Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(105)

“Can’t. I’ve got a game.” My smile is tight, but my relief is immense as I rise from my chair.

“I’ll walk you out,” Sloane pipes up, clearly missing the sharp look Sterling slices her way. Or maybe she’s just pretending she doesn’t notice.

Either way, I hold one hand open and gesture Sloane ahead of me as we begin to weave our way silently across the restaurant.

I go to press my palm against the small of her back to guide her through, but she tenses, and I jerk my hand away at the feel of smooth bare skin burning my fingertips. My eyes find the floor as I shove the tingling hand into my pocket, where it belongs.

Because it sure as shit doesn’t belong on the bare back of an engaged woman.

Even if she is just my friend.

It’s only as we near the front of the restaurant that I look up again. Sloane’s slender frame sways as she strides across the room. Every movement steeped in an inherent grace—one that comes with years of training. Years of practice.

She smiles politely at the ma?tre d’ and then walks faster, like she can see freedom through that heavy front door and is desperate for it. Her shoulders drop and she pauses, almost in relief, when she rests both hands flat against the dark slab of wood.

I watch her for a moment before I step up behind her, the heat of her body reaching out toward mine. Then I reach one arm above her petite frame and push the door open, ushering us both out into the cool November night.

I jam both hands into the pockets of my slacks now so I don’t grab her shoulders and shake her, demanding to know what the hell she’s doing marrying a guy who treats her like Sterling Woodcock does. Because it’s really none of my business.

Her toned, bare back is to me as she faces the busy city street, car lights a blur of white and red just beyond her, misty air puffing over her shoulder like she’s trying to catch her breath.

“You okay?”

Her head nods furiously before she turns back around with that weird Stepford wife smile plastered back on her dainty face.

“You don’t look fine.” My fingers wrap around the keys in my pocket and jangle them anxiously.

“Shit, thanks, Jas.”

“I mean, you look beautiful,” I rush out, grimacing when I note her eyes widening. “You always do. You just don’t look . . . happy?”

She blinks slowly, the edges of her mouth turning down into a slight frown. “Is that supposed to be better? Beautiful and unhappy?”

God. I’m really blowing it. I rake a hand through my hair. “Are you happy? Does he make you happy?”

Her mouth pops open in shock, and I know I’m out of line, or stepping in it, or whatever. But someone needs to ask her, and I doubt anyone has.

I need to hear her say it.

Her pale cheeks flush and her eyes narrow as she steps up to me, jaw tight. “You’re asking me this now?”

I huff out a breath and run my top teeth almost painfully over my bottom lip, eyes totally fixed on her baby blues, so wide and pale and sparking with indignation. “Yeah. Has anyone else asked you?”

She drops my gaze, her hands planting against her cheeks before pushing back through her collarbone-length blonde hair. “No one has asked me.”

The teeth of my car key dig into the palm of my hand. “How did you meet Sterling?”

“My dad introduced us.” Her eyes fixate on the black sky. It’s starless, not like at the ranch where you can see every little fleck of light. Everything in the city feels polluted compared to Chestnut Springs. I decide on the spot to drive out to my place in the country tonight rather than spend another night breathing the same air as Sterling Woodcock.

“How does he know him?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Sterling’s dad is a new business partner of his. He’s focused on making new connections now that he’s back in the city.”

“And you’ve known this guy for how long again?”

Her tongue darts out from between her lips. “We met in May.”

“Five months?” My brow arches and I rear back. If they seemed madly in love I could buy it, but . . .

“Don’t judge me, Jasper!” Her eyes flash and she steps closer again. I may dwarf her in height, but she’s not the least bit intimidated. She’s spitting mad right now. Mad at me. But I think that’s just because she trusts me enough to let her anger out, and I’m okay with letting her. I’m happy to be that person for her.

Her voice shakes when she adds, “You have no idea the pressures I live with.”

Without thinking twice, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders. She’s all tense and riled. I swear I can almost feel her vibrating with it. “I’m not judging you, Sunny.”

Apparently, this isn’t the time for childhood nicknames.

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice cracks as she presses her forehead to my chest, like she always has, and I slide my palm down the back of her hair, cupping the base of her skull.

Like I always have.

I absently wonder what Sterling would say if he walked out here right now. There’s a petty part of me that wants him to.

“I’m just curious how things happened so fast. I’m curious why I’ve never met him until now.” My voice is quiet, all gravel, almost drowned out by the hush of cars rushing past us.