Page 10 of The Good Student (Straight No More #2)

THE AFTERNOON STRETCHES endlessly as I sit at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop screen. The cursor blinks mockingly at me, a reminder of the paper that's due tomorrow—a paper I've written exactly two sentences of in the past three hours.

My mind keeps circling back to the library, to Asher on his knees between the dusty shelves. The image burns in my brain, a persistent ember refusing to die out.

I can always find someone else to take care of it.

I slam my laptop shut, startling my roommate Jake who's lounging on his bed across the room.

"Whoa, easy there," Jake says, looking up from his phone. "What did that laptop ever do to you?"

"Nothing," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Just... can't focus."

"Clearly," Jake snorts. "You've been staring at the same page for like an hour. What's going on with you?"

I hesitate. Jake and I have been roommates for two years, friends for longer. But how do I even begin to explain what's happening? Hey, you know Asher Marshall? Yeah, I let him blow me in the library and now I can't stop thinking about him with someone else .

"Just stressed about finals," I say instead, the lie sitting uncomfortably on my tongue.

Jake studies me for a moment, clearly not buying it. "You sure? Because you've been acting weird since that party at Beta."

The mention of the frat house makes me tense. "What? No, I haven't."

"Dude, you came back from that party looking like you'd seen a ghost. And now you're jumping every time your phone buzzes and staring into space like you're trying to solve the mysteries of the universe."

I feel heat creep up my neck. Have I been that obvious? "It's nothing."

Jake shrugs, going back to his phone. "If you say so."

I turn back to my desk, pretending to organize my notes while my mind races. The thought of Asher with someone else—touching them, tasting them—makes my stomach twist with something that feels uncomfortably like jealousy.

Which is ridiculous. We're barely even acquaintances. Just two guys who've... what? Hooked up? Is that what this is?

The afternoon replays in my mind for the hundredth time. The way Asher looked up at me, the heat in his eyes, the skill of his mouth. And then his parting words: It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to .

Do I want this—whatever this is—to mean something? Do I want more than just physical release with Asher?

I glance at my phone, checking the time. 7:32 PM. Asher had left the library around 4. That's plenty of time for him to have found someone else, to have fulfilled his promise of finding release elsewhere.

The thought makes my chest tight. Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm on my feet, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair.

"Going somewhere?" Jake asks, eyebrows raised.

"Just need some air," I say, already heading for the door. "Don't wait up."

"Okay, weirdo," Jake calls after me. "Good luck with whatever's actually going on."