Page 55 of The Influencer

Wanna come help me do math?

Asher

Sorry. Gotta grab dinner.

He responds with a row of weeping emojis.

Asher

I’m on my way.

Jade

I’ll leave the door cracked. Just come on in. And can you bring me a triple grande oat milk latte with one pump of vanilla?

I leave that one on read. But I do get him his latte, and I eat a sandwich on the way to his condo. After washing it down with a full bottle of water, I pop a stick of cinnamon gum in my mouth and check my teeth in the visor mirror. I brush away a crumb on my beard, pull two condoms out of the box I bought last week from the center console of my car and shove them in my back pocket. Grabbing Jade’s latte from the cupholder, I head into his building.

The door to his condo is slightly ajar, as promised, and I think it’s because he wanted me to walk in on him like this.

He’s a perfect tableau. Sitting cross-legged on his couch in joggers and bare feet with a loose black sweater falling off one shoulder, studying his laptop like a nerd with glasses on. It is dead. Fucking. Hot. Well played, Jade Sloane.

“Oh, hi,” he says, like he only just now noticed I’ve arrived.

“Hey.”

I pass him his drink over the back of the couch, and he smiles up at me like we’re a couple who does shit like this all the time. “Thanks, honey.” It’s a taunt, but I like it. “How was work?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Good. How’d your day go?”

“Fine, until I needed help with algebra.”

I come around the couch, and he moves a folder out of the way so I can sit next to him. I sling my arm around the back of the couch, not touching him, and lean in to see what he’s got pulled up.

“Your spreadsheet could use some work,” I note.

He slides the laptop immediately from his lap to mine, then tucks his feet underneath himself to face me. I work on the spreadsheet, quickly catching on to what he’s trying to accomplish with it, while I weather the sensation of his stare.

“You smell like sandwiches,” he says.

“I had a sandwich.”

“With bread?”

“Options were limited,” I mumble.

“Smells yummy.”

“You a bread fan?” I ask, adding a tabulation column.

“I love bread. I don’t eat it, but I love it.”

“Did you want to sniff my beard?”

“Can I?”

Without taking my eyes off the spreadsheet, I tilt my head in his direction, and he leans in, sticking his nose in my beard and inhaling deeply. I get a dick-hardening whiff of his hair and fight the urge to toss the laptop and pull him onto my lap.

“Mmm…” he moans, pulling away slowly. I watch him closely as he does. Our eyes do the equivalent of a rough, frenzied quickie.