Page 7 of Jasper

She doesn’t back away and I have to say, I’m fucking impressed. Compared to the other clean-cut CEO-looking guys she just stole from, I’m the exact opposite. Tattooed, rough, muscular, and according to Ember, totally terrifying. Yet, this little pastel-haired girl lifts her chin as if she’s challenging me. Me. Maybe I’m not giving her enough credit. Maybe I do need to watch my back around her.

I lower my voice, letting it drop into a warning rumble. “You know what happens to Little girls with sticky fingers, right?”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t move back. Instead, her lips quirk up in the faintest hint of a smirk. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

I give her a slow, deliberate once-over, and her confidence falters just a bit. Good. I don’t want her to think I’m someone she can mess with.

“You always this reckless, or are you wanting to get caught?”

She blinks up at me, surprised, and I can’t help but notice how those wide blue eyes seem even bigger up close. There’s something behind that bravado—a hint of fear, maybe, or just the thrill of the game.

Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I know she’s wondering whether to play coy or bolt.

I lean back slightly, giving her just enough space to breathe. “Careful, Little Thief. You’re good, but I’m better.”

She swallows, lips parting like she’s about to say something clever, but then the barista calls her name, and she snaps out of it, quickly moving to grab her drink.Ariana. That’s what was called out. I doubt that’s her real name, but it somehow fits her so adorably. My heart gives a little squeeze, and I find myself hoping that isn’t a fake one she gave because Ariana is the perfect name for my thief.

I watch her go, amused and intrigued in equal measure. When she glances back over her shoulder, I’m still watching her, and for the first time, she looks unsure.

And when she steps outside into the cold and shivers, a sense of loss and anger settles over me. There’s a reason she’s pickpocketing, and I have a feeling it’s something that would piss me off down to my core. If it has anything to do with the reasons I had to steal when I was a kid, it’s going to gut me. She might be an adult, but that doesn’t mean I want her to struggle in any of the ways I ever did. I can still feel the emptiness of my stomach to this day, painful and desperate for even a crumb of food, willing to do whatever it took to get something to eat. I hope to hell that’s not the situation Ariana is in.

4

ARIANA

It’s been three days since I last saw him. Three days of dragging myself through the frigid morning air, just to walk into that warm coffee shop and hope he’s there.

No such luck.

Every time I push open that door and see nothing but the usual baristas who pretend not to notice my worn clothes, the same old man who reads the newspaper, the businessman who’s always in a hurry, I feel a stupid pang of disappointment. Why? I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know his name or why I want to see him again. Maybe it’s the danger that lingers in those dark irises of his. Or maybe it’s because, despite how terrifying he looks, I wasn’t scared around him. Or maybe it was his voice, deep and rough, calling me a little thief and daring me to try him. I kind of wanted to. Because the guy definitely seems like he needs someone to challenge him once in a while. I doubt it happens. Ever.

But today, as soon as I walk in, I feel his presence. I don’t even have to look to know he’s here. It sends a shiver down my spine. And it’s not because I’m cold.

When I glance his way, he’s in the same spot as before, stretched out in the worn leather chair in the corner, coffee in hand. He looks different from how I remember. Almost relaxed, though I suspect this man doesn’t actually relax. He seems wound too tight for that. And the dark circles under his eyes make me wonder if he ever sleeps. Maybe he’s a vampire.

The thought makes me grin. Somehow, I can’t imagine this tattooed, bad boy becoming sparkly under the light, so I guess it’s unlikely. It’s just that he’s so intense to even look at. And trying to pull my gaze away is nearly impossible.

His eyes snap to mine as soon as I step deeper into the warmth of the café. I pause for half a second, the breath catching in my lungs. It’s like he’s been waiting for me, even though that’s ridiculous. A guy like him? Waiting for a girl like me? That’s even more laughable than him being a vampire.

“Morning, Little Thief,” he says quietly as I pass him.

I force myself to continue to move, heading straight to the counter, trying to pretend like I don’t feel his eyes tracking me. My fingers dig into the edge of my too-thin sweatshirt, and I keep my chin high.

“Just hot water, please,” I mumble to the barista, passing over one of my last crumpled dollar bills to leave for a tip.

I’m sure that’s the only reason they haven’t told me to stop coming into the café is because, even though they give me the water for free, I always put something into their jar. I’m going to have to go to the pawn shop later today with one of the many expensive watches I have stashed. I lift a watch or a wallet from someone nearly every time I’m out and about, though. It’s a habit. One I’m not overly proud of, but it’s one of the things I excel at. At least I can say my foster parents were proud.

The thought makes me giggle internally. If only people could have been a fly on the wall in my childhood home when Dan and River celebrated what one of their many foster kids brought home from a day of pickpocketing. Then again, they were the most hippie people I’ve ever known, and everything was a celebration for them.

The barista nods without comment, filling the cup while I stare at the counter, trying not to think about the way my ice-cold fingers are shaking. I could sit down. Take the table near the window like I usually do and stay for a while. Warm up, at least.

But I can feel his gaze like a weight between my shoulder blades, and I’m too chicken to turn around. I’ve been dying to see him, and now I can’t face him. There’s something seriously wrong with me.

When the cup is set in front of me, I grab it and hurry out before I do something really stupid. Like look at him again, even though I really want to.

The cold bites at my cheeks as I hurry down the sidewalk, hands wrapped around the paper cup to soak in as much heat as I can.

It’s not a long walk back to where my vintage camper and crappy car are sitting tucked back into a densely treed area, but my toes are numb again by the time I reach it. Fluffy is still curled up on the bed when I come in.

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