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.
They’re wrong. Deep down, they don’t feel wrong, but that doesn’t change a thing. I know Jasper will never look at me as anything other than a sister. It’s apparent he can’t even imagine me with a boyfriend after what happened in the middle of town. Owen barely talked to me and Jasper lost it.
The silence inside the truck grows, and I reach down, playing with the strings that have come loose on the hem of my shorts. I keep my focus on my lap, still not wanting to look at Jasper. The feeling of him beside me while the silence builds makes a knot form in my stomach. I wonder why he’s even here, or how long he’ll stay this time. I resist looking in the back of the truck cab to see if he has a suitcase or something with him.
I know he travels for work sometimes, so there probably is a bag back there. Maybe he’s just passing by and in twenty-four hours this will all be behind me. But it’s not like I know his business, because he never talks to me anymore. He talks in front of me to Mom and Dad, but never directly to me. Not anymore at least. The thought pisses me off all over again because it doesn’t make sense. If he doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore, why he would care that I was talking to Owen? Heck, Mom has been trying to get me to go on a date for months now.