Me: Yeah, fuck you, too.
I shut my car off, after wasting all my gas letting it run, just so her sorry ass wouldn’t be cold. It can be sixty degrees out and that girl still shivers.
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my joggers and I’m sure she’s sending some snooty remark about how I need to get a life.
B: Where are we going?
I wouldn’t be surprised if she was watching and gaining satisfaction from me wasting my time on her. Once she noticed I had given up, she had to prove to herself that she could make me wait longer. She’s either a sociopath, really fucking mean, or terribly slow at getting dressed. I vote the first two.
Me: Times up. Lost your chance.
B: Quit being a little bitch and tell me where we are going so I know what to wear.
Me: If that ain't the pot calling the kettle black.
B: You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me or I’m going to bed.
Screw that. I’m not playing her games. My kind streak has passed, and she left the skid marks on my heart to prove it.
B: 20 seconds
Fuck.
I wanna see her.
I don’t wanna see her.
B: 10 seconds
I hate her.
Yet, I’m mystified by her.
Me: Just a ride. Dress warm.
She just made me her bitch, and she knows it.
Chapter Nine
Blakely
When I saw his pathetic face looking from his phone to my bedroom window, I knew I had to just suck it up. He may think that I don’t have a soul, most people do, but every once in a while, I feel something that even surprises myself.
I woke up this morning with a mountain of regret and a pounding headache. Last night was intense. I didn’t think I had that much to drink, but apparently, it was enough to make me do a strip tease for my new neighbor. I know he enjoyed it, even if he’ll never admit it.
I step into my black Ugg boots pulling them overtop my ripped skinny jeans and pull my Ravens hoodie over my head. As I reach for the handle, I second guess myself. He‘ll likely be a jerk, just to try and prove that he has balls. He’ll probably try to kiss me, at which point, I’ll pull away and probably say something rude that I may or may not regret. Jasper isn’t bad looking by any means. He’s actually one of the better looking guys at Redwood. He’s just not my type. I’m very specific on what I want and he is not it. Levi Maddox has it all. Every single check on my list. Well, almost every one, aside from his personality. I take my boots off and walk back into the corridor by the living room. Then I find myself inside them again. Before I allow myself to think anymore, I open the door and step out.
Jasper is leaning against the hood of his car. Legs crossed in front of him and his face on his phone. If I was feeling underdressed before, I’m not now. He’s sporting a pair of black sweats and a solid black hoodie that matches his almost black hair and his eyes. At least he coordinates.
“Hey there. Glad you finally made it. I’ve only been waiting for an hour.” He walks over to the passenger side and opens the door for me.
I should thank him.
I don’t.
“You’re lucky I made it at all. After watching you cry on my grass for thirty minutes, I didn’t really have a choice.” I climb in and shut the door. Taking in the brown leather seats and the musty old car smell. Definitely not a classic, more like an elder.
Jasper throws his head back in laughter. “You’re so dramatic. I was not crying.” He looks over at me as I pull my knees to my chest. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You’re in for a hell of a ride.”
“In this thing? Can you even get this thing to go the speed limit?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. She may shake a little, but most ladies do when I’m driving them.” He winks, and I have to force myself not to smile. Not because I don’t want to, because I don’t want him to know that he’s the one who put it on my face.
“Just drive, asshole.”
I look out the window and see my reflection in the mirror as a car drives by with its high beams on. A sad girl—with a smile.
I’ve always had a hard time expressing emotions, unless it’s anger. My therapist says that I deflect. There is a constant nagging need to take control of every situation, due to the fact that at one point, I had no control, no voice. Today, I use my words and my actions to keep the demons at bay. No one will ever understand, but I don’t need them to.
“Can you tell me where we’re going?” I look over to Jasper who is tapping the steering wheel and humming along to The Foo Fighters.
He stretches his arm in the backseat and grabs a folder. Setting it on his lap and glancing from the road to his lap, he pulls out a paper and hands it to me.
Greek Mythology Project.
“You’re fucking kidding me. You’re taking me to do homework on a Saturday night. The night of the dance for that matter.” I toss the paper back at him as he pulls down a dirt two-track. “Oh, I see. You plan to murder me out here and hide the body, along with our project paper. Ok, that’s better. At least we aren’t doing homework... on a Saturday.” I let out a sigh.
“You and your mouth.” He chuckles, shaking his head and then shifting the car into park. “It’s a pretty simple project, really. We just pick a constellation, research the mythology that surrounds it, and present it. Easy peasy.” He grabs the paper from my hand and tosses it in the back seat then points to the sky through the dirty windshield. “Tonight is the perfect night to start. The sky doesn’t get much clearer than this.”
The location is breathtaking. A perfect view of the sky above and rows of power lines behind us. I climb out without even saying anything, just so I can take in the view. I walk forward to a steep ledge that overlooks the valley.
“This is one of my favorite places to go when I need to get away. What do you think?” Jasper says, startling me because I didn’t even realize he was there.
“It’s nice.”
“Nice,” he huffs. “That’s all you think of this?” He takes a step back and tilts his head to the sky. “You are a robot, aren’t you?”
I don’t humor him with a response.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
“What secret is that?” I sit down on the grass, but he pulls me back up. “What are you doing?” I growl, before I realize that he’s laying a blanket down. He sets down his backpack and pulls out a bottle, popping the top and pouring us each a glass. He’s a bit of a romantic, I’ll give him that. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. The closest I’ve been to any sort of romantic gesture is when Dan Roland wrote me a poem in the seventh grade. I gushed over that piece of paper for months.
“That you have a heart.”
“Everyone has a heart, Jasper.” I take a sip, and it’s pretty good.
“That we do. But no two hearts are the same, we all feel at different depths. You show the world that yours is shallow.”
“Maybe it is.” I shrug, trying to brush it off.
“I think it’s a lie.”
“Did you bring me out here just so you can analyze me and tell me how I should feel, or shouldn’t feel?” I twist my head, furrowing my brows. I don’t need a psychoanalysis, especially by someone who is practically a stranger to me. Even if he did just see me naked last night, but that’s beside the point.