Page 35 of The Backup

“No,” I say, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to me. “That wasn’t me.”

Brian’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing. “Really? Because it looked a lot like you.”

“It wasn’t,” I say quickly, gripping the edge of the table so tightly my knuckles turn white.

Jacklyn steps in, her voice light and playful. “Come on, guys. You’ve clearly had one too many beers if you’re seeing Sloane climbing into trucks. She was home all night.”

Brian doesn’t look convinced, but one of his friends laughs, diffusing the moment. “Guess I was seeing things, then.”

Jacklyn shoots me a subtle glance—a silent reassurance—but the unease in my chest doesn’t budge.

The game blares on the screens around us, the crowd erupting into cheers and groans, but it all feels distant. My thoughts whirl. Did Brian’s friend really see me? How many other people know? The night with Asher had felt perfect, like it existed in its own bubble, but now that bubble feels dangerously close to bursting.

“You okay?” Jacklyn leans over, her voice barely above the noise.

“I’m fine,” I whisper back, though my hands are trembling slightly.

The game ends, and the bar explodes in celebration, giving me the perfect chance to slip out unnoticed. Or at least, I hope so.

The night air is cool against my flushed cheeks, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat inside. I’m halfway to my car when Jacklyn catches up to me.

“Alright, what’s going on?” she demands, crossing her arms as she plants herself in my path.

“It’s nothing,” I say, fumbling with my keys. “I just don’t want people talking about me.”

“Because of Asher?” she asks, her voice softening.

I meet her gaze, my stomach twisting. “They’d make it a thing, Jacks. The quarterback and…me? It’s just?—”

“You like him,” she interrupts, her tone more statement than question. “And I’ve never seen you like this before. Don’t let Brian or anyone else ruin that for you.”

Her words hit something tender in me, and I swallow hard against the ache in my throat. “I just don’t want the drama,” I say, my voice cracking despite my best effort to sound steady.

Jacklyn steps closer, her expression fierce. “You deserve to be happy, Sloane. Don’t let fear make decisions for you.”

Her conviction stirs something in me—something I’ve been trying to bury since last night. I nod, giving her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She nudges me lightly. “Now, go home and text your quarterback. He’s probably waiting to hear from you.”

I laugh despite myself, the sound shaky but real. As I slide into my car, Jacklyn’s words echo in my mind.

But as I drive away, the nagging thought resurfaces: If someone saw us last night, how long until everyone knows? And if they do, what will that mean for us?

I toss my phone onto the bed and flop back against the pillows, letting out a long sigh. Tonight at the bar had been…uncomfortable, to say the least. The thrill from last night with Asher has been replaced by a gnawing unease. If Brian’s friend saw me getting into Asher’s truck, how many others know—or are already talking?

The buzz of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts. I grab it, the glow of the screen illuminating one two words:

Asher: You home?

I stare at the message, my heart doing its annoying little flip. My thumbs hover over the keyboard before I finally type:

Me: Yeah. Just got back. Why?

The three little dots appear almost instantly, then his response pops up:

Asher: Come out with me. I’m back from the game. Let’s celebrate.

Celebrate? I groan, rubbing my temples. Of course he’s buzzing with energy—it was a big win for him. But me? I’m drained. The last thing I want to do is be out where people could be watching, speculating, whispering.

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