Wanting My Stepsister Page 2

  I lean forward, this time putting my forehead on the steering wheel and trying to will myself to leave this parking lot and go to my parents’ house. I was on my way there after I got my dad’s call this morning, but I stopped in town to have a slice of pie before I did. That’s when I saw Libby unloading her baked goods, and I sat here, watching her like a lecher.

  There should have been a point in my life when I stopped having feelings for her. I should have gone out and found a woman and fucked this out of my system. But instead I’m a twenty-one-year-old who’s never so much as kissed a woman. I’m embarrassed for my own dick because there’s only one woman he wants, and he won’t be satisfied with anything else. Meanwhile, Libby is probably getting felt up and God knows what else by little fucking pricks who don’t know how to treat a delicate beauty like her. Baby-bitch boys who would touch her like they wanted and not understand that she’s the most precious fucking thing that has ever existed on this goddamn earth.

  I sit up, hitting my steering wheel so hard my palm burns. Good. Maybe the pain will stop this ache in my chest.

  My eyes travel up, and I see Libby standing there with a box in her hand as a guy walks over. It’s John Bishop's boy, Owen. I’ve never had a problem with him, but suddenly I hate every fucking thing about that shithead.

  I’m out of the truck before I know what I’m doing. If I had a rational thought, I’d make myself stop. But I’m not listening to myself. I’m only seeing red as he reaches out and touches her cheek. I don’t know what he is to her, but he’s about to be six feet under.

  When I see him bring his hand up to his mouth, I reach out grab his wrist, and then turn my eyes on Libby. I need her to look at me and not at him. I’m so fucking jealous that I can’t stand to have her eyes on any goddamn man except myself.

  “Jasper,” she says, and the sweet, soft sound has my every inch of my body hard.

  “Go get in my truck, Libby. I’ll meet you there.”

  I let go of Owen's wrist, not wanting to touch him, but I keep my eyes locked with her bright greens. A light blush creeps across her cheeks, and she looks down at the ground. I hate that I don’t get to see them on me anymore, but she nods, and a little peace settles in my chest. She and Nicole turn to leave, but I don’t watch her go. Instead I turn to Owen, standing in front of him, my big body blocking his view of her.

  “What’s up, Jasper? Just saying hey to your sister. No harm, man.” He holds his hands up like he doesn't want a fight. But he obviously does if he’s touching what’s mine.

  I try to rid my mind of the thought of Libby being my property, but it’s no use. She’s been mine since we were kids, and there’s no changing my stupid brain now.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Bishop,” I say, and I don’t move an inch, daring him to come at me. I could use a fight right about now. It would probably help me burn off some pent-up aggression.

  “Look, I know she’s your sister and all. But I’m a decent guy. Why don’t you put in a good word for me?” He shrugs like he’s some sort of fucking prize.

  “No,” I say and turn around, walking towards my truck.

  “No?” I hear Owen say behind me. “Fucking asshole.”

  He says the last part so low I don’t think he expects me to hear it. But I’m so pissed off I could hear a mouse fart in a cotton ball.

  “What you’d call me?” I say, whipping around and taking two long strides to put me back in front of him.

  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.

  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.

  I’m jerked from my thoughts when Jasper’s hand comes to rest on my thigh. It’s then I realize the truck is parked and we are home. I raise my head to look at him, but his face is unreadable. The darkness in his eyes in still there, but there’s a little more softness to his body then there was when he first got in the truck. Like some invisible tension has left his body, only leaving behind the echo of his earlier anger.

  “When did you start dressing like this?” His voice is deep and raspy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he hadn’t spoken in days.

  His hand stays in place on my thigh, the heat from his palm spreading through me. His thumb strokes my exposed skin, rubbing back and forth. The roughness of his hand sends a tingle up my spine. I’ve never had someone’s hands on me like this before, but even without that, I know this is the hand of a man. I can tell from the texture and weight of it that he’s the kind of man that does hard labor every day. The kind of man that could take care of a woman. His touch is so simple, and to him it’s probably nothing. But to me, this touch is close to what I’ve dreamed of. It feels so intimate, and in my mind, there is nothing brotherly about it.

  “Does it matter?” I manage to say, though all my thoughts are centered around his big thumb slowly stroking me.

  My cheeks warm as I glance back up. His eyes roam over my body, to my exposed legs and then to my cleavage. I wonder what he’s thinking and if he likes what he sees. Would he like it on any other woman besides me?

  “Yes.” His single word hangs in the air as heavy silence follows.

  Seconds tick by, but all he does is keep stroking me with his thumb. I reach for my seatbelt, needing to get out of this confined space. My breathing picks up at his touch, and I know what’s happening. It happens late at night when I lie in bed and think about him. I’m getting turned on, and I wonder if he’ll be able to tell. My face gets warmer with each second, but as I place my hand on the buckle, he grabs it and stops me.

  “When you dress like this, men get ideas. They start looking at you differently, Libby. I don't like it. Not one bit.”

  “So?” I fire back, lifting my chin a little. I want to tell him that maybe I want them to look, but I know that’s a lie. I want him to look. The only eyes I want on me are Jasper’s.

