Chapter 17

seventeen

. . .

Asher

The clang of weights echoes through the gym as I rack the barbell with a grunt, my chest on fire from the last set. It’s a good burn—the kind that’s supposed to keep me focused. But today, no matter how hard I push, my mind keeps slipping back to her.

She walked out this morning wearing my hoodie, her smile half-nervous, half-something else I couldn’t quite place. It’s burned into my memory now, the way she looked in my clothes, like she belonged in them.

“Yo, Knox!” Ryan’s voice snaps me out of it. He’s leaning against the bench next to me, shaking his head like he caught me daydreaming. “What’s up, man? You good?”

I take a swig of water and shrug. “Yeah, just focused. Trying to get my head right for next week.”

Ryan snorts. “Focused, huh? You were definitely focused on something last night. Or should I say, someone ?”

I roll my eyes, but my smirk gives me away. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, grabbing a dumbbell and starting a lazy curl. “You’re different today. You’ve got that ‘just got laid’ swagger. Spill.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s just say it was a good night and leave it at that.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully he lets it drop. He’s never been one to press too hard, but I can tell he’s storing this info away for later.

I grab the dumbbells for my next set, the strain in my arms grounding me, but it’s not enough to shake the nagging thought in the back of my head. I can still hear Coach’s voice in the locker room after the game last week.

“You’re playing like a backup, Knox. And if that’s what you want to be, that’s fine. But if not, you’d better start showing me something different.”

I grind my teeth, pushing through the reps harder than I probably should. I’m not a backup, damn it. I don’t care if last week’s loss was brutal—I’m not losing my spot. Not now.

Ryan sets down his weights and sits on the bench next to me. “You worried about Coach?”

“Why would I be?” I lie, keeping my voice steady.

“Because he’s pissed,” Ryan says, blunt as ever. “And if we lose again next week, you know he’ll start looking at bringing Joe back.”

Joe. The man who’s been waiting for me to screw up since I took over for us when he was hungover as hell. The thought makes my stomach churn, but I shrug like it doesn’t bother me.

“Let him look,” I say, setting the dumbbells down with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll prove I’m still the guy. I always do.”

Ryan gives me a look but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he claps me on the shoulder and heads toward the leg press.

I lean back on the bench, closing my eyes for a second. The weight of the team, Coach’s expectations, Joe breathing down my neck—it’s all there, threatening to crush me.

But then, like a flicker of light in the chaos, I think about Sloane again. Her laugh. The way she said my name. The way she looked at me, like I wasn’t just the quarterback but something…more.

I take a deep breath, grab the weights, and get back to it. No distractions. No excuses. Just the work.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about me too.

And I still can’t believe all she wants is to be my dirty little secret.

Okay, my exclusive dirty little secret.

It’s a little messed up.

But who am I to judge?

The frat house smells like stale beer and regret, as usual. It’s barely sundown, but the common room is already packed with guys lounging on the couches, nursing hangovers from last night. A couple of them are flipping through channels on the giant TV, while others are picking through the remnants of a pizza someone left on the coffee table.

I step inside, and a round of jeers greets me almost immediately.

“Knox! The man, the myth, the legend,” Joe calls from the armchair he’s practically claimed as his throne. “How was your morning, champ? Recovering from your little…extracurriculars?”

I roll my eyes, tossing my gym bag onto the floor. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Joe echoes, his grin widening. “Dude, you disappeared after midnight with that look. You know, that look.”

I head to the mini fridge, ignoring him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You totally hooked up,” Joe presses, leaning forward like a bloodhound catching a scent. “Come on, who was it?”

I crack open a water bottle and take a long sip, trying to buy time. “No one you know.”

The guys erupt into boos and groans.

“Bullshit!” Ryan shouts from the couch, pointing at me with a half-eaten slice of pizza.

Joe’s not letting it go. “You’re not getting off that easy, Knox. Who’s the lucky lady? And don’t say no one because I swear I saw you sneaking someone out this morning. So spill.”

I pause, mentally scrambling. If I admit to hooking up with Sloane, it’ll spread through the house like wildfire. And her whole “dirty little secret” plan? Yeah, that’ll be down the drain in about three seconds.

“Fine,” I say, leaning casually against the fridge. “Her name’s…Marsha.”

The room goes silent for a beat.

“Marsha?” Joe repeats, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

“Yeah,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “Marsha. She’s a super senior. Doing her PhD.”

“PhD in what? Bullshitology?” Ryan quips, earning a round of laughter.

“She’s real,” I insist, keeping my expression dead serious. “She’s been around, like, forever. You guys just don’t know her because she mostly sticks to the library.”

“The library,” Joe echoes, squinting at me.

“Yeah. Really into, uh, advanced molecular physics,” I add, waving a hand vaguely.

Ryan nearly chokes on his pizza. “Advanced molecular physics? Come on, man. You’re telling me you hooked up with some Einstein-level brainiac named Marsha? At a party?”

“She was taking a break from research,” I say, shrugging. “Needed to let loose. And what can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Joe looks skeptical, but the guys start laughing, letting it go—mostly because they love the idea of me hooking up with a physics PhD student named Marsha.

“You’re full of shit, Knox,” Joe says, shaking his head. “But hey, if you’ve got a thing for nerds, more power to you.”

I grin, grabbing my gym bag. “Yup, Marsha’s one of a kind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower.”

As I head upstairs, I can still hear them cracking jokes about “Marsha the molecular physicist” and what kind of equations she must’ve been solving with me last night. I roll my eyes, but I can’t help laughing to myself.

At least Sloane’s secret is safe. For now.