Page 69 of Powerless
“No shit.” She’s crossed her arms over her ribs again, and my eyes trail over the way it props her breasts up. The tingle in my fingers is now an itch to explore every inch of her body, to show her all the ways I want her.
Fuck, I want her.
Sloane is soothing. She’s the eye of the storm. True North. Somehow our compasses always bring us back to each other.
When we stop at the first red light in Blisswater Springs, I turn in my seat and ask, “What’s that supposed to mean, Sloane? I was there. Felt your thighs go all tight on me when I tugged your hair. Heard you moan when I kissed you. Are we going to sit here and keep pretending that things don’t feel different between us now?”
“They’ve always felt this way for me!” she explodes, arms flung wide, eyes shining with emotion. “And you’venevernoticed. Butnowyou do? What am I supposed to do? Jump for joy and say thank you for blessing me with your interest?”
I pale, hands going clammy on the wheel. I respond in a stream of consciousness, trying to explain myself in the wake of what she’s just said. “I mean . . . we all knew you had a childhood crush. I was a teenager. But you were just a kid. And then you outgrew it. You had boyfriends and ballet. I had hockey and endless training. We became friends in the city. You gotengaged.”
Her pale pink lips part like she’s about to say something, but quickly press back together. She turns back to the windshield, eyes forced ahead so hard it almost looks painful. The seconds stretch out and I’m certain she’s not going to respond to me. And shit, that’s what I deserve for everything I just dumped on her.
But right as the light turns green, her sad voice hits me like a punch to the fucking gut.
“I never outgrew it, Jas.”
When I kissed her, I counted to four in my head. I told myself I’d give it four seconds, but she took more.
It was a moment of insanity.
Or maybe every moment where I tried to deny what I was feeling for her have been moments of insanity all strung together. Lights of all one color.
Does regret have a color?
“Check again,” Sloane says to the woman behind the front desk at the small resort-style hotel. “There has to be something.”
Listening to Sloane explain that we need separate rooms feels like her own moment of insanity. But I’ll let her have it.
Because IknowSloane. I know how she processes things.
What I didn’t know is her childhood crush never left. I should feel bad for never noticing. I should feel like an idiot. But I feel . . . relieved.
I see a chance. A glimmer of hope.
“Something with two beds at least? How about a rollaway cot? I’m almost child sized.” She gestures down at herself.
I stifle a chuckle and look out the window toward the parking lot, where snow is still falling heavily.
“We can have have a cot sent up, of course.” The woman at the desk smiles patiently, eyes bouncing between us curiously like she can’t quite figure out what’s going on.
“That will be fine,” Sloane forces out, a practiced smile on her face. Cool mask perfectly in place. Her bun is pulled up tight the way she likes it when she’s ready for a performance—or for battle.
That’s what she resorted to doing in the truck. She tugged down the visor and used the mirror to obsessively pull her hair back. It was never flat enough, or smooth enough, so she’d pull it out and do it all over again.
She did it five times. I know because I counted. There wasn’t much else to do once she settled into ignoring me. I was also struggling to peel my eyes away from her after her crush revelation.
This woman has been my friend for eighteen years.
How did I miss it?
Either she got good at hiding it or I wasn’t looking. It was probably a combination of both.
Defiant stray blonde hairs catch the light in the dated hotel lobby. I almost want to point them out just to rile her up.
Because when she’s riled, the truth comes out.
“Thank you for your help,” she tells the woman as she turns to me, holding up to two key cards. The smile on her face has moved from forced to kind of insane looking. “Let’s go,” she singsongs a little too loudly before storming away, clearly expecting I’ll follow.
