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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.
“Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”
“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.” His words suck
“Lose that fucking ring and crawl.”
She’s still looking up at me like I hung the moon. Like she always has.
