anyone. My poor, poor dick.
3
Libby
I watch as Jasper strolls back to the truck as if he didn’t lay someone out in the middle of the street. Like it was nothing. I can still feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest from the moment I laid eyes on him. It felt like it had been forever since I'd seen him. I thought maybe I’d dreamed him up. But no, he’s most definitely here, and everyone in our small town will hear about this. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.
His large frame slides into the truck, and he slams the door behind him. Silence falls between us for a moment before he leans over towards me. I hold my breath, unsure of what he’s going to do as he moves in closer. The smell of his cologne fills my lungs, and it stirs something inside me. It’s the same cologne he’s been wearing since I bought it for him three Christmases ago. We lock eyes, and I can’t break the connection with his deep blues. The color always fascinates me because they’re navy blue but with a ring of honey around them. Somehow today, though, they seem darker. He leans impossibly closer, and as he does, my mouth opens slightly. But then the quiet cab is filled with the click of the seatbelt. He’s leaning back and putting the key in the ignition of the truck before I register what happened.
As he pulls away from the curb and starts down the road, I let out the breath I was holding. Still shocked about everything that happened on the street, I glance over at Jasper, who now has both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it in a tight hold. His knuckles turn white, and I can see his jaw tick as he clenches his teeth. Like always, he seems agitated with me. I’ve said about two words to him and he’s already frustrated.
I look out the passenger window, not wanting to look at him anymore. It hurts to see him, to want him as much as I do, and not be able to have him. Every time I see him, it feels like he gets even more handsome. And it doesn’t help, either, that he seems to be getting bigger all over his body. I know he’s taller than his dad now, who’s easily six foot. Jasper’s normally-short brown hair is a little longer than he used to wear it, and I can’t say I hate it. It’s sticking out slightly from the sides of his baseball hat, one that has seen better days. It’s pulled low in the hottest way possible, and I hate how much I like it.
I remember giving him that damn hat when I first moved here from Missouri. It’s a Royals hat, and back then I didn’t know much about baseball. I’d wanted to give Jasper something from where I came from, and I knew he liked the sport. He wore it all the time, even though I found out as the years went on that Ned and Jasper were Rockies fans. They’d both grown up in Colorado, yet he still wore the hat I got him.
I bounce between loving and hating that he still wears it. I love it because he always has on something I’ve given him. But I hate it because I wonder if it’s like the sweater your grandma buys you and you always put it on when you know you’re going to see her. Maybe he’s trying to be polite to his little sister. Nothing more than that. Stepsister, I correct. I have to add the step because the feelings I have for Jasper are far from familial.