Page 45 of Hymns of the Broken

His jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable. One brow arches, and that faint smirk—no, that claim—curls at the corner of his mouth like he already knows he’s going to get under my skin.

Ash whistles again, leaning toward Jace. “See that look? Pretty sure she just committed murder. Dude’s not even breathing.”

Jasper doesn’t respond to them. Doesn’t even glance away. He’s just staring like he’s daring someone—anyone—to look at me again. And God help me, I want somebody to test that look while I’m running in the opposite direction…or straight to him. I haven’t decided yet.

He breaks away from the group, every step straight toward me like gravity doesn’t work the same for him. The others fade into the background noise. His eyes are all over me before he even says a word.

“That’s what you chose to wear today?”

It’s not a question. Not really. More like a sinful observation. He leans in just enough to lower his voice, his breath brushing my ear. “You know how much skin is showing, right?” His gaze drops again to the bralette under my see-through shirt. “You wearing that for me or do I get lucky every time?”

I swallow, but my smile kicks in to cover the nervous heat crawling up my throat. “It’s 90 degrees. And like I said yesterday—it’s an outside venue.”

He nods once. “Fair. But don’t be surprised if someone gets hurt for looking at you.”

The warning in his tone sends a chill skating over my skin, even as the sun burns down on us. Then he steps back and walks toward the others—casual as hell, like he didn’t just plant another seed in my bloodstream.

“We’ve got a free day,” he tosses over his shoulder. “No obligations. Just watch the bands, ride the amusement rides, hang out, do whatever.”

I pull my phone out to stop my thoughts from tripping over each other and text Macee.

Sawyer: “I think I might have a problem.”

Macee: “Does it wear black and look like sin?”

Sawyer: “…that’s exactly it.”

I’m still staring at my screen when his voice cuts through the hum in my head.

“Sawyer.”

I jerk my head up, and he’s looking at me—waiting for me. I catch up, camera bag bouncing against my hip, heart hammering way too fast for how slowly I’m walking.

I think… maybe I really do have a problem…and perhaps I don’t want it to go away.

***

The air is sticky with sweat, sun, and bass. I trail behind the guys, staying just close enough not to get lost in the crowd, just far enough that I’m not in the middle of their conversation with another band.

Silas laughs at something one of the other musicians says. Ash is already sipping from a plastic cup of something suspicious. Jace and Micah are chatting about food stalls. Jasper’s back is to me, but I still feel like someone has pulled a string between us, taut and waiting for the snap.

I shift to the side, checking the lighting from a few angles in case I want to shoot the crowd later. I turn to shoot the sun coming up over the venue—and that’s when I see someone step into my peripheral vision.

“Damn, Little Miss Murder Scene,” a smooth voice says, low and amused. “You always dress like heartbreak?”

I turn, already bracing for some dumb comment, but then I see him.

Riot.

Tall, tattooed, messy blonde hair shoved under a backwards hat—grinning like last night wasn’t completely unhinged. His smile is cocky, his eyes lit with something wild, and the worst part?

He’s hotter than I remember.

Way hotter.

And my traitorous brain picks now to notice. Great.

“Sorry about last night,” he says, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Didn’t realize I was stepping on claimed territory.”