Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)

by Elsie Silver

What I don’t realize is that I’ll be fighting the urge to stare at Jasper Gervais for years to come.

And watching her comfort Harvey right now, I let myself admit that the way I love Sloane might not be how one friend loves another at all.

“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.”

Because I’ve been staring at Jasper Gervais since I was ten years old, and suddenly . . . he’s staring back.

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.

“Times have changed, Sloane. I’m not scared anymore. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re just mine.”

“See, Sloane? You can wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.”

“I feel like I could crumble under the weight of not wanting to disappoint you. I’m paralyzed by my fear of losing you.”