“But none of them are me.”
SAWYER
The words hang between us like smoke, thick and suffocating. And unfortunately…not totally untrue.
I hate how my thoughts short-circuit the second he steps into my orbit. I hate how my pulse stumbles like it can’t wait to sell me out. And I hate that Jasper Reign speaks like his words are scripture, like the universe itself was built to shut up and listen.
I take a half-step back.
“You’re really full of yourself, huh?” I shoot back, letting my tone skate that dangerous edge between amused and annoyed. “Must be exhausting thinking you’re the center of the universe.” I make a pouty face, teasing him.
He grinsas if he’s won something. “Baby, I’m not the center of the universe. I’m just the one pulling your focus.”
“Pulling my focus?” I echo, tilting my head. “You’re more like background noise with a god complex.”
He laughs, low and quiet—like I just confirmed something for him.
“You think I’m full of myself?” He steps in, just close enough to make the air between us thrum. “No, baby. I’m just full of you. And you haven’t even figured out how deep I plan to go. But by all means… keep pretending you’re not curious.”
He steps in like he’s about to say something else, but then someone calls his name from backstage, and the spell breaks.
Jasper’s eyes hold mine for a moment longer.
“Enjoy the show,” he says as he turns and walks off. As if he hadn’t just rearranged my entire internal system.
***
I lift the lens and scan the crowd beyond the metal rails. Faces already flushed with sun and anticipation. Security is weaving through the sea of bodies. Fans press closer to the stage, clutching phones and handmade signs like lifelines, waiting for the next explosion of sound.
The world through my lens is clearer.
Simpler. Safer.
Click.
A girl with neon green hair leaning on the barricade, screaming at no one yet.
Click.
The shimmer of a water bottle mid-arc as someone sprays the crowd.
Click.
A roadie is jogging across the stage, the tension in his shoulders frozen mid-motion.
I adjustmy ISO, squinting against the brutal outdoor light. The heat is already sticking to my skin like a second skin, and the black tee I’m wearing clings tighter than I’d like; the open sides tease flashes of my red bra underneath. Whatever. It’s damn near ninety degrees.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and refocus.
Her Last Confessional goes on later today. Big set. Big crowd. Big pressure.
And I’m here to prove I can handle it.
Not Jasper and his hurricane gaze.
Not the stupid butterflies I pretend I don’t feel every time he steps within ten feet of me.
Not Blake and thetwelve unread messagescurrently screaming from my phone.
