Chapter 11

eleven

. . .

Sloane

Monday mornings are for caffeine and pretending I have my life together. The little coffee shop on campus is already buzzing when Jacklyn and I walk in, the smell of espresso cutting through the chatter. The line snakes almost to the door, but we claim a small table near the corner where the sun streams through the wide windows.

Jacklyn drops her bag onto the chair across from me, tossing me a look. “You survived the weekend, but barely. You ready for the week of whispers?”

“What whispers?” I ask, feigning innocence.

She arches a brow. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Brian’s friend clearly had nothing better to do than talk about your supposed truck rendezvous. People are eating it up.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“You got into a truck with Asher Knox,” Jacklyn says, her voice low but teasing. “To some people, that’s basically a marriage proposal.”

I glare at her, but the corners of her mouth twitch.

“You’re lucky I like you,” I mutter.

She grins, but the lighthearted moment doesn’t last. My stomach twists as I glance around the shop, catching the unmistakable glances being thrown my way. Groups of students lean toward each other, whispering behind their hands, occasionally flicking their gazes toward me.

My throat tightens, and I focus on the scratched tabletop, wishing I could disappear.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Jacklyn says, nudging my foot under the table. “They’ll move on by next week. Probably to someone else who makes eye contact with Asher.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter, drumming my fingers against my cup. “Do I have to keep denying it?”

Jacklyn sips her coffee, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, if you’d just admit you’re into him, the rumor mill might actually collapse from the shock.”

“I’m not—” I start, but she cuts me off with a raised hand.

“Save it. You’ve got that look. You’re practically glowing, Sloane.”

I’m about to argue when the bell over the door jingles, and the air in the room shifts. I don’t have to look to know who just walked in.

Asher.

Of course.

The low rumble of conversation dies down, replaced by a charged silence as heads turn to watch him stride in, his broad shoulders taking up more space than seems possible. He’s wearing a hoodie and jeans, but he might as well be decked out in a spotlight the way everyone’s gawking.

Jacklyn raises an eyebrow. “Speak of the devil.”

“Don’t,” I hiss, my cheeks burning as Asher’s eyes scan the room and land squarely on me.

He makes his way over like he has all the time in the world. I can already hear the whispers picking up again, buzzing in the background like a swarm of bees.

When he reaches our table, he nods at Jacklyn before turning his attention to me.

“What were you up to all Sunday?” he asks casually, leaning one hand on the back of the empty chair.

“A little of this, a little of that,” I reply, hoping my tone sounds breezy instead of defensive.

He tilts his head, his smirk deepening. “Riveting. Can you be more vague?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t need a detailed itinerary of my life, Asher.”

“Maybe I do,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse race. “But it sounds like you’re hiding something.”

Jacklyn chokes on her coffee, laughing as she waves her hand. “I like him. You should definitely keep him around, Sloane.”

I shoot her a glare, but Asher just chuckles, sliding into the chair across from me without an invitation.

“Nice crowd today,” he says, his gaze sweeping the room. “Friendly, too. Everyone keeps staring over here like they’re waiting for me to do a trick.”

“Maybe they’re waiting for you to leave,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.

His eyebrows lift, but instead of looking offended, he leans closer, resting his elbows on the table. “Touchy this morning, aren’t we?”

“I’m not touchy,” I say quickly, then realize how defensive I sound. “I just don’t feel like being the center of attention.”

“News flash,” he says, his tone light. “You’re not.”

My heart sinks for a second, but then he adds, “We both are. It’s not just you, Sloane. They’re talking about me, too. It comes with the territory.”

“It’s not the same,” I mutter, fiddling with the sleeve of my sweater.

He studies me for a long moment, then leans back in his chair. “Well, you’ve got a plan, don’t you? I can see it all over your face.”

I blink, startled. “What are you talking about?”

“The wheels are turning,” he says, pointing to his temple. “What’s your big plan to stop the rumors?”

I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. Jacklyn glances between us, clearly intrigued.

“Well…” I start, glancing down at my coffee. “Next week is the homecoming game. And the Sigma house party after. If I take someone else to the dance—a random frat guy, as friends—it’ll dispel the rumors.”

Asher’s grin vanishes. His eyebrows knit together, and he leans forward again. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze.

“That’s your solution?” he asks, incredulous. “You’re going to use some poor guy to…what? Throw people off the scent?”

“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “It’s just practical.”

“Practical?” he echoes, his voice sharper now. “So you’re worried about what everyone thinks, but not about how I might feel seeing you parade around with someone else?”

“It’s not like we’re together,” I snap, my cheeks heating.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the playful, easygoing Asher I know is gone. “Right,” he says finally, his voice clipped. “We’re not together. So I guess it doesn’t matter.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he stands abruptly, shoving his chair back.

“Good luck with your plan, Sloane,” he says, his tone cutting. He turns and strides out of the coffee shop without looking back, leaving me staring after him, my stomach churning.

Jacklyn raises an eyebrow. “So…that went well.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. What had I just done?