Chapter 30

thirty

. . .

Asher

The party is already in full swing by the time I get there. Music pumps through the house, lights flashing across the crowded rooms, and people are packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a mix of costumes ranging from clever to downright lazy.

I adjust my aviator sunglasses, tugging at the edge of my bomber jacket as I weave through the crowd. The fake mustache itches, but it’s a small price to pay for the effect. People nod and grin as I pass—Top Gun was a good call.

“Knox,” Joe’s voice cuts through the noise, dripping with mock friendliness. He’s leaning against the bar, a beer in hand and a grin on his face that makes my fists clench.

“DeRollo,” I reply, grabbing a cold beer from the cooler. I pop it open with the edge of the counter and take a long sip before turning to face him.

“Nice costume,” he says, gesturing with his bottle. “You make a great Maverick. Backup suits you.”

I smirk, leaning casually against the counter. “Well, somebody’s got to make sure the team wins, even if it’s just by writing scouting reports, right? I’m glad I can help you out.”

His grin falters for a second before he chuckles. “You’ve got jokes tonight. Good for you. Anyway, I’ve got plans to win in more ways than one.”

“Yeah?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Joe takes another sip of his beer, scanning the crowd. “Let’s just say there’s someone here I’ve been meaning to talk to. Someone I’ve got history with.”

I stiffen, the beer suddenly bitter in my mouth.

As if on cue, she walks in.

Sloane.

And damn, she looks good.

Her hair’s loose, framing her face perfectly, and her outfit—a fitted pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse unbuttoned just enough to hint at what’s underneath, and thick-rimmed glasses—makes my mouth go dry. Sexy librarian. Of course.

She pauses in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, and for a moment, I think she’s looking for me.

“Speak of the devil,” Joe says, his tone low and smug.

Before I can respond, he’s pushing past me, heading straight for her.

I watch as Joe sidles up to her, his grin a little too wide as he leans in to talk. She laughs politely, her body language careful but distant. My grip tightens on the beer bottle, my jaw clenching as I watch them.

“Is that Scott?” someone nearby says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I glance toward the living room and sure enough, there he is—Scott, wearing suspenders and a flat cap, his outfit somehow managing to look both ridiculous and oddly charming.

“What are you supposed to be?” someone asks him, laughing.

“1920s insurance salesman,” he replies proudly. “Obviously.”

The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but my focus snaps back to Sloane as I catch her glancing in my direction. Her expression is unreadable, but something in her eyes makes my chest tighten.

I down the rest of my beer in one long pull and start walking toward them.

Joe’s mid-sentence as I approach. “You look incredible tonight,” he’s saying, his tone dripping with whatever charm he thinks he has.

“Thanks,” she replies, her smile tight.

“Let me guess—sexy librarian?” he teases.

“She’s not guessing,” I interject smoothly, stepping between them. “She nailed it.”

Joe straightens, his grin fading as he looks at me. “Knox. Didn’t see you there.”

“Didn’t you, though?” I say, my tone casual but loaded.

Sloane looks at me, her lips parting slightly as if to say something, but she doesn’t.

Joe scoffs, stepping forward to nudge me back with his shoulder. “Hey, man, this is a private conversation. Why don’t you go find someone else to bother?”

I stay rooted, my gaze fixed on Sloane. “You okay, Sloane?”

She nods, but before she can respond, Joe cuts in, his voice loud and grating. “Come on, Sloane. You remember how good we were together. You know I was the best you’ve ever had.”

My jaw tightens, my hands balling into fists at my sides. But what makes me pause—what makes my chest tighten—is that she doesn’t even look at him. Her eyes are locked on me, as if he’s not even there.

Joe notices it too. “Sloane?” he presses, his tone sharper now.

But I’m done waiting. “Is that true?” I ask her, my voice low but steady.

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as a faint flush creeps into her cheeks. For a second, the air between us feels like it might snap.

“No,” she says finally, her voice soft but firm. “It’s not true.”

Joe sputters, his smug grin replaced with something closer to disbelief. “What?”

I step closer to her, my gaze never leaving hers. “Good. Because I don’t think he deserves to be your best anything.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile, and I swear the tension in my chest eases for the first time all night.

Joe throws his hands up, muttering something under his breath as he stalks off, but I barely notice.

“Nice costume,” I say, my voice softer now, teasing.

“Thanks,” she replies, her cheeks still flushed. “Yours isn’t bad either.”

“Mustache and all?”

She laughs, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades into the background.

The party buzzes around us, people laughing, drinking, dancing, but all I can focus on is Sloane. She’s standing there, the lights catching the curve of her cheek, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. That librarian outfit was a choice, and it’s doing things to me I can’t even describe.

But this isn’t just about how she looks. It’s about her.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Sloane, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She looks up at me, startled, her lips parting, but I keep going. “No, let me finish. I’m serious. You’re in my head all the time. And I need to know—what’s the deal here? Because I’m losing my mind.”

Her eyes dart around the room, like she’s weighing her next move. “Asher, I…” she starts, her voice hesitant.

“What?” I ask, softer now. “Talk to me.”

She exhales, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m worried, okay? About next year. About grad school. About…everything.”

I nod, holding back a smile. Typical Sloane. Always thinking ten steps ahead. “That’s a problem for next year,” I say simply.

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Why can’t you just enjoy a good thing when it’s right in front of you?” I ask, stepping closer. “You’re always overthinking, Sloane. Always sabotaging yourself before something even has the chance to be good.”

She flinches slightly, and for a second, I think I’ve pushed too hard. But then she glances at me, her expression guarded but curious.

“I’m not sabotaging?—”

“You are,” I interrupt, my voice firm but not unkind. “And for what? You think I care about football? About whether you’re my ‘good luck charm’ or whatever?” I shake my head, letting a small smile break through. “I’ve always been more of a nerd anyway. Football just…came with the package.”

Her laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You? A nerd?”

“Big-time,” I say, leaning a little closer. “I read The Iliad for fun last summer, if you need proof.”

Her defenses crack a little, and that laugh turns into something warmer, something real. God, I love the sound of it.

“I just…I didn’t know if I was more than that to you,” she admits, her voice quiet, vulnerable. “More than just the good luck charm.”

I reach out, cupping her face in my hand, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re more than that. You’re more than you even realize, Sloane.”

She stares at me, and for a moment, I think she might bolt. But then the music shifts, something slower, and I know what I have to do.

I step back, holding out my hand. “Dance with me.”

Her hand slides into mine, and I lead her to the center of the room. People are still crowded around, but I don’t care. My arms settle around her waist, and hers loop around my neck, pulling me closer than I expected.

“You’re not bad at this,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile.

I grin. “I told you, I’ve got layers.”

We sway to the music, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe. She fits against me like she was made to, her warmth easing something raw inside me.

Then she leans up, her breath tickling my ear. “I don’t care who knows anymore.”

I pull back, staring at her in disbelief. “What?”

“I don’t care,” she says again, louder this time.

Before I can even process it, she’s pulling me down into a kiss, right there in front of everyone. Her lips are soft and insistent, and for a second, the world just…stops.

There’s a murmur of surprise around us, but I don’t care. Let them watch. Let Joe glare. None of it matters.

When we finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shining.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispers, her voice breathless. “Please.”

I feel a grin spread across my face, my heart racing. “I thought you’d never ask.”

In front of the whole damn frat—and everyone else at the party, I take her hand and lead her to my room.