Chapter 20
Just because my day started off pretty bad – well, except for the hard cock pressed against my back – it doesn’t mean it can’t get worse.
Because now I’m gonna spend God knows how many hours in the backseat with Cordelia analyzing every one of my movements, while Jasper and Suzi chat away in the front.
I have to tolerate it. Quietly. And pretend I’m not losing my mind out of jealousy.
Thankfully, he decides to stop at a gas station so I can buy my coffee at the convenience store. It’s been five minutes since we left the house, and Suzi and Cordelia already want to pee.
During those five minutes, stupid Jasper kept looking at me through the rearview mirror every single time the car slowed down.
His eyes behind his sunglasses, but his face giving away that he was checking exactly how bothered I was by Suzi sitting beside him, in the seat that not long ago was so clearly mine.
And it is sending my brain to hell and back.
I wait until Suzi and Cordelia get out of the car to ask, fight, maybe even beg, whatever he’s accepting at the moment, “Stop looking at me.”
“I’m not looking.”
“Yes you are. All the time! Just to watch me roll my eyes every time Suzi says your name. ‘Oh, have you been to Mexico before, Jasper? Are you from New Jersey or New York, Jasper?’”
He rolls his eyes, not giving me much attention.
“Go buy your coffee, jealous.”
“Jealous my ass.”
“And bring me a bottle of water, please.”
“I’m not bringing you water,” I snap immediately. Then I point toward the convenience store where Cordelia and Suzi disappeared. “They’ll think I care.”
“It’s a bottle of water, Jules. Not a declaration of love.”
“You didn’t bring me coffee.”
“You didn’t ask for coffee. I didn’t know you wanted it.
I don’t have a crystal ball. Now I am asking you for some goddamn water while I’m stuck here with three women singing Rihanna and interrogating every single thing I say because, for some reason, they think I’m going to slip up and reveal some detail about a love affair the groom supposedly decided to have on the week of his wedding. ”
“It’s your fault for not wanting to tell us what’s going on.”
“I can’t tell you! It’ll ruin the surprise and you know that–” He freezes mid-sentence, instantly aware he screwed up.
Jasper Hassmann made a mistake in the middle of an argument.
I guess it’s true what they say: there’s a first time for everything.
“The surprise, huh?”
He takes a long breath. Rolls his eyes. Shakes his head side to side.
“Happy now?”
“Not yet. But I will be.”
And just because he let that slip, when I go buy my coffee, I decide to buy his stupid water too.
“I spit in it,” I announce as I climb back in and pass him the bottle.
Total silence. Suzi and Cordelia stare at me – one shocked that I’m always this hostile to a guy she thinks is so hot, the other fully aware of everything happening behind all that hostility. But Jasper just looks at me through the rearview mirror again.
I didn’t realize it before, obviously, but now I know that was a mistake, and that the content of my insult was a little too sexual. He presses his lips together hard, trying to hold back whatever comment he wants to make, but I know he won’t resist.
He’s going to say something, isn’t he?
“Well, personally, I think a little spit every now and then doesn’t hurt anybody.”
The girls burst out laughing.
“You’re disgusting.”
“You’re the one talking about spitting into other people’s water bottles, Julie,” he fires back, and since I have no argument, I decide to shut my mouth and spend the rest of the day silent.
“Now this is entertainment,” Cordelia says through laughter. “I should’ve brought popcorn.”
“I should’ve brought poison,” I mutter from my seat, sinking into the upholstery just as Suzi asks, “What song do you want to hear, Jasper?”
And the car brakes behind a traffic jam of tourist buses in front of a resort.
Because the tragedies in my life never happen one at a time, there are about five hundred passengers getting on and off the buses, so we have no choice but to wait.
And now Jasper and Suzi are talking about music and have just discovered they were at the same Bruce Springsteen concert in Central Park fifteen years ago, when Patti Smith got onstage to sing “Because the Night” in the middle of torrential rain.
