"Ugh, fucking gas," I mumbled to my dashboard as the low gas warning light came on and pulled me out of shit memory lane. "I just filled you up four hours ago!"

My right index finger jabbed harshly on the dashboard search for the nearest gas station, then pulled off the highway exit at the first available exit. Once my car lurched to a stop in the middle of nowhere, I reached over my passenger's seat and slipped my credit card out of my wallet.

A thick, humid wall of late, Southern California summer air coated my skin as I stepped out of the car. A few strands from my ponytail clung to the back of my neck and a line of moisture encroached the surface of my skin at my hairline.

Gross.

Even though Highway 405 ran along the coastline, it was enough miles inland that the cool Pacific breezes didn't offset the stifling mix of heat and lightly swampy air that moved impassively around me as I stretched my tired arms overhead.

After I topped off my gas tank, I checked my watch and realized my bladder wasn't going to make the roughly three and half hours left to UCLA. Despite how every internal warning told me peeing was cleaner and safer for me than this gas station's bathroom, I huffed loudly and came inside.

A loud chime sounded as my palms pushed against the black metal handle on the glass doors and I stepped into a very brightly lit convenience store layout. A pale-skinned, brown curly-haired, zit-faced kid who wore an expression like he hated his own very existence lazily looked up at me. A quick glance at the counter showed one palm flattened over a splayed open Hustler magazine while the other palm cupped under his chin.

"Bathroom?" I asked since the fullness in my lower belly fired off warning signals that the help my skinny jeans offered in the bladder containment department wasn't going to last much longer.

Without a glance up, he silently lifted one finger and pointed sideways to the other end of the counter. I rolled my eyes at the complete lack of help and walked down the sticky-floored aisles until I saw the overhead universal symbol for the bathrooms. My nose cringed when I saw one unisex bathroom, sucked in a deep breath, and touched as few surfaces as possible inside.

After my best thigh-clenched hover over the toilet, I lifted one of my knee-high leather boots that I was now incredibly grateful I'd worn down in a foot flush, washed my hands, and grabbed a paper towel for the door handle. Despite the rough car ride with one stop for a quick meal, a mirror check showed I still looked fairly decent despite how my entire face was flushed pink from the oppressive heat. One adjustment tug to my ponytail left me satisfied enough that I rejoined Mister Public Porn Stash.

After I snapped up some last-push of the drive snacks, namely red licorice and three more Red Bulls, I slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter over his dirty magazine and mumbled, "Keep the change, pervert."

Outside the gas station, I hugged my sugar and caffeinated supply to my chest. A few steps away from my car, I stretched each ear down to the closest shoulder and released the tension that pinched the nerves down the sides of my neck.

As I rolled my head back, I made a mistake and looked up at a nearby roadside billboard advertisement adjacent to the gas station. The large rectangular structure loomed over me like a slow-motion horror film scene, like the zoom-in pan when the stupid girl has her moment of awareness right before she chose to outrun a serial killer.

How did I not see that!? Stupid bladder.

My mouth dropped open and my arms released my snacks onto the pavement of the gas station at the sight in front of me. As my Redbulls rolled away in a circular protest, I silently gawked at an advertisement that completely disgusted me. Against the burgundy red background, gigantic blocked letters in yellow screamed at me:

"Thirty-six straight wins (forty-nine out of the last fifty-one)... An NCAA-record 18-consecutive wins over ranked opponents... Current Heisman winner... Three-time All-American... NATIONAL CHAMPION... Jacob Harrison."

Right next to this proclamation of USC's current dynasty leader was a twenty foot tall picture of Jake himself, well just his upper half. He wore the patented burgundy and gold Trojans' jersey, but his physique was different from high school. His shoulders were broader, his neck thicker, and one of his muscular arms extended forwards with a football clutched in his large hand. By no coincidence, a fat, gold football ring popped off his fourth finger.

While my vagina twitched her hello, the kick in the center of my chest was the burgundy baseball hat sat backwards on Jake's head, the yellow brim outlined by how his dark hair curled up on the ends. His dark eyes gleamed and the corners of his lips curled up into his signature panty-dropper smirk.

