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What I don’t realize is that I’ll be fighting the urge to stare at Jasper Gervais for years to come.
Plus, I remember how Sloane looks at a man when she really wants him. And she isn’t looking at her fiancé the way she used to look at me.
concealer.” “You always look good to me. Concealer, no concealer. Fancy dress, Harvey’s sweat suit. Smooth hair”—his hand waves over me with a low chuckle—“whatever this is. It doesn’t matter. You’re you.” I swallow and try my best not to melt onto the floor into a squishy pile of mush. “That’s probably what you tell all the girls, Gervais.” “Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.”
I’m grumpy and miserable. The world is dark, but she’s like the moon when we sat on the roof. Bright and pure, shedding a silvery light over everything so that I can still see where I’m going.
The water between us doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
Jasper: I don’t like talking to people. Sloane: You talk to me. Jasper: You’re not people. Sloane: Lmao. What am I then? Jasper: My person.
“Because I think I’m about to fuck everything up between us.” And then he kisses me.
“See, Sloane? You can wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.”
Like we’re two opposite ends of a magnet, there’s no resisting the pull.
Plus, you’re my boy,
