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“I mean, you look beautiful,” I rush out, grimacing when I note her eyes widening. “You always do. You just don’t look . . . happy?”
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.
“Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”
“That’s probably what you tell all the girls, Gervais.” “Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.”
That’s not how feelings work—they just are, no matter what anyone else thinks of them.
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.
She holds up a purple squeeze bottle and a green glass tub of something and shakes them at me like I’m stupid. “I’ll drink your water if you give me a facial.” Gotta say, the first place my head goes is not to beauty products.
And if I’ve figured out anything in this Shakespearean tragedy of a life, it’s that life is just moments all strung together like multicolor Christmas lights. You always end up liking some colors better than others.
“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.”
“No, Sunny. I shouldn’t be scared. You’re the least scary thing in my life. You’re not just tattooed on my skin. You’re branded on my heart. Woven into the fiber of my being. The most constant and reassuring person in my life. When I close my eyes, I see you. When you’re away from me, I dream about you. When I need someone to lean on, you are always there for me. God. You’ve loved me when I haven’t even been able to love myself.”
“You’ve looked at me like this for so damn long. And I don’t know when I started looking back, only that I did. Forcing myself to look away for so many years has been a special kind of torture. I’ve tortured myself for long enough. I’m done hiding, done missing out on this. On us.”
