Chapter 22

twenty-two

. . .

Sloane

The soft buzz of my phone wakes me, the early morning light filtering through the blinds. I reach for it blindly, my fingers fumbling across the nightstand before I finally grab it.

Asher: Good morning nerd

I blink at the screen, a sleepy smile tugging at my lips. He’s sweet when he wants to be, and for a moment, I forget all about the whirlwind of sneaking around and staying under the radar.

Me: Oo a good morning text. To what do I owe this pleasure? And, Morning. You’re up early.

His reply comes fast.

Asher: Couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about you.

The butterflies in my stomach take off, and I chew my bottom lip as I type back.

Me: Dangerous thoughts this early in the day?

Asher: Always. By the way, what are you wearing?

I raise an eyebrow at the screen, stifling a laugh.

Me: Right now? Or for the library?

Asher: For study hour, obviously. I mean, I wouldn’t dare ask about right now. Not yet.

My cheeks flush, and I shake my head as I fire off a reply.

Me: Any requests?

His response comes quickly, and I can almost hear the smirk in his words.

Asher: A skirt. Something with easy access.

Me: Of course. And what about you?

Asher: What do you want?

I pause, thinking for a moment before typing back.

Me: Fitted gray sweats and a tank top.

Asher: Classic. Why’s that?

Me: Because that’s what you were wearing when we first met. It feels…fitting.

There’s a pause, and then his reply comes through.

Asher: You’re sentimental. That’s cute.

Me: Don’t ruin the moment.

Asher: I wouldn’t dream of it. See you later

I laugh softly, clutching my phone as I shake my head. He’s impossible, but he’s got me hooked, and the worst part is, he knows it.

By the time I emerge from my room, I’m dressed in a simple black skirt and a fitted sweater, my hair loose around my shoulders. Nothing over the top, but definitely a little more effort than usual.

Brian and Jacklyn are sitting at the kitchen table, finishing their breakfast. I hesitate for half a second, but Jacklyn’s sharp gaze catches me immediately.

“Wow,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re looking…fancy for a Friday. Got plans?”

I shrug, reaching for the coffee pot. “Not really. Just felt like putting in some effort. You know, for me.”

Jacklyn narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve only got one class today, right? What’s the occasion?”

Before I can respond, Brian chimes in, his tone light but curious. “Maybe she’s got a date?”

Jacklyn smirks, leaning forward. “Is that it? Is there someone you’re not telling me about?”

“No,” I say quickly, pouring my coffee and avoiding eye contact. “No date. Just…thought I’d dress up a little. Is that a crime?”

“Suspicious,” Jacklyn says, still eyeing me as I take a sip of coffee. “Very suspicious.”

“Or maybe,” Brian adds with a grin, “she just doesn’t want to run into a certain someone looking like a slob.”

I roll my eyes, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “You guys are ridiculous. I’ll see you later.”

As I step outside, my phone buzzes again.

Asher: Let me guess. You’re rocking that skirt right now.

Me: Maybe.

Asher: Send a pic.

I glance around, making sure no one’s watching, before snapping a quick photo of my outfit and sending it his way.

Asher: Damn. You look hot.

Me: You’re welcome. Now stop distracting me, or I’m changing into sweatpants.

Asher: Don’t you dare.

The fluorescent lights hum softly above me as the econ professor’s voice drones on about market inefficiencies and behavioral models. It’s not a boring class—actually, it’s kind of fascinating—but today, my brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Mostly because Asher keeps texting me.

My phone buzzes for the third time in ten minutes, and I glance down, angling the screen so no one behind me can see.

Asher: What are you doing?

Me: Trying to focus.

Asher: Sounds dull.

Me: It’s called education, Knox. You should try it sometime.

Asher: I’ll pass. Unless you’re teaching the class. Then I’d pay attention.

I bite back a smile, my cheeks warming as I quickly type back:

Me: I’m ignoring you now.

Asher: No, you’re not. What are you wearing?

I groan softly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Me: You already know what I’m wearing.

Asher: And I’ll know what you’re not wearing later.

My fingers freeze over the keyboard, a sharp thrill running through me as I read his words. The professor’s voice barely registers now, and I have to force myself to look up at the whiteboard and pretend I’m paying attention.

“Now,” the professor says, pacing the front of the room, “this brings us to real-world applications. Remember: theory is great, but practicality will get you further.”

I try to refocus, scribbling a half-hearted note, but my mind keeps wandering to Asher. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he’s going to?—

“Sloane.”

I blink, realizing the professor is staring directly at me.

“Uh, yes?” I say, straightening in my seat.

He crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What do you want to be?”

The question catches me off guard, and I falter for a moment before answering. “I’m thinking about getting an MBA. Maybe working abroad.”

He nods, but his expression shifts into something closer to skepticism. “Ambitious. But maybe you should consider something a little more…realistic.”

The words land like a slap, and I feel my stomach twist. The murmurs from other students feel louder than they probably are, and I can’t tell if they’re talking about me or if I’m just imagining it.

I force a tight smile. “Thanks for the advice,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat.

The rest of the class blurs by in a haze, my chest tightening as his words echo in my head. I’m not the brightest? Realistic? Who the hell does he think he is?

By the time I gather my things and shuffle out of the lecture hall, I’m still fuming. I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks—he’s just one professor in a sea of them—but it stings all the same.

My phone buzzes again as I step into the hallway.

Asher: Are you out of class yet?

Me: Just got out.

Asher: Good. Because I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you in that library.

My heart skips, the heat in my chest shifting from anger to something entirely different.

Me: Oh? Care to elaborate?

Asher: You’ll just have to wait and see. But let’s just say you won’t be sitting still for very long.

The corner of my mouth tugs into a reluctant smile, and I let out a soft breath as the tension from class begins to melt away.

Whatever that professor thinks, it doesn’t matter. Not right now. Right now, there’s only one person whose opinion I care about.