"...Fuck... me... sideways."

How stupid Jake still looked with a backwards cap on his head sent me right back into another memory lane I wanted nothing more than I drove over a cliff Thelma-and-Louse style. No part of me ever wanted to remember what he'd done the morning after Ellie was assaulted, admitted that he obviously regretted what we'd done at his football team's party based on what happened the next day.

I still saw us in memory as clearly as if I'd looked at a picture, or worse Jake in front of me now. Fourteen year-old Jake sat on the front step at his house when my Dad and I drove Ellie back home the next morning. The late morning was sunny with just a few clouds in the clear blue sky. He stupidly wore a baseball cap backwards and his dark hair barely curled up the edge over his ears. After he hugged Ellie and sent her inside their house, I realized once he turned back that he'd actually waited for me.

"Jake!" I gasped at the shiner he sported. He'd gone off at Ryder, tackled him in the hallway in a moment of rage before we'd left the party house. But by the looks of him the next morning, even drunk Ryder was too big and strong for freshman-sized Jake. I reached my fingers gently up to his busted lip but he jerked his head back and pushed my hand away.

"Harper." Obviously, I'd never forgotten how his dark eyes blazed furiously at me. "You know last night was a mistake, right."

His words weren't even a question, just an emotionless statement that matched the expression he wore on his face. This was years before I'd gotten my sharp tongue, so I stammered, "I-I-I... uhh..." and clutched my elbows with my hands with trembling fingers. "Umm, sure. Yeah, it-it's nothing."

"Yeah, nothing," he spat angrily. "We can never tell Ellie why... why I wasn't there for her when I should've been."

I opened my mouth but just one look at his tortured expression stole my protested words. He shouldered all the blame of what Ryder had done. He thought what happened to Ellie was his fault since he'd brought us and he was wrong. Everything had happened because Ryder was a piece of shit and the entire world needed to know that.

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to comfort Jake, hug him, and assure him nothing was his fault or Ellie's fault, that we'd all be okay.

But I didn't.

Instead, I accepted that anger in his eyes and rejection of me was the direction that he wanted to go. No matter how much Jake hurt me, the guilt I felt after I'd left Ellie to be with Jake at the party told me I deserved that pain and rejection.

I don't know if I could change his mind if I try, but I'll never know.

"I wasn't there for her either," I said quietly, my eyes averted down to nothing in particular on the ground. "But we can be there for her now."

Jake stepped forwards until he was inches from me, lifted one finger under my chin, and brought my eyes up to his with a steely determination. "Promise me, we will never tell her."

"Jake -" I started as the sting of tears bit the corners of my eyes.

"Promise me, Harper," he repeated and firmly squeezed his thumb into my chin. Anger and guilt swirled together in his dark eyes and grew a lump in the back of my throat.

"Fine," I relented with a whisper. "I promise. We never happened."

"Good." And with that, he turned and headed into the house. But not before he turned over his shoulder and quietly added the most painful words anyone ever said to me.

"We both know it was shit and didn't mean anything anyways."

The last thing I heard from him was the front door slammed behind him.

I stood on the Harrison's front yard for probably only a few seconds, maybe a few minutes even, but to me a lifetime passed. Jake broke every piece of pure kindness in my soul that day. On the silent drive home with my Dad, the ice crystals had already started to squeeze into the edges of my heart. I made a promise that no guy would ever be able to make me feel that vulnerable, that weak again

After the summer, I watched as Jake changed. He grew up from the scrawny, nerdy jock I adored in junior high into the most worshipped guy in our high school. His gangly frame, those long arms and legs stretched longer. Once he started football, toned muscles filled out his frame. His unruly brillo-hair grew into dark brown waves like a shampoo commercial model's before and after successful glow up. With his stupidly smoldering dark brown eyes and that adorably sinful smirk that faced me now charmed the pants off any girl in our school.

And off the pants came.

I might've been his first kiss and test waters for his dick, but I was also the first one tossed onto Jake Harrison's reject pile.

