Page 89 of Broken Pact

She grins, a flash of her teeth. “Cool ranch then. Good choice. I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks nacho cheese is the superior Dorito flavor.”

“Of course not,” I say with a chuckle.

“Werewolves or vampires?” she asks.

“Zombies.”

She laughs, bringing her leg up to nudge me with her knee. “Wrong answer. You have to pick one of the options.”

I sigh, my lips twisting into a grin. “Alright, what kind of vampires? Twilight, True Blood, or The Vampire Diaries?”

“Okay, now we’re getting to the good stuff.” She laughs quietly. “Caroline and Stefan or Caroline and Klaus?”

I scoff, my brows dipping toward one another. “C’mon, baby. Give me a hard question. Everyone knows Caroline and Klaus were the real endgame.”

Her laughter floats around the room, sinking into every available surface, including that small space inside my chest. A thought takes root, blooms too quickly for me to stop it. But I think I might love Coraline Carter for the rest of my life.

We face each other, her with her hair splayed wildly across my pillow and her hands tucked under her face, looking like this is exactly where she belongs. We trade questions back and forth for hours. Laughing and sassing, respectively until my stomach aches. It feels like I’ve overindulged on amusement.

Finally, the questions and laughter slow, and I watch as she loses the battle to keep her eyes open.

“Keep talking to me,” she mumbles with her eyes closed.

“You’re tired, baby. Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want this night to end.” Her voice sounds small, vulnerable. “And I wish we would’ve done this . . . before.”

I know exactly what she means. I curl around her, tucking her against my chest and taking the lead role of the big spoon. “I’ve got you, Coraline. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

43

CORALINE

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I stretch languidly, my body loose and relaxed in a way it hasn't been in years. As I turn my head, my breath catches in my throat. Jasper's face is mere inches from mine, his head resting on the edge of my pillow.

In sleep, the hard lines of his face are softened, his dark lashes fanning out against his cheekbones. I take a moment to study him, to memorize every detail. The strong line of his jaw, dusted with his permanent five o’clock shadow, the soft curve of his lips, slightly parted in sleep. He looks younger like this, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. My heart swells with an emotion I’m afraid to name.

Slowly, carefully, I extract myself from the bed, not wanting to disturb him just yet. I pad softly to the bathroom and take care of a few urgent needs, namely emptying my bladder and brushing my teeth. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I try to reconcile the woman looking back at me with the one who walked into this house yesterday. Something has shifted inside me, a subtle but undeniable change.

I make my way back into the bedroom, my steps soft on the hardwood floor. Jasper has one arm thrown above his head, the other resting on his sculpted abs. I don’t think I had enough time to really appreciate them yesterday, but damn, do I appreciate them now.

The covers have slipped down to his waist, revealing the expanse of his bare chest, all hard planes and smooth skin. I let my gaze linger, tracing the dips and ridges of his muscles, the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel. Desire stirs low in my belly, a familiar ache that has me clenching my thighs together.

I bite my lip, debating my next move. The rational part of my brain tells me to go downstairs, make coffee, and wait for him to wake up.

But the other part, the part that’s been awakened by the freedom here, wants to climb back into bed and explore every inch of him.

Before I can second guess myself, I slip back under the covers, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, still hazy with sleep. When they focus on me, a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“Morning,” I whisper back, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze.

He reaches out, trailing his fingers along my jaw. “You’re so beautiful like this. Here, in my bed,” he says softly, almost reverently.

I feel my face flush at the compliment, a warmth blooming inside my chest. His touch ignites a spark under my skin, and I find myself leaning into his palm.

“I like waking up next to you,” I confess, the words soft between us.

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