Page 74 of The Backup

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.

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