Page 95 of The Backup

I step closer to her, my gaze never leaving hers. “Good. Because I don’t think he deserves to be your best anything.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile, and I swear the tension in my chest eases for the first time all night.

Joe throws his hands up, muttering something under his breath as he stalks off, but I barely notice.

“Nice costume,” I say, my voice softer now, teasing.

“Thanks,” she replies, her cheeks still flushed. “Yours isn’t bad either.”

“Mustache and all?”

She laughs, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades into the background.

The party buzzes around us, people laughing, drinking, dancing, but all I can focus on is Sloane. She’s standing there, the lights catching the curve of her cheek, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. That librarian outfit was a choice, and it’s doing things to me I can’t even describe.

But this isn’t just about how she looks. It’s about her.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Sloane, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She looks up at me, startled, her lips parting, but I keep going. “No, let me finish. I’m serious. You’re in my head all the time. And I need to know—what’s the deal here? Because I’m losing my mind.”

Her eyes dart around the room, like she’s weighing her next move. “Asher, I…” she starts, her voice hesitant.

“What?” I ask, softer now. “Talk to me.”

She exhales, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m worried, okay? About next year. About grad school. About…everything.”

I nod, holding back a smile. Typical Sloane. Always thinking ten steps ahead. “That’s a problem for next year,” I say simply.

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Why can’t you just enjoy a good thing when it’s right in front of you?” I ask, stepping closer. “You’re always overthinking, Sloane. Always sabotaging yourself before something even has the chance to be good.”

She flinches slightly, and for a second, I think I’ve pushed too hard. But then she glances at me, her expression guarded but curious.

“I’m not sabotaging?—”

“You are,” I interrupt, my voice firm but not unkind. “And for what? You think I care about football? About whether you’re my ‘good luck charm’ or whatever?” I shake my head, letting a small smile break through. “I’ve always been more of a nerd anyway. Football just…came with the package.”

Her laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You? A nerd?”

“Big-time,” I say, leaning a little closer. “I readThe Iliadfor fun last summer, if you need proof.”

Her defenses crack a little, and that laugh turns into something warmer, something real. God, I love the sound of it.

“I just…I didn’t know if I was more than that to you,” she admits, her voice quiet, vulnerable. “More than just the good luck charm.”

I reach out, cupping her face in my hand, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re more than that. You’re more than you even realize, Sloane.”

She stares at me, and for a moment, I think she might bolt. But then the music shifts, something slower, and I know what I have to do.

I step back, holding out my hand. “Dance with me.”

Her hand slides into mine, and I lead her to the center of the room. People are still crowded around, but I don’t care. My armssettle around her waist, and hers loop around my neck, pulling me closer than I expected.

“You’re not bad at this,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile.

I grin. “I told you, I’ve got layers.”

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