But every time I close my eyes, I see Sloane. She’s dancing or carefully rubbing a clay facial on my face. Sometimes I see Sloane scaring other girls away from me in a random bar. Other times she’s swimming in a mountain lake. I see Sloane on stage. The color of the lines on the ice? Remind me of her eyes. When I put too much cream in my coffee the other morning? Her hair. When I use my favorite bodywash? The way she leans into me and sucks in a huge breath. Sloane is everywhere.
