Page 15 of Broken Pact

There’s laughter in her voice, and it calls to my own amusement, pulling a chuckle from me.

“Nah, he tried to wife her up, remember?” Blanche sing-songs from my right. “But our girl shut that shit down hard, because . . .”

She pauses dramatically like we all don’t know what’s coming next.

“Who run the world?” Blanche shouts.

And like she knew we would, the three of us yell back, “Girls!”

The four of us spill into the venue like a wave of feminine hype. We ride it all the way into the renovated ballroom with the biggest stage in this place. Lights, vibrant and alive, dance around the room, casting shadows that flicker to the pulsing beat of the music. The energy feels different in here, electric and contagious.

I push everything out, so there’s only room for the music.

9

JASPER

“Stare harder, bro.” Hawke’s laughter feathers across my cheek as he leans toward me with a clap on the shoulder.

“I’m not staring,” I shout toward him, never pulling my gaze from the sight in front of me. I hold in my wince and take another pull from my cup. Lukewarm, weak beer. The concert delicacy .

I lift both shoulders in a lazy shrug, but I don’t bother saying anything. I don’t make a habit out of being a liar, and right now, I am definitely staring. I might feel bad about it if I wasn’t perched against the platform bar in the center of the Grand Avenue.

It’s a misleading name, and when Hawke first invited me along, I expected to pull up to some shitty warehouse on some abandoned plot of land.

Instead, it’s an impressive four-story brick building that houses five different stages inside. Six if you believe the ghost stories. Apparently, there’s an abandoned pool underneath one of the stages too. Officially, this building used to be some kind of athletic club, built over a hundred years ago, but it’s been a concert venue for the last five decades. Rumor has it, Elvis once played a show here too.

All thoughts of Elvis and ghosts fall away like leaves in the fall when I spot her. I don’t even know how the fuck I did spot her—she’s five and a half feet tall, dressed in all black with midnight auburn hair. By all reason, she should blend into the crowd. Add in dim lighting and a thousand bodies?

It’s a goddamn miracle.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I could pick Coraline Carter out of a crowd with all my senses bound.

Something in my chest tightens when I watch her. The way she sways her hips to the beat. How she tips her face toward the ceiling, letting her hair trail down toward her ass. She looks carefree and unburdened, like nothing in the world could touch her.

Hawke jerks his chin up, and I see the cheeky grin spreading wide across his face from the corner of my eye. “Whatever you say, man. But maybe you should tell your eyes that, yeah? I thought you learned your lesson with that one. But maybe you’re into some masochistic shit.”

I swing my head in his direction, a lazy glare already fixed on my face. “Don’t forget that the whole clubhouse heard exactly what you’re into.” Those walls might as well be paper for how they block sound. Hawke and some girl he brought back gave everyone a front-row to their auditory show a couple of weekends ago.

I grabbed my shit and went to my lake house that night. I love the guy, but I didn’t really feel like listening to their performance. Watching has never been my thing, but I get the appeal.

His teeth flash with a bright grin. He blows out a low whistle and takes a drink from his plastic cup. “Damn, I almost forgot about Jenny. I might have to call her up if I don’t find anyone tonight.”

I salute my cup in his direction and swallow another mouthful. Maybe if I consume it quicker, it’ll miraculously taste better. “Have fun with that.”

His salacious grin is partially hidden behind his own cup of lukewarm beer. “My offer still stands.”

“Yeah? What offer is that?” I ask, my tone dry.

“You let me know when you’re done getting your fill of her, yeah? We’ll find someone else to occupy your mind tonight. We can bring it back to the clubhouse, make it a thing.”

“You know I’m not into sharing, man.” It’s the same thing I always say when he brings it up. There’s no judgment from me, there never was. Fuck knows I’ve got my own interests. Threesomes and foursomes with my woman just isn’t it.

Being watched might be though.

One night, way back when, Coraline straddled me in the middle of the clubhouse while we made out. I got so hot at the idea of people watching my girl on my lap—and thinking about all the other things we could do with an audience—I almost came in my fucking pants like a chump.

So, yeah, I can fuck with being watched.

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