Page 88 of Broken Pact

His expression softens, a small, amused smile curving his lips. He drops the sweatpants onto the bed and steps closer, the air between us charged with a new kind of tension.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice low and careful. It's as if he’s giving me an out, a chance to backpedal. But I don't want to. Not tonight.

I nod, reaching out to link my index finger around his pinkie. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods. "Alright," he agrees softly. He turns, moving to the other side of the bed, and pulls back the covers. I watch him, the realization of what I’ve just invited sinking in. My pulse quickens, but beneath the nervous energy is a warm, steady beat of excitement.

I slip into the bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from Jasper’s side. As we settle in, an awkward silence stretches between us. The bed feels both too small and too big, the space between us electric with potential.

Jasper clears his throat, his voice breaking the quiet. “Goodnight, baby.”

I turn my head, catching his eye in the dim light. "Goodnight, Jasper."

As the room settles into stillness, I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Is there a chance for something real here, something beyond the pretense? Under the veil of darkness, the first kernel of hopeful possibility, I think there might be.

JASPER

The gentle hum of the oscillating fan in the corner makes my eyes feel heavy. But I can’t let myself succumb just yet. I don’t want to miss a second of sleeping next to her. For the first time ever, I wish my bedroom was somehow located in the back of the house, so I could see her better. The way the lake reflects the moon and stars is one of my favorite things about this place.

Her breaths are steady and even, a soft, soothing rhythm. I’m fairly certain she’s been sleeping for some time now.

I’ve never spent the night with a woman before, and definitely never in this house. It wasn’t personal, and I never wanted to be cruel. I just didn’t want to share my space with a hookup. So either they left, or I did. But like with so many things, Coraline is making a liar out of me. I would give her half of this house if it meant she stayed here with me.

And how fucked up is that realization?

I drag a hand over my face and let out a silent sigh. I’m in uncharted waters here, and I’m swimming without a fucking lifejacket.

The last twenty-four hours play on repeat in my mind, and it’s not even a highlight reel. It’s an in-depth slow-mo director’s cut of every moment I spent with the woman next to me. There’s this pinch nestled underneath my breastbone, a kernel of worry that this is too good to be true. That she’s going to wake up tomorrow and regret our time together.

I fully expect her to keep delivering that sass she likes so much. Fuck, I think I like it more half the time. My dick certainly does.

But if we roll back into Rosewood city limits tomorrow, and I see the slump of regret on her shoulders, it’s gonna fucking gut me. It’ll be so much worse than it was before, because even though I thought I had her back then, it’s nothing compared to how I had her today.

Today, she was free, uninhibited, and mine.

It’s gonna be hell going back to acting like she wasn’t, pretending like there isn’t something between us. A connection that quietly holds for years, a phantom in the background, just biding its time until it can come out of hiding. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

But if she left once, she’ll leave again.

The errant thought plants roots inside my brain, a constant reminder of our past. I spent too many nights thinking about what went wrong between us, what the catalyst was for her to just up and disappear like that. Fuck, I’ve only done casual, so it wasn’t like it was a foreign concept. But in all my time on this Earth, I’ve never had a woman just flip a switch like she did. One day, she was all-in and I thought I might have my first fucking girlfriend at twenty-seven. Which is a strangely depressing thought itself. But it doesn’t matter, because she fucking ghosted me for weeks, and then when she resurfaced, shit was never the same. She wasn’t the same.

Until two weeks ago. When we started this charade that doesn’t feel even remotely like pretend anymore—if it ever has.

“Jasper?” Her soft voice breaks my train of thought, surprisingly the hell out of me.

I turn toward her. “Yeah, baby?”

“Can I ask you something?” she asks, rolling over to face me.

My heart races in my chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. Midnight confession of her feelings? Maybe I’m fucking projecting because I was just spiraling about my own feelings for her.

“You can ask me anything,” I murmur.

She tucks her hands underneath her face. “Cool ranch or nacho cheese? You can only pick one for the rest of your life.”

A bark of laughter flies out of me. The kind of sudden amusement that makes your stomach ache and breathing difficult. It’s so random and sudden and completely her. I never know what she’s going to do next, and it’s exhilarating.

My laughter dies out quickly, but my amusement doesn’t. I look at her face, memorizing the way I can just barely make out her profile in my dark bedroom. “C’mon, baby, ask me somethin’ hard.”

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