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“Mom is coming,” I say breathlessly, never more grateful for an interruption than I am now.
He grumbles under his breath as his gunmetal gray eyes stay pinned to my swollen mouth. “That woman has shit timing.”
Agree to disagree.
But I’ll keep that to myself.
When Mom’s footsteps slow near the driver’s side door, Jasper’s expression magically transforms as he presses the button to unroll the glass that separates them.
“Hey, Ms. Robinson. You’re looking lovely this morning.” He doesn’t spare me a glance as he reaches out and squeezes my bare thigh with rough fingers. “I’ve told Delilah that she must get her stunning looks from you.”
It’s a challenge to sit beside him with a straight face. If she only knew what he was truly like and all the crap he talks when we’re alone, maybe she’d rethink her stance and stop nominating him for best boyfriend of the year.
Mom’s bullshit meter must still be on the fritz, because she beams at him like he hung both the moon and stars. I wish she’d open her eyes and see that he’s nothing more than a mean-spirited kiss-ass instead of constantly pushing me into his arms. According to her, we’re a match made in heaven.
That’s a frightening thought.
If Mom had her way, I’d attend whatever four-year institution Jasper gets accepted at, we’d get engaged midway through college and married directly after graduation. Then, I’d live out the remainder of my days in a sprawling mansion in Hawthorne without a care in the world. A Cinderella dream she wishes could have played out for herself.
Even when I provide examples of Jasper’s cruel behavior, she’ll chide me, saying no one is perfect and we all have our faults. I can’t argue with that. The problem is that mean and spiteful just so happens to be Jasper’s default setting, and nothing will change that.
The other issue—and this one is ridiculous—is that I’m loath to burst her little bubble of happiness. The woman has sacrificed so much for me to attend Hawthorne Prep and rub elbows with the right kind of people. And by right kind of people, I’m talking about the ones with money and clout who lord it over this small community.
Unfortunately, I’m no longer able to continue the charade.
This relationship has reached its expiration date. Whether Mom can wrap her head around it or not, Jasper and I were not meant for the long haul. There isn’t a happily ever after written in our future. As we speak, I’m quietly working on an exit strategy.
I just have to…time it right.
Otherwise, there’ll be hell to pay.
Even the thought of his wrath is enough to make my heart spasm.
Mom’s hand flutters to his forearm before giving it a squeeze. “I’ve told you a hundred times that when we’re not at school, you can call me Carrie.”
Jasper flashes a grin. “All right, Carrie.”
If it’s possible, her smile grows wider. “You two are so adorable together,” she says with a heartfelt sigh.
I’m half afraid she’s going to whip out her phone to capture this moment for posterity.
After a few seconds tick by, she blinks and glances at her silver wristwatch. “You two should probably get moving so you’re not late.”
Jasper nods. “Funny, I just said the same thing to your daughter.”
His fingers tighten around me, digging into my flesh.
What a liar. He does it so smoothly, it’s almost frightening. Or maybe I’m terrified because I know precisely what he’s capable of. And that’s anything without so much as a hint of remorse.
Mom waves before heading to the garage and the rusted-out Honda Civic parked inside the tight space. As soon as her back is turned, he stabs the button to roll up the window. Once it reaches the top, his eyes flicker in my direction. “It’s un-fucking-believable that you’d rather show up to school in that rusted-outpiece of shit than this sweet ride.” He presses his lips into a thin line and shakes his head. “How embarrassing.”
At the beginning of our relationship, that nasty comment would have wounded me. Half a year later, it’s water off a duck’s back. Instead, I shift in the seat and stare longingly out the window.
We both hear the engine sputter to life.
“Is your mom ever gonna get a new car?” He squints toward the garage as disgust morphs over his features. It’s almost like there’s a stench in the air offending his nostrils. “What’s it from? The early eighties?”
My gaze is reluctantly drawn to the old Civic. It’s one of two things that we still have of my father’s. It’s stupid that I’m so sentimentally attached to it.
