Chapter 4 #2
Giggles overtake me, and I wrap my arms around Jasper’s neck, snuggling into the warmth of his body. I feel the vibrations of his laughter against my chest, and my nipples rasp against the inside of my bodice.
“This is insane.” I drop my head to the back of his neck, the tips of his hair brushing against my forehead.
“No.” He hikes me up higher on his back as we enter the hockey arena parking lot, and I struggle against the tight dress to keep my legs wrapped around the wide expanse of his back. “Taking Woodcock as a legal name is insane.”
“Jasper.” I swat at his shoulder. “Be nice.”
“No, thanks. I’m over being nice to that guy,” he grumbles, still ornery over dinner the other night. Not that I can blame him.
“I was planning to hyphenate?”
“Winthrop-Woodcock is no better, babe.”
I snort and am about to pester him back when I hear it. A tearing sound.
Oh my god.
Jasper freezes momentarily. “Was that . . .”
Silent laughter racks my body. “My dress? Yup.”
“Are you . . . ”
“My ass still feels covered. No breeze yet.” I reach one hand back to run it over my butt—just in case. “It’s still just my hair that hurts,” I admit.
He just grumbles, picking up his pace and looking around like he’s annoyed by the idea of someone seeing what isn’t even showing. Annoyed by my hair being too tight.
I don’t know when Jasper got so . . . overprotective?
“There it is.”
The lights flash on a silver Volvo SUV, and I sigh in relief. Sure, those shoes were torture, but running barefoot on cold concrete is a close second in the discomfort department.
He places me down at the passenger’s side, but his hands don’t leave my body. His palm splays against my hip as he opens the door and lifts me into the seat. He even reaches for the seat belt to buckle me in before he stops himself.
Navy eyes land on mine momentarily and then drop to my lips. He shakes his head, his tall frame backing out of the car away from me.
He’s about to slam the door, but stops, startling me as he wrenches it back open, steps up close, and bites out, “You know what?” He reaches for my hair and gentle hands land in my tresses. “This fucking thing needs to go.”
I don’t know how he manages it, but with one well-placed tug, he pulls the main crystal-encrusted needle from my hair and tosses it on the ground. The tinny clang of it landing against the asphalt sounds loud in an otherwise quiet moment. There’s something symbolic about it.
The relief I feel is instant. The spot that hurt doesn’t anymore.
My hair tumbles freely around my cheeks, and he watches it sway. For a moment, his eyes heat and shock me when they land back on my lips.
“Is that better?” he rumbles.
My heartbeat thumps heavily in my ears and I offer a silent nod back. Not sure what to say. Trying to make sense of this version of my friend. Protective and possessive, devotion fortifying every move he makes.
He mirrors my nod wordlessly, then he steps back and slams the door.
Within moments he’s settled in the driver’s seat, and we pull out of the facility in silence. What felt like relief and freedom before slowly morphs into shock and a steady state of nausea.
A tense moment of what the fuck was that hair thing?
A heavy dose of what have I done?
I run through the conversations I’ll need to have. The contracts we’ll need to pay for a wedding that never happened. The move I’ll have to make out of Sterling’s penthouse.
Dread sinks like a heavy stone into my gut.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter, watching the city streets bleed into the freeway that leads out to Chestnut Springs.
“We still good?” I sense Jasper’s nervous glances. I know him well enough to recognize he’s stressing right now. Worrying. He’s always been good at worrying, so his anxiety is probably kicking in something fierce.
“Yeah. I could use a drink though.”
He nods, and within minutes we pull into a liquor store.
“I’ll get—” he starts, but I hop out of the car and walk toward the store like a thirsty, stunned, barefoot bride-zombie.
With long strides, he rushes ahead to pull the door open for me. As I cross the threshold, I don’t make eye contact, but I can feel him regarding me like he thinks I might snap. I think I already have.
Inside, it reeks of stale beer and Pine-Sol.
Jasper turns to peer around the small store. It’s more of a wide hallway, packed a little too tight. Kind of like the guy behind the counter, bulging out of his shirt.
“Welcome,” he grumbles, scrolling through his phone, not sparing us a glance.
“Do you want...Champagne?” Jasper lifts a bottle of the nicest champagne on the shelf, which is not saying much for this dive. “To...celebrate?”
