Page 2 of Powerless
I look anyway.
What I don’t realize is that I’ll be fighting the urge to stare at Jasper Gervais for years to come.
1
Jasper
Sloane Winthrop’s fiancé is a royal douchebag.
I’m familiar with the type. You don’t work your way into the NHL without encountering your fair share.
And this guy has the act down pat.
As if the nameSterling Woodcockwasn’t enough of a giveaway, he’s now bragging about the hunting trip he and his dad spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on to kill lions born and bred in captivity, like that will somehow make their dicks bigger.
From the Rolex on his wrist to his manicured nails, he’s dripping wealth, and I guess it only makes sense that Sloane might end up with a man like him. After all, the Winthrops are one of the most powerful families in the country with what is damn near a monopoly on the telecommunications industry.
As he rambles, I glance at Sloane across the table.Her sky-blue eyes are downcast, and she’s clearly fiddling with the napkin in her lap. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here in this dimly lit, ornate steak house.
And I feel about the same.
Listening to her small-dicked future husband boast to a table full of family and friends I’ve never met about something that is honestly embarrassing—and sad—isn’t how I’d choose to spend a night off.
But I’m here for Sloane, and that’s what I keep telling myself.
Because seeing her right now, all downtrodden mere nights before her wedding . . . it feels like she needs someone here who actually knows her. The rest of the Eaton crew couldn’t make it into the city tonight, but I promised her I’d come.
And for Sloane I keep every promise, no matter how badly they hurt.
I expected her to be smiling. Glowing. I expected to be happy for her—but I’m not.
“You hunt, Jasper?” Sterling asks, all poised and pretentious.
The collar of my checkered dress shirt feels like it’s strangling me, even though I left the top buttons undone. I clear my throat and roll my shoulders back. “I do.”
Sterling picks up the crystal tumbler before him and leans back to assess me with a smug smirk on his perfectly shaved face. “Any big game? You’d enjoy atrip like this.” People who don’t know me nod and murmur their assent.
“I don’t know if—” Sloane starts, but her fiancé steamrolls her attempt at adding to the conversation.
“We all saw what your last contract came in at. Not bad for a goalie. So provided you’ve been responsible with your money, it’s something you should be able to afford.”
Like I said: douchebag.
I bite the inside of my cheek, tempted to say I’ve been horribly irresponsible with my money and don’t have a dollar to my name. But as lowbrow as my upbringing might have been, I have enough class to know that finances aren’t polite dinner conversation.
“Nah, man. I only hunt what I can eat, and I’m unfamiliar with how to cook a lion.”
A few chuckles break out around the table, including from Sloane. I don’t miss the quick moment where Sterling’s eyes narrow, where his teeth clamp and his jaw pops.
Sloane jumps in quickly, patting his arm like he’s a dog who needs soothing. I can almost feel her slender fingers on my own arm and absently find myself wishing it were me she was touching instead. “I used to hunt with my cousins out in Chestnut Springs too, you know?”
I’m tossed back in time, remembering a young Sloane keeping up with the boys all summer. Sloanewith dirt under her nails, scrapes on her knees, sun-bleached hair all tangled and free down her back.
“It’s more about the thrill, you know? The power.” Sterling ignores Sloane’s comment entirely.
He looks at me like an opponent, except we aren’t playing hockey right now. If we were, I’d give him a quick blocker shot to the face.
“Did you not hear what Sloane just said?” I’m trying to be cool, but I hate the way he’s treated her through this entire dinner. I don’t know how she ended up here. She’s my best friend. She’s eloquent, and smart, and funny—does he not see that at all? Does he not seeher?
