Page 75 of The Backup

Asher: What are you doing?

Me: Trying to focus.

Asher: Sounds dull.

Me: It’s called education, Knox. You should try it sometime.

Asher: I’ll pass. Unless you’re teaching the class. Then I’d pay attention.

I bite back a smile, my cheeks warming as I quickly type back:

Me: I’m ignoring you now.

Asher: No, you’re not. What are you wearing?

I groan softly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Me: You already know what I’m wearing.

Asher: And I’ll know what you’re not wearing later.

My fingers freeze over the keyboard, a sharp thrill running through me as I read his words. The professor’s voice barely registers now, and I have to force myself to look up at the whiteboard and pretend I’m paying attention.

“Now,” the professor says, pacing the front of the room, “this brings us to real-world applications. Remember: theory is great, but practicality will get you further.”

I try to refocus, scribbling a half-hearted note, but my mind keeps wandering to Asher. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he’s going to?—

“Sloane.”

I blink, realizing the professor is staring directly at me.

“Uh, yes?” I say, straightening in my seat.

He crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What do you want to be?”

The question catches me off guard, and I falter for a moment before answering. “I’m thinking about getting an MBA. Maybe working abroad.”

He nods, but his expression shifts into something closer to skepticism. “Ambitious. But maybe you should consider something a little more…realistic.”

The words land like a slap, and I feel my stomach twist. The murmurs from other students feel louder than they probably are, and I can’t tell if they’re talking about me or if I’m just imagining it.

I force a tight smile. “Thanks for the advice,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat.

The rest of the class blurs by in a haze, my chest tightening as his words echo in my head. I’m not the brightest? Realistic? Who the hell does he think he is?

By the time I gather my things and shuffle out of the lecture hall, I’m still fuming. I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks—he’s just one professor in a sea of them—but it stings all the same.

My phone buzzes again as I step into the hallway.

Asher: Are you out of class yet?

Me: Just got out.

Asher: Good. Because I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you in that library.

My heart skips, the heat in my chest shifting from anger to something entirely different.

Me: Oh? Care to elaborate?

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