  The hand on my thigh tightens, and my legs fall open a little. It’s only a fraction of an inch, but he sees it. Jasper lets out a sound that comes from deep in his chest, making my whole body tighten. I want to get closer to him, even with this anger pulsing from him in waves. Something about it draws me to him rather than pushes me away. I can feel it between us, but I don’t know what it is or what’s happening.

  He releases my wrist and moves his hand to my cheek. He touches the exact same spot Owen did, but this time when Jasper does it, he brings his thumb to his mouth.

  “Sugar,” he says as he pulls his thumb from his mouth. A dark look passes over his eyes, and I can see that something in him has changed. “Go inside the house, Libby.”

  I reach down and fumble with my seatbelt, getting it to unclick. But when it does, Jasper doesn’t release my thigh. He maintains his possessive grip.

  “I can’t,” I tell him, looking down at his hand.

  The tan of his skin is a bold contrast to the creamy color of mine. I hardly go outside, but it’s evident Jasper spends hours in the sun. I watch as his palm tightens even more, then finally lets go. I take the opportunity and fly from the truck. I practically sprint up the front porch stairs and into the house. For some reason, I need to clear my head, and I can’t do that while sitting so close to him. I don’t look back to see if Jasper is following me.

  I don’t stop when I enter the house and see my mom in the living room. I mumble a hello and go right up the stairs into my room, shutting the door behind me. I hope with all my heart that my mom doesn’t come up here and check on me. Not wanting to chance it, I go to my bathroom and shut the door, flipping on the shower. I sit down on the toilet lid as the water runs, and think about what just happened.

  My eyes go straight to my thigh where Jasper held me. He left no marks, even though he was holding me so tightly. A pang of disappointment hits me and I don’t know why. But that’s another lie I tell myself.

  I know why I’m disappointed. I wanted his mark on me. Something deep inside me did and still does. The desire I have for him is so strong that I would take anything I could get. I close my eyes, wondering if that makes me pathetic. I put my face in my hands and try to get a grip on everything I’m feeling.

  When I hear a knock at my bathroom door, I know it’s my mom. No one else would come into my room and knock on it besides her. I stand up and open the door. Her eyes sweep over me, and I remember what I’m wearing. She doesn’t make a comment on my clothes and simply gives me a bright smile.

  “The guys are going to look at some machine that’s broken and I thought we could spend the day in the kitchen together. Make them a big meal like old times,” she says, reaching out and tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear.

  Cooking is something my mom and I enjoy doing together, and this would be another way to remind me that we are all family. Maybe this is exactly what I need—a shock to the system to somehow reset my traitorous body.

  “I thought we could talk about your plans this summer. I know you enrolled in some classes online, but you seem a little…” She trails off, but I understand what she’s saying.

  I do feel a little lost, and I also know spending the afternoon with her will only make me feel better.

  “Sounds like fun. Let me hop in the shower and I’ll be right down.”

  She leans in and places a kiss on my cheek. “Love you, baby girl,” she says before turning and leaving with a smile on her face.

  Guilt falls on my shoulders as I close the bathroom door and undress. If all the feelings I’ve been having about Jasper were to ever come to light, it would destroy our family. I could never do that to my mom or to Ned.

  So instead of doing what my body and my heart want, I’ll listen to the voice in my head.

  4

  Jasper

  I watch Libby nearly run into the house, and I shake my head at myself. Fuck, I’ve got to get better control. She looked like a baby deer in headlights when I touched her. I sat there rubbing her milky white skin and thinking all kinds of non-brotherly things.

  What is wrong with me? Why couldn’t I keep my hands to my fucking self? Something about her, the way she looked so innocent
and sweet, called to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been in love with her since the day I met her and my heart gets confused. My truck still smells like cinnamon sugar and fresh-baked cookies, and I will my hard-on to go away. Shame hits me as the throb in my pants won’t quit and I don’t know how to make it stop.

  All I wanted to do was keep that asshat from touching her, but I had to take it to the next level, didn’t I? I had to punch Owen Bishop in front of the whole fucking town and scare the one person I want to protect. She looked at me like I was some kind of animal, and I would have given anything to make it go away. Her eyes were wide with what had to be fear as I stroked her skin and selfishly took what I wanted. I didn’t stop to think about what that could do to her, and I feel like a grade-A bastard.

  I open my door, trying to get away from the smell of her, even though I don’t want to. I need to clear my head, and I can’t do that if I’m surrounded by thoughts of her warm, soft skin under my touch and wondering if she would feel just as soft under me. If the weight of my body would hold her down against her mattress. Would she press her mouth into her pillow to hide her moans from our parents as I thrust into her cunt?

  “Fuck,” I mutter, kicking my door shut and grabbing my bag out of the back.

  Staying here for more than a day is a bad idea. But my dad said he needed my help for a couple of days, and there’s nothing I wouldn't do for him. And you get to see Libby, the voice in the back of my head pipes up, and I groan.

  I walk into the house and see Carol sitting in the living room. She sees me and stands up, coming over and wrapping me up in a hug. Guilt is heaped on the already mile-high pile I have inside me as I think about what I feel for her daughter. She’d be so ashamed of me if she knew what I wanted, and as much as I want Libby, I don’t want to hurt our family. What we have is special, more than anyone could hope for. I know how happy she’s made my dad and how in love with Carol he is. My feelings for Libby would bring the life we’ve all built tumbling down and I don't want to do that.