I wonder if he knows what that nickname does to me. How it makes my stomach flip.
If he knows, he shows no sign of it. Because, right now, I barely recognize the man before me. Jasper has been in my life for almost two decades and I’ve never seen him look so . . . deadly.
Not even on the ice.
He leads me across the room but stops short at the sound of voices. Sterling. My parents.
God. How many people heard the words exchanged in here today?
With a deep rumble from his chest, he fishes his phone from the inside of his suit jacket. His lean fingers are flying across the screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask to his back because I haven’t gained the courage to get that close to the door yet.
I want to leave, but I don’t want to look everyone in the eye. They’ll try to convince me to stay, and I just want to go back to where I always felt safest as a little girl. I long for that place and the simplicity of life that came with it. It’s a deep pull in my chest I can’t ignore.
“Texting my brothers.”
“For what?” I step forward and peek over the crest of his bicep, glancing down at the screen. Reading the messages that pop up between him and my cousins raptly.
“Help,” is his gruff reply. He turns to me a moment later, a hint of steel peeking out from beneath his handsome features. “You should lose the shoes.”
My face turns down as I lift my skirt. “The shoes?”
“Yeah. Hard to run in.”
My toes wiggle, the pink polish glinting under cheap fluorescent lights. I want to tell Jasper that I could easily run in these. I love a good pair of heels, and I’ll suffer in them all day. But my almost-future-mother-in-law chose these, and they aren’t me at all.
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 his thumb 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, and good down 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?
It kills me.
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?”
“Come to think of it, probably. Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s give ‘er,” I agree with a light laugh.
But a serious expression flashes across his face. “You sure about this, Sunny?”
Sunny. I can’t stop myself from flinching this time. I think he notices it because confusion flashes across his chiseled face. And all I can bring myself to do is nod. Decisively.
His phone dings, distracting us both. And then he’s reaching for my hand, twining his fingers between mine, and carefully twisting the deadbolt on the door.
Before stepping into the hallway, I hear a pained shout. “Ah! My baby!”
When we peek into the hallway seconds later, all backs are turned to us. Willa is down on all fours in the foyer, grasping at her stomach dramatically while Cade stands by, arms crossed, gruffly asking if she’s okay while trying not to roll his eyes.
I’m momentarily confused. Because if I know Cade, he’s as protective as they come, and seeing the mother of his child down on the floor in pain would have him wild.
Willa’s chin tips up in our direction, and she winks, before falling into another chorus of loud wails. “Please! I need a doctor!”
I have to press my palm over my mouth to keep from laughing at how ridiculous this plan is. All Jasper does is shake his head, squeeze my hand reassuringly in his, and take off for the back door.
I run barefoot down the carpeted hallway, taking the biggest strides I can muster while desperately trying to control the laughter bubbling in my chest.