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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.
And for Sloane I keep every promise, no matter how badly they hurt.
“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.
Worst of all, the man I’m going to walk down the aisle toward isn’t the one I see when I close my eyes. He isn’t the one I’ve wanted for the better part of my life.
“Raise your voice at that woman one more time and I will drop you like a stone, Woodcock.”
Tonight and every summer night after, she sits with me. I don’t invite her. She’s just there.
A tiny ballerina being toted around by a huge hockey player.
“Sunny, you’re gonna need a bath when we get to the ranch.” “Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”
I chance a look at Sloane now to see how she might react to my dark question. But as usual, she doesn’t shy away from my darkness—after all, she’s my Sunny. She chases away the dark just by being herself.
“Nah. Spending my life barefoot in the kitchen as Mrs. Woodcock sounds fucking terrible. I’d rather be barefoot in a dirty liquor store with you.”
“That’s probably what you tell all the girls, Gervais.” “Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.”
Everything in the world feels wrong. But standing here with Sloane in my arms feels right.
I kept placing an order for Jasper Gervais and the universe kept sending me these laughable cheap-ass knockoffs.
And I’m realizing that what I’m feeling is a whole lot more than a brotherly sense of protection. It’s envy. It’s possession.
“They’re just blue, Jas.” I flop back. “And I look tired.” “They’re not just blue.” He says it like it’s fact and not his opinion.
I’m too tired to focus on anything other than how the water is the exact color of Sloane’s eyes. I was wrong about the sky. I was wrong about the eggshell. It’s the glacier lake. I see her everywhere.
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.
Because friends don’t grind their cocks on their friend’s perfect asses. It’s just not done.
“Shit happens to the best of us, Sunny, and I am not the best of us.” “To me you are,” is what I tell him.
“I can’t ever lose you,” he growls. “You won’t,” I reply quietly, right as the tip of his nose traces the shell of my ear. “I might.” “Nev—” Before I can say never, he cuts me off with, “Because I think I’m about to fuck everything up between us.” And then he kisses me.
“Sunny, you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” “Good,” I murmur against his mouth. “We’ll be insane together. I’m so tired of doing it alone.”
Fuck my safety. If I died riding Jasper Gervais in the driver’s seat of this truck, I might be fine with that. What a way to go. Out with a bang, so to speak.
“Times have changed, Sloane. I’m not scared anymore. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re just mine.”
“Sloane, close the door and sit on the counter.” Pump. “Pardon me?” My heart thrashes wildly in my chest. “Shut the door.” Pump. “And put that tight little ass up on the counter.” Pump. My cheeks flame. “We both know you want to watch.”
He glances up now, seeing where I’m pointing, and lifts his left arm. I get a full view of the tiny ballerina inked on his skin. It looks like the ones inside a jewelry box I’d been thinking about earlier. “Oh.” He sighs. “That.” “Yeah. That.”
“You might be wearing his ring, but we both know it was my cock you were riding in your head,” he husks across my skin.
“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.”
I point at the floor beneath my feet and say, “Lose that fucking ring and crawl.”
He’s not brooding Jasper right now, and he’s not sweet Jasper either. He’s . . . I don’t know. I don’t recognize this look, but I like it. I love it. I especially love being on the receiving end of it
“I was about to tell you I’ve never had sex without a condom, Sloane.” He bends down and picks the bowl up off the floor. “I was about to tell you the only way you’d look prettier was with my cum in that tight little cunt.”
Only Jasper Gervais would have a body like a titan, a face like a model, and a cock like a pornstar.
All my hottest sexual fantasies have featured Sloane. And none of them were as hot as the real thing.
“Are you sore?” “Have you seen your dick?” “Answer the question, Sloane.”
Sloane laughs. She’s light and bright. She’s Sunny. She makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.
“I don’t know how I went so long without you,” he murmurs, pushing my hair behind my ear and cradling my skull. “I never want to go without you again,” he adds, fisting himself and swiping the thick head of his cock through my core.
Even doing boring stuff is infinitely less boring with Sloane by my side.
“Fucking the fancy prima ballerina up against the wall like the filthy girl she really is? Much, much better than getting another tattoo.”
“Harder,” she urges. “Which one?” I push my hips forward hard, slamming her into the wall. “Pussy?” Then pulse my hand around her neck, “Or throat?” Heat simmers in her aqua eyes, they burn so fucking hot when she tips her chin at me in challenge. “Both.”
That girl has never left you behind, not for a moment. No matter how unlovable you’ve been, she’s loved you anyway.
I love hockey, but it’s not even close to how I love Sloane. Two weeks off of hockey compared to a few days without Sloane proved two things to me: I can live without hockey but I can’t live without Sloane.
His hand squeezes reassuringly. “The answer is yes, Sloane.” My head tilts. “Yes, what?” “I’ll take that gamble. All day long. Every damn day.”
Sterling sputters as he struggles to right himself. “Did you just—” “Kick his fucking chair over?” Jasper provides, cutting off my dad’s question. “Yes. Because you might be okay with him talking to your daughter that way, but I am not. Must have learned better manners in the trailer park.”
But it’s Jasper who really gets the last laugh when he leans in against my ex’s ear and says, “I fucked that ring right off her finger.”
Maybe not the family he was born into but the one that wanted him the most. The one that will do anything for him.
It’s a purple, oval cut sapphire, set horizontally into yellow gold. Surrounded on all edges. It’s quirky. It’s unique. It’s one of a kind. It’s exact the ring I described to him all those months ago.
And just like that, the boy with the lanky limbs, the caramel hair, and the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen is mine. Forever.
“Jasper . . .” her voice trails off as her fingers brush over the dark ink. “That’s . . .” Her hands tremble as she holds my hand with both of hers so reverently. “Permanent.” “So are we. I’m never going to take this ring off.”