Suzi is probably singing the song in the fanfiction inside her head, and yes, Jasper is talking to her in a calm, interested way that he has never used with me, then, out of nowhere, my phone starts ringing inside my bag.
It’s Mr. Kyle.
Yes. I definitely should’ve brought poison.
I stare at the caller ID for a moment before answering, looking at the picture of my boss with that cheap-rich-man face he has – too stingy to spend money on a decent suit or on his employees’ salaries – while I’m reminded of the most irritating sound in my existence: his ringtone.
If I had any other option, I’d throw my phone out the window and fake temporary insanity until I got back to New York.
But if I do that, I’ll be living off oxygen until I find a new job.
And let me tell you, there is no booming market for female sports journalists, even Ivy League scholarship grads.
So I take a deep breath, hating my entire life.
And answer.
“Miss Sawyer?”
“Good morning, Mr. Kyle,” I say, emotionless.
“Did you see the piece about the 1968 baseball season that just came out?”
Did I see what?
“The 1968 baseball season?”
“The tribute article to Timmy Carter that I asked the interns to put together.”
Timmy Carter was a pitcher for the Yankees in the sixties and, according to the article I just opened on my phone, died yesterday of a heart attack at eighty-seven.
To be honest, he was a pretty bad pitcher and only had a few decent games in ’68 before getting replaced.
I can’t even understand why Mr. Kyle would ask for a whole article about him.
“Sawyer?” he calls. “Sawyer?”
And, because I’m holding the phone so I can read the article, I put him on speaker for a moment.
“I’m here, Mr. Kyle.”
“Well, did you see it?”
“I’m looking at it now. What about it?”
“It’s garbage, Sawyer. These fresh out of college Gen Z kids or whatever! They don’t know anything about sports, anything about baseball, anything about the Yankees.”
Maybe they just don’t know anything about Timmy Carter, a player forgotten sixty years ago.
“I need you to fix it. Urgently.”
Of course he does.
“Sir, this is my week off.”
“I know that, Miss Sawyer. And I’m very sorry, truly, but we can’t let our sponsors see this.
Or our readers.” I’m reading the interview while he screams on the other end.
Honestly? There’s nothing wrong with it.
And one thing I’m absolutely sure of is that no one, not a single person in the entire world, is going to read this crap besides him.
“It’ll ruin the Chronicle’s credibility. ”
“Mr. Kyle,” I begin slowly, fully aware this won’t matter, “I’m in a car, in Mexico, late for an appointment, ten miles away from home. I can’t look at this right now.”
“You can’t edit from your phone? I swear it’s quick. Well, it’s not that quick, it’s awful, but with your experience–”
My boss keeps talking, his voice echoing through the whole car, until Jasper does something I would never expect him to do.
Even more surprising than having sex with me on a deserted beach.
And then in the bathroom. And then in his bedroom and…
well, more surprising than having sex with me in general, to be honest.
He taps some random icon on the dashboard screen. The music, which Suzi had turned down so she could ask him every question in existence, cuts abruptly and switches to a Spanish commercial for a used car dealership. He taps the same icon again.
Static fills the car.
Static that grows louder and louder until it becomes deafening.
Suzi covers her ears. Cordelia looks at me with pure satisfaction.
“Sawyer?” Mr. Kyle screams on the other end. The noise gets even louder.
“Mr. Kyle, I–” But it’s so loud I have to shout just to try to be heard.
“Sawyer? Can you hear me?” he’s screaming now. I’m about to say “Mr. Kyle” again when I hear him swear, “What the hell!”
Then he ends the call.
Jasper taps the button one last time and the noise disappears completely. No music, no radio, nothing.
“Turn your phone off before he calls again,” he orders.
And every time Jasper orders something in that serious, determined voice, I obey.
The next time he looks at me through the rearview mirror, same sideways smirk, I can’t help but smile back.