I snort at that. “No.” I roll my lips together and keep walking further back. “I want something fattening and lowbrow. Something Sterling and my dad would never approve of.”
I hear Jasper’s chuckle behind me as I stalk toward the cold beer section at the back. The way he laughs, all soft and deep, never fails to make me feel like I’m sinking into a warm bath. He’s so serious sometimes that when he laughs, it’s precious somehow.
The grit on the floor against my bare feet makes me smile.
Sterling and my dad would definitely not approve of this, so I press my soles down harder, rolling through my full foot, hoping the bottoms are black by the time I’m done shopping.
A completely inconsequential rebellion, but a satisfying one nonetheless.
I stop and take in the cooler shelves. And there it is. Like a glowing beacon before me.
Buddyz Best Beer.
It’s really the Z that seals the deal for me. It’s so unnecessary. So improper. The cans look thin—cheap—with a poorly drawn cartoon basset hound on the front.
“Perfect,” I murmur reverently as I reach forward and grab the six-pack.
When I spin around, Jasper is smirking at me. “Buddyz Best is perfect?”
“Yes.” I lift the cans to my face and stare at the droopy faced, sad-looking dog. I feel like a basset hound inside right now. “Buddy is the perfect man for me. Cheap. Alcoholic. And most importantly, not a human male at all. ”
The grin I give my friend is unhinged at best as I storm to the till and plop the beer down on the counter. Finally, the man lifts his chin from his phone where he’s watching what appears to be competitive bowling.
His eyes assess me before dropping to the beer and glancing back up at Jasper. This guy looks like he’s seen some shit . I expect him to have questions, but all he says is, “Congratulations, you two,” as he scans the beer and tells me the total in a bored tone.
I reach for my purse but realize I left it behind when we ran.
A long arm reaches over me, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” Jasper says. He guides me out of the store with a gentle hand cupping my elbow, eyes fixed on my bare feet. “Sunny, you’re gonna need a bath when we get to the ranch.”
“Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”
Jasper just stares back at me, jaw popping like I’ve pissed him off. Not a single word crests his lips, not a single tug up on his cheeks.
“Just kidding!” is what I fill the awkward silence with before turning and scurrying back to the comfortable SUV. I strap myself in, crack a cheap-ass beer, and take a deep swig in an incredibly sad attempt to drink my problems away and forget the off-color joke I just blurted out.
Jasper and I drive in total silence. I continue to drink and he makes no comment on that. Instead, he just grips the steering wheel like he’s trying to strangle it while keeping intense eyes on the road.
And after my third beer on an empty stomach, I feel a little bit better. Also a little bit drunk.
So I monologue, like I often do with Jasper.
“You know I didn’t want an ugly fall wedding.
I wanted a spring wedding. I wanted a flowy, feminine dress and an outdoor ceremony.
No uptight tuxedos, and definitely no black bridesmaid dresses.
” I hold up my hand, staring at the rock about the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.
“And I hate this ring. I saw one at a little boutique on Sixteenth Avenue—you know that funky area? It was a purple oval sapphire. How cool is a purple sapphire? And they set it sideways in matte yellow gold. Sterling said it was ‘weird’ and then gave me this ring the next week. I swear he picked the opposite of anything I’d ever want on purpose. ”
“Romantic,” Jasper says, his jaw ticking with tension.
I drink silently, stewing over the fact I pretended I liked this ring when he gave it to me because I didn’t want to offend anyone.
When we pull into Wishing Well Ranch, Harvey’s truck is in the driveway, even though we thought he and Beau were going to be at the wedding.
Jasper and I exchange a confused look, and the second his vehicle is in park, he’s skipping steps to get to the front door.
I run after him, heart pounding, because something is off.
Inside, Harvey is sitting at the expansive kitchen table with a big glass of bourbon gripped between his palms. An odd shade of green colors his complexion.
Jasper freezes in the doorway, staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask instantly because it’s one of those moments when you can just tell .
The house is too dark, too quiet.
My uncle, who is always all smiles and warm gazes, looks gutted.
Harvey doesn’t comment on my bare feet or ask why I’m here. Instead, his eyes latch onto Jasper’s and he says, “Beau is missing.”