Page 12 of Powerless
The thought of getting out of them is just too tempting.
With a brusque nod, I fist the skirt and pull it up a few inches to bend over. But before I can, Jasper crouches before me. Deft fingers make quick work of the dainty silver buckles while I stand here slack-jawed, watching this man drop to one knee just to take my shoes off, running calloused palms reverently around my ankle as he tugs my feet free.
Without looking up, he hands the sparkly heel to me as he taps the opposite foot. And not for the first time, I’m stuck staring at Jasper Gervais with my heart pounding while he goes about what he’s doing like it’s the most mundane thing in the world.
“There,” he says, glancing up at me with the ankle strap dangling from his outstretched finger.
It’s hard not to admire him on his knees, but it’s histhumb that makes me gasp. The one pressing into the arch of my foot, like he just can’t help but massage me.
“Sore?” His Adam’s apple works as he swallows, one knee on the ground while the other is up, making his slacks stretch across his muscular thighs in the most delicious way.
What kind of man stops in the middle of breaking me out of my sham of a wedding to rub my sore feet?
A damn good one.
I shouldn’t be salivating over him on what was supposed to be my wedding day. But salivating over Jasper Gervais is part of my personality at this point.
“No, I’m fine,” I say quickly, pulling my foot back down to the floor. Feeling more grounded on my bare feet.
I step ahead, rounding Jasper as he pushes to stand, and press my ear against the door. It’s hard to make much out beside hushed tones and the deep baritone of what I recognize as my dad’s voice.
“Ready, Sloane?”
“For what?” I whisper, leaning on the door like it might help me catch a few words,
“To run.”
My head flips in his direction. “You’re going to help me literally become a runaway bride?”
Jasper smiles and his eyes soften, creases popping up beside them. He’s always been my gentle giant. Tall, quiet, andgooddown to the marrow of his bones. “That’s what friends are for.”
Friends.
That word has haunted me for years. As a child, I felt special when he called me his friend, but as an adult? As a woman? Watching other women prance around on his arm at different events while I get called his friend?
Itkillsme.
And I’m perpetually too chickenshit to do anything about it. The timing is always off. And I have tucked my tail between my legs since he turned me down for prom, and then again in a more joking way.
If we lived together, I wouldn’t have to inconvenience you like this.
It was an offhanded remark that rolled off the tip of my tongue far too easily as he helped me mount a TV to the wall in my new condo. He parried it away effortlessly with a deep chuckle as he hefted that flat screen onto the mount, like he was swatting at a mosquito buzzing around his head.
Like that would ever happen.
He said those words to me one year ago, and I took a hint. I decided having Jasper as a friend is better than alienating him altogether. And that’s what blurting out my feelings would do. So I let it go. I may be stupidly obsessed with the man, but I have some sense of self-preservation. I like to think I have some dignity. But lately I’m questioning even that.
Realizing I’ve been staring at him blankly for far too long, I ask, “How are we going to do that?”
He hikes a thumb in the opposite direction from the church entrance. “Emergency exit is that way. Cade and Willa planned a distraction. And then we’re just gonna . . .” He shrugs, looking so damn boyish as he does. “Give er.”
“Give ’er?”
His laugh is a deep, amused rumble. It pulls me toward him and draws my cheeks up into a grin; it soothes me in a way I can’t explain.
He nods and it’s so sure. Decisive. There’s something reassuring about knowing he’ll always have my back, that he can take an out-of-control situation and make it feel in control somehow. “Yeah. Like . . . go hard. Give ’er shit.”
I quirk my head. “Is this a hockey saying?”
