Page 15 of Hymns of the Broken
“You better get that,” he says, voice all velvet sin. “Wouldn’t want your little boyfriend getting scared when you don’t answer.” He tilts his head. “Unless you like watching him squirm.”
Only the buzz of my phone fills the silence—twice, then nothing. A missed call. Blake. His name still flashes like a wound I haven’t cleaned out.
Neither of us move.
But he slowly starts to lean in, almost like he’s tasting the moment. Like I’m something delicate and dangerous all at once. He stops inches from me, close enough that I feel the ghost of his breath graze my cheek.
I hold my ground, even though my chest is tight, and my legs are screaming at me to flee before I melt or snap. Or both.
“You’re really this full of yourself?” I snap. “You think every girl that looks at you wants you?”
“No,” he says. “But I know you do.”
My cheeks flare with heat. I don’t know if it’s fury or humiliation or the fact that part of me does want him. And I hate that he sees it.
“Go to hell,” I mutter, trying to sidestep.
But his hand lifts, not touching, just ghosting near my shoulder as he blocks my path. He’s close enough now that I can feel his heat bleeding through the space between us.
“I’ll see you there,” he murmurs, voice brushing against my skin like a secret I don’t want but can’t unhear. “But first… I’ll make you say my name.”
His eyes stay locked on mine as he leans in just a breath closer, and my whole body tightens—jaw, thighs, fists. I don’t move.
“Like I said, don’t waste either of our time lying to me.”
I shove past him—rougher than necessary—but he lets me go.
Lets me think I’ve escaped.
But I feel his stare on my back as I flee out the bathroom door, heart racing, knees weak, every nerve under my skin still burning from proximity.
I hate him.
I hate that I don’t.
JASPER
I don’t follow her.
Not this time.
She left. Threw her little shield up and slipped out like she hadn’t just stopped breathing two minutes ago with me standing inches away.
She said she wasn’t interested. Said I didn’t affect her.
But her hands were shaking.
Her mouth was trembling.
And her eyes—fuck, those eyes—wide and drowning in everything she was too scared to say out loud.
She looked at me like she wanted to run. But not away.
She looked at me like she wanted to run into something.
Like she wanted to see what would happen if she stopped pretending.
She saidno, but her pupils were blown, her pulse was stuttering, and when that phone buzzed with his name, she didn’t answer.
