Page 76 of The Backup

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.

twenty-three

. . .

Sloane

The library is quiet,the faint buzz of the air conditioner the only sound as I make my way up the stairs. My heart races with every step, a mix of nerves and anticipation tightening in my chest.

This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. It’s not like I haven’t seen him before—seenallof him before—but something about meeting him here, in this tucked-away, clandestine corner of campus, makes it feel…different.

Dangerous.

When I reach the third floor, the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the tall windows, I spot him immediately. He’s sitting at one of the back tables, his long legs stretched out under the desk, looking completely at ease.

And he’s wearing glasses.

I stop in my tracks, my breath catching as I take him in. The fitted gray sweats sit low on his hips, clinging just enough to highlight the lean muscles of his thighs. The tank top is snug, showing off his broad shoulders and the sharp lines of his arms. And then there are the glasses—thin black frames perched on hisnose, making him look maddeningly intelligent and hotter than any guy should have the right to be.

How dare he?

He glances up from the book in his hands, his expression calm, neutral, like we’re just two students meeting for an innocent study session. His lips twitch into a barely-there smirk when he catches me staring.

“Right on time,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

I roll my eyes, trying to steady my breathing as I walk over to the table. “You’re a little too confident for your own good, you know that?”

He sets the book down, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly cocky grin. “And you’re a little too nervous for someone who doesn’t think anything’s going to happen.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lie, pulling out the chair across from him.

“Oh, really?” he says, arching an eyebrow as he rests his chin on his hand. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

I glance down, cursing inwardly when I realize he’s right. My fingers tremble slightly as I unzip my bag, pulling out a notebook and setting it on the table like I’m actually planning to take notes.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t know why you’re wearing those glasses,” I shoot back, hoping to shift the focus. “Is this part of the disguise? Or are you just trying to look smarter than you are?”

He laughs, low and warm, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine.

“You don’t like them?” he asks, adjusting the frames.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. “Because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of them.”

The words hang between us, charged with more meaning than they should be, and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Stop distracting me,” I mutter, flipping open my notebook even though I have no intention of using it.

He doesn’t reply, but the look on his face—the way his smirk softens into something darker, hungrier—tells me he’s not planning to let me study anything except him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice taking on a serious tone. “I’ve missed you these last couple of days. Seriously.”

I wave it off, trying to keep things light. “Oh, you’ve missed the sex. Obviously.”

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