Page 104 of Hymns of the Broken
His eyes flick past me, and I realize too late the book is still on my bed—face down but unmistakable. His grin curls when he notices the cover.
“That’s the thing you read before bed, Little Sin?” His voice dips, teasing, dripping with sinful amusement. “Masked man wrecking his girl? You know I could make that real for you.”
“Jasper,” I warn, heat crawling up my neck, but he doesn’t stop.
“You want to know what it’s like to be ruined like that?” He tilts his head. “All you have to do is knock on my door. I’ll act out any page you want. Hell, I’ll give you something better to read about.”
I grab the book, shoving it under my pillow, but my pulse is already betraying me.
“Go to bed, Jasper.”
He laughs and turns like he’s going to walk away, but then his eyes flick over me, pausing for a second too long on the shirt—his shirt—hanging loose off my shoulders before he looks away.
“Is that my shirt?” His mouth curves, just barely.
I raise a brow, playful, needing the levity. “Do you want it back?”
“Nah. Looks better on you.”
My smile flickers, then fades.
“You talked to Riot.”
His grin fades, eyes going serious. “I did.”
“About me?”
He meets my gaze without flinching. “Of course, about you.”
My throat goes tight. “What did you say?”
Jasper steps in, closing the space between us. “I told him not to play with you. That if he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, he needs to stay out of your head.”
I drop my eyes, hugging my arms around myself. “And ifheknows?”
He’s quiet for a long beat, and I can feel his pulse in the silence.
“Then he better mean it,” Jasper finally says, voice low and heavy. “Because you’re not a game, Sawyer. Not to me. And not to him, if he wants to keep breathing.”
A shaky breath escapes me. “Why are you both looking at me like I’m something that matters?”
He tilts his head, softening. “You do matter.”
“But I don’t—” My voice breaks. I can’t say it, but it’s written in every line of my body. “Why both of you? Why now? I’m not…”
“Don’t say it,” Jasper warns, voice suddenly sharp.
“But I feel it,” I whisper. “Like I’m just some phase. Or a distraction. Or worse—some twisted rivalry thing you two have going.”
He steps in and cups the side of my face—warm, calloused palm anchoring me.
“You’re not part of a rivalry. You’re not a phase. And I sure as hell don’t want you for a distraction.”
My breath catches.Hesays it as if it’s carved from stone—unchanging, undeniable.
I close my eyes, fighting the sting of tears.Histhumb strokes beneath my jaw, likehe’strying to remind me he’s real.
“I want you because you see me,” he says softly, almost like it hurts to admit it. “You don’t see me as the ’rockstar’, but you see what’s underneath. Even when I don’t want to be seen. Especially then.”
