Page 52 of Broken Pact

“Scary movies?”

I shake my head harder. “Absolutely not.”

“If the two in the back are ready, we’re about to begin,” the tour guide chastises us.

As the group gathers around the guide, I feel Jasper's hand brush against mine. It's a simple touch, but it sends a jolt of warmth through me.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll protect you from any ghosts.”

We’re thirty minutes into the haunted tour, and so far, it’s been underwhelming. It’s a lot of conjecture, kind of like those ghost hunting docuseries, where they tell you a bunch of facts and let you draw the conclusion. And sure, there are some seriously spooky coincidences, but nothing too crazy.

Really, the most unbelievable part of the tour is the building’s rich history. Before it was a music venue, it had a full life. Athletic club for men, private club for the wealthy, and even a speakeasy during the prohibition era.

“I can’t believe this is all actually here, Jasper. I thought it was mostly rumors. The kind of thing the venue staff whispers about to build up hype and intrigue, ultimately bring more people to their shows,” I murmur, leaning toward Jasper.

God, even that sounds weird. I’ve been calling him Jagger for years now. And even though he’s gently corrected me a few times, it didn’t feel like it was mine to use. Not when it’s a temporary thing. When we’re temporary.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Jasper feels right though. This side of him doesn’t feel like Jagger. But maybe I’m still a little biased.

He tosses his arm over my shoulders, curling me into him as we stroll behind the handful of people on tour with us. “Yeah, well, so far all I see is a bunch of hallways. I’m not convinced there’s any truth to any of those rumors.”

“You will be,” the guy in front of us whispers over his shoulder. “My wife and I were here last year during Halloween. We lucked out for a full moon, too. And the shit that happened was unexplainable. Tell ’em, Beth.” He nudges the woman next to him with his elbow.

His wife, Beth, swats him in the chest, a soft tap with a tsk. “Don’t freak ’em out, Steve. You don’t want to ruin their first time.”

Steve flashes us a rueful grin. “You’re right. Sorry, guys,” he tosses out over his shoulder. “Best you experience it organically.” His wife ushers him closer to the tour guide, her whispered admonishment too low for me to hear.

“Organically,” Jasper murmurs with a laugh. “How much you wanna bet he’s an amateur ghost hunter?”

I shake my head, a few tendrils falling free from my ponytail. I don’t even know why I bothered to curl my hair. Even though we were in Jasper’s truck, we had all the windows down.

I’m not really mad about it though. There’s something nostalgic about the hot summer night air twirling through a car window with soft music in the background.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” I droll, giving him a pointed look and shrugging his arm off. “You don’t have to lay on the PDA here. There’s no one around.” My cheeks heat a little bit, but I ignore the way my stomach flips around.

“I happen to have several hobbies.” He grins, unfazed by the reminder.

“Talking to your cat doesn’t count,” I deadpan.

He presses a hand against his chest like he’s wounded. “Pudding will be devastated once he hears that you don’t value him as a member of our household.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile creeps out along the corners of my mouth. “I think he’ll live.”

“Some strawberry shortcake biscuits, and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

“So weird Pudding loves strawberry shortcakes because I thought that was your favorite?”

“Nah, baby, you know exactly what my favorite dessert is.”

“Yeah,” I scoff with a laugh, my gaze crawling along the fading wallpaper peeling in the corners of the giant ballroom. “Strawberry shortcake biscuits.”

He’s in front of me in the next breath, his handsome face filling my vision and blocking out the rest of the room. Soft, yellow light bathes his face in shadows, highlighting his jawline and cheekbones. He looks like some sort of fallen angel right now. Dark hair hanging over one side of his forehead and brushing against his brows.

“What are you doing?” My voice comes out low and husky, a testament to the way my heart kicks against my ribcage.

“Making sure you don’t misunderstand me when I tell you that my favorite dessert is your cunt.”

I swallow hard, my eyes widening at his blunt words. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and spread down my chest. “That’s not—I mean—it’s been?—”

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