Page 45 of Filthy Elites

I don’t find any clues in his drawers, so I move on to his desk. Nothing among his papers. His laptop is now lying there—he must have moved it when I was in the shower. I flip it open, and it turns on automatically. The loudpingas the machine starts stresses me out. I look over my shoulder, but Jason is still in dreamland.

It’s a stupid risk that’s probably not going to pan out. His laptop is password protected. I have nothing to lose, so I try a few combinations, which is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I don’t know enough about him to make an educated guess.

Fatigue begins to seep through my bones. I should return to bed and get some sleep. Jason mumbles my name, making me jump out of my skin. My heart is thundering as I look at him, but he isn’t awake. He’s mumbling my name in his sleep. Jesus, I’m in his head for real.

I try another password, my full name, and lo and behold, it works. This alone would be troubling, but when I see his screensaver picture, it feels like a punch to my stomach. It’s a group picture taken after a violin competition that I won. I’m standing front and center in the image, holding my trophy. I look for Jason among the other contestants. He’s all the way in the back, nearly blending in with the background with his dark hair and suit. I want to zoom in on his face, but I can’t, so I squint and look closer to the screen. He’s a little out of focus, but I can see it clearly now that one of his cheeks looks redder than the other. Did someone slap him before the picture was taken?

I glance at him, sleeping peacefully, and it breaks my heart. I don’t know what happened, but having met his mother, I can guess. I shut the laptop and return to bed. His back is to me, so I do something insane—I wrap my arm around his waist and rest my forehead against his back.

I fall asleep spooning Jason Novak, and it’s the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

Jason

“Jason, are you there?”a grating voice calls, fishing me out of a pleasant dream.

Groggy, I open my eyes, not recognizing for a second where I am. It’s the warm body pressed to my back that’s confusing me. Then I remember. I asked Isabelle to stay, and she’s now glued to me in a spooning position. I go through a gamut of emotions in the span of a few seconds. I’m torn between shoving her off me and basking in the proximity. My body decides for me and melts into her. I’d be able to enjoy the moment if the banging on my door would cease.

“Jason, don’t make me call maintenance to open this door,” Sloane continues.

Isabelle drops her arm from my waist and rolls away from me. There goes my chance of teasing her for it.

“Who’s that?” she croaks. “And what time is it?”

I get up, not bothering to answer her questions. I’m in a foul mood, but I don’t want to take it out on her. I must be feverish still. Naked, I stride to the door and yank it open.

“What?”

Sloane's eyes widen, but at least she doesn’t drop her gaze to my crotch.

“You missed class, and you didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.”

“I got a cold.”

“You do look awful." She raises her hand to touch my forehead, but I lean back.

“Yeah, you woke me up. If all you wanted was proof of life, you have it.”

Her gaze travels past my shoulder, and it’s like a switch is flipped. From concerned to angry in zero point two seconds.

“What isshedoing here?” she shrieks.

I cross my arms and smirk. “She couldn’t stay away, and I’m not one to deny myself pussy even if I’m dying.”

Sloane’s expression twists into a scowl. “You’re fucking that bitch? I thought you hated her.”

I expect Isabelle to jump into the conversation, and when she doesn’t, I look over my shoulder. She’s sleeping. A bubble of laughter goes up my throat. Either she’s super sick, or she’s so unfazed by Sloane’s presence that she can’t be bothered to join us.

“I don’t owe you any explanation. Goodbye, Sloane.” I shut the door in her face and return to bed, smiling from ear to ear.

“That was cold, Jason. I thought she was your friend,” Isabelle says without opening her eyes.

I slide next to her and pull her closer. “Were you pretending to be asleep?”

“Not pretending, trying to get back to sleep. But she was too loud.”

“I’m surprised there wasn’t a catfight.”

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