the Jupiter I’d met this past week covered in tattoos compared to the high-school Jupiter I knew with his dimples and wicked smile were as different as night and day. Except, except, when he pounded on my office door and told me he planned to win me back, I saw that eighteen-year-old, the one with dimples and a wicked smile; the one who used to pick me up for school and make me hot chocolate to watch the stars. The one who made sure the last thing he did every night was kiss me. The one who was doing his hardest to get me to notice him again. It was confusing as hell.
