Page 50 of Powerless
I wonder if he’s about to say something about my meal choice. I know I’m thin. Too thin. But after years of fighting my way to the top of our ballet company and then being told I need to look a certain way for our wedding, it’s hard to change my mindset. Besides, with everything that’s happened since the wedding, my appetite has been almost nonexistent.
He shrugs and drops his gaze back down. “Okay.”
I keep reading the plastic pages before me. “Oooh. They have Buddyz Best on tap!”
Amusement sparks on his handsome face. “You can get something better, you know.”
I laugh. “Of course, I know. But I’ve developed a taste for it.”
Jasper flips his menu shut and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. His biceps bulge against the soft, gray waffle-knit Henley he’s wearing.
I try not to stare.
“You sure you aren’t just ordering it to be contrary?”
I lean back and mirror his position. His midnight eyes drop for a split second to my shoulder again before resting back on my face. “Nope. Iloveit. I bet it tastes different on tap. Better even.”
His grin widens. “Yes. I’m certain the quality is really affected.”
I nod. “I wonder if it’s available in bottles.”
He snorts.
“I’ll have to try all three to really pass judgment.”
He leans across the table with a spark in his eye and a small smirk on his shapely lips. His fresh scent—spearmint and something earthy, like one of those dried eucalyptus sprigs—drifts my way as his long fingers tap on the table twice. “New goal for this road trip: try Buddyz Best absolutely everywhere we can. Become true connoisseurs.”
I laugh, wagging my head as I lean forward. Gravity pulls me toward him and our eyes lock. They lock so hard that I can’t pull mine away. His dark blues are like a vacuum. They suck me straight in, and for a split second, everything around us gets lost in the rush of blood in my ears.
“Alright! You two ready?” The server pops up next to us.
We both start and sit up straight.
With a quick coughing noise, Jasper recovers. “Yeah. Sloane, go ahead.”
I tuck my hair behind my ears and smile at the girl whose cheeks have gone pink again. “I’ll have a green salad with vinaigrette, please.” I hand back the menu, face flipping in Jasper’s direction when he says he’ll have the same.
He doesn’t pay me any mind though. “But I’ll also have an order of the battered cod bites and popcorn chicken.”
She nods, smiling so broadly my cheeks almost hurt for her.
“I’ll also have a pint of Buddyz Best,” I say.
Jasper holds his menu out. “Let’s make that a pitcher.”
She reads our order back to us and scampers away. I can feel the other staff looking over at us, but I don’t pay them any mind. Because the way Jasper is staring at me right now has my stomach twisting and thighs clenching.
I return to gazing out the window at the black lake and try to gather my thoughts.
Because I’ve been staring at Jasper Gervais since I was ten years old, and suddenly . . . he’s staring back.
“I think the popcorn chicken pairs better.” I lean back in my seat and pat my stomach. Once we had our salads, Jasper made the excellent point that beer doesn’t pair all that well with lettuce. He explained how we wouldn’t be giving the flavor profile a fair shake if we didn’t taste it with something appropriately greasy and salty.
Which is how I found myself scarfing back deep-fried meats and considering their merits while enjoying a second pitcher of cheap beer that doesn’t taste that great no matter what I pair with it.
What it tastes like, though, is rebellion. And for right now, that’s good enough for me.
Jasper nods, assessing the plates before us. “I think you’re right. But I love fish and chips with vinegar.”