During high school, being the star quarterback, Jake plowed through girls like a tractor through a corn field. By the time we left high school, he'd amassed quite the gigantic pile that included another round of mistakes from me. Fortunately, after he'd crushed my heart freshman year, every year afterwards we'd drifted further apart. Unfortunately for me, we were constantly tethered back together through Ellie.

In some sense I should thank him.

Jake taught me very early on that in order to protect my feelings, I needed to separate them from my physical desires. And since I had no intentions that I ever let anyone into my heart again, it was harmless when I talked about and indulged in things like all high school guys did.

Things that girls think about too but won't admit or act on them.

For Ellie, I willingly tolerated the ice shards that poked in my chest whenever her asshole brother was in my presence. I couldn't be there that night for my best friend but I was damned sure I was there every time she needed me afterwards.

At the start of our freshman year in high school, Jake Harrison had held my heart, my innocence, and all my squishy girly feelings in his hands and shattered it into a million pieces.

And I'll never forgive him for it.

The memory was the only reminder I needed as I cupped my hand over my eyes, squinted them nearly closed, and glared up at Jake's ridiculously smug billboard expression. His dark eyes, which to a normal person probably looked dark and sexy, burned their gaze into me until my only reaction was a slight twitch of my mouth tucked towards my right cheek.

His too-familiar-for comfort voice echoed in my mind, "A mistake..."

I still hate that fucking asshole.

With nearly numb movements, I rescued my rolled away Red Bulls, picked up my licorice like it was my morning-after underwear, threw them onto the passenger's seat, and climbed back into my car. My fingers wrenched around the hot leather steering wheel but I ignored the slight sear into my skin and squeezed my grip tighter. Only when my eyes closed had I realized my breath came out in short, sharp pants and not the sexually turned on version.

Calm down Harper, it's not like he's here in person.

My chest expanded with slow, deep breaths in and out until my fingers uncurled. In one movement, I exited the car again. I took some for sure angry stomps across the lot, slammed both palms into the glass entrance door, and went back into the convenience store.

After a quick round trip to the refrigerator section and back, Counter Perv barely looked up from his phone once I slammed down the money for my second purchase. With a slowly lifted eyebrow, one of his hands - which was thankfully not sticky - palmed a brown paper bag onto the counter and slid it towards me like a peace offering.

"Thanks," I mumbled, snatched the bag, and collected my contents. My lips rolled inward when my fingers brushed against a smooth texture and walked back outside to the outside lot. With calmer steps, my feet took me straight not to my car but the edge of the cement lot.

"Perfect." I grabbed one of the three round, squishy fruits I'd bought in my palms and tucked the bag under one elbow. My mouth curved upwards as I took my stance as close as I could to the billboard, spread my legs, and squeezed both my thigh and ass muscles.

After a string of expletives flooded out of my mouth, I squeezed the tomato in my palm. My fingernails gnashed tiny half-moon shapes into the smooth but tender skin. Ribbons of juice trailed down my fingertips but I ignored them and lifted my fist high above and behind my head.

With a grunt of more satisfaction than what was probably mentally stable, I flung my arm forwards. The tomato flew from my grasp, sailed through the air, and made an ear-cringing splattered sound against the wood billboard front.

Whunk!

My force and velocity were good, since the tomato exploded upon impact. My aim however, had definite room for improvement since I'd hit Jake dead center on the number seven on his chest.

Nothing against the Trojans, favorite condom brand really... just their captain.

Fortunately, I had two more tomatoes. In a similar fashion, I wound up, threw both quickly at him, and used just as many if not more swear words.

Whunk! Whunk!

My chest heaved and warmth buzzed through my veins as I watched the juice and pulp smashed right into the center of Jake's forehead. A strangely sense of satisfaction rushed through me while I watched as the tomato bits dripped down his eyes, nose, and cheeks until it smeared over the center of that damn, giant smirk.

Am I being childish? Absolutely.

Did it make me feel better? Fuck yes.

A wide smile spread across my lips as I flashed up both of my middle fingers, one of which I snapped a picture of. I barely noticed Counter Perv's phone pointed in my direction as I threw one last heated glare up at twenty-foot tall Jake now satisfactorily covered in tomato guts, then turned on my heel.

"Asshole."