My Fake Boyfriend is My Physics TA

I lied to my mom. Told her campus called me back a week early.

Mom narrowed her eyes, scanning my face. Connor goes to your school. He hasn't left yet. Why the rush?

I wiped my sweating palms against my jeans.

Sneaking off to see a guy? A knowing smirk hit her lips. Look, I won't play the boomer card.

She slapped five crisp hundred-dollar bills into my palm. "Go have fun."

My fingers curled around the cash.

Cut to the train ride. I cracked open a painfully pristine Physics 101 textbook and crammed like a maniac.

A boyfriend? Not a chance. I crawled back for a brutal makeup exam.

Sprinting across the quad, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A FaceTime request lit up the screen.

Mom.

"Cleo, sweetie! Show me this mystery man!"

Chapter 1

A passing grade? Maybe. A boyfriend? Absolutely not. My throat immediately closed up in sheer panic. I shoved my phone toward the nearest breathing male. "Mom, look! This is him. The whole reason I rushed back!"

I always committed to the bit. A blurry side profile should have been enough to satisfy her. But my frantic whispering betrayed me.

The stranger turned around.

An ear-piercing shriek blasted through my phone speaker. "He's gorgeous! Are you dating a damn movie star? Bring him home this weekend! Gotta go! Snapping a screenshot for the book club group chat right now. Bye!"

The call dropped. Her maniacal laughter still echoed in my ears. I stood frozen as the stranger stared at me.

He towered over me. Sharp jawline, cold, piercing eyes. The guy belonged on a billboard.

Heat flushed my cheeks. I forced a laugh. "Look, I am so sorry. I couldn't tell my parents I came back early to retake a final, so I kinda faked a boyfriend."

He gave a slight nod. We matched paces, walking briskly across the campus. A fellow academic failure, I assumed.

I broke into a sprint beside him. "You retaking Physics too?"

He didn't say a word, just kept marching forward. Empty hands. No backpack. No notes. A total boy scout. Hed bomb that test without a lifeline.

An idea sparked. "Hey, deal time. I am strapped with cheat sheets. Every formula. I will hook you up with the answers, and you play my fake boyfriend for the weekend."

That made him stop.

I grinned. Got him. Time for Cheating 101. I pulled a napkin covered in micro-text from my hoodie pocket, pinched a tiny, accordion-folded cheat sheet from my ankle sock, then the piece de resistancemy phone.

He arched a brow. "How does a phone get past the proctor? They make you dump everything in your bag."

A smug smile stretched across my face. "They watch your desk, but they never check your actual hands. Plus, its a tiny foldable phone."

"What about the signal jammers?"

"Please. This school runs on ancient tech. Those dusty jammers can't block 5G."

He nodded slowly, locking eyes with me. "If you're such an expert, why did you fail the final in the first place?"

I waved him off and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We don't dwell on the past. Eyes on the prize, buddy."

We shoved through the lecture hall double doors. My girls were already huddled in the back row. The survival squad. I grabbed the stranger's sleeve and dragged him into our circle. The girls took one look at his face and practically shoved a chair under him.

We huddled close, swapping cheat sheets and whispering our master plan for smuggling answers. The guy actually leaned in. He even asked for everyone's full names. I shot him a wink. Don't mention it. A solid wingwoman move. He owed me big time.

The trap was set. Everyone was locked and loaded. But the proctor was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 2

My bestie Phoebe leaned in, dropping the tea on our proctor. "Rumor has it hes Aston Universitys resident god. Second-year PhD, ridiculously hot. Like, makes Jacob Elordi look average. Hes only proctoring here at Camden as a favor. Total boy genius, too. Research labs at both Aston and Camden are already in a bidding war for him. Seven-figure salary lined up before he even defends his dissertation."

Mya slapped her hands on the desk, groaning. "Damn it. I shouldve done a full beat of makeup."

"Shit, we need to be careful with the cheat sheets then," someone whispered.

Phoebe waved it off. "Relax. Golden boys like him are clueless. Hes never seen our black-ops level cheating."

The room finally quieted down when the roaming proctor pushed through the doors, carrying the stack of exams. "Hey, where's Professor Asher? He clocked in ages ago."

I leaned into my girls, whispering. "Professor Asher? More like Professor Ass-her."

The girls lost their minds. Filthy-minded heathens. Snickers erupted down our row.

Heat blasted across my cheeks. "Shut up, you guys know I just meant he's a hardass!"

It was too late. While my squad was still giggling like idiots, the gorgeous stranger in the corner stood up. Smooth. Unhurried. He took the stack of exams from the roaming proctor, pulled a faculty ID lanyard from his pocket, and stepped up to the podium.

"Good morning. I'm Asher. I'll be your proctor today."

No. Fucking. Way.

Is it too late to just spontaneously combust?

He didn't just find the phones and the cheat sheets. He even confiscated the Apple Watch Phoebe strapped to her ankle. Asher claimed it was nothing personal. I agreed. He just wanted us dead.

Total massacre. Asher took out my entire squad. We all failed. Defeated, I blew up the group chat, practically begging for mercy.

Cleo: I am so sorry. I literally invited the grim reaper into our house. Take my life. It's yours.

Mya replied with a vomiting emoji. Mya: Keep your garbage life. We don't want it.

Phoebe went in for the kill. Phoebe: Since youre so desperate to make amends, well give you a shot at redemption.

I typed back furiously. Cleo: Name it.

Phoebe: Asher is the head TA at Camden this semester. Hes running our Physics class. Seduce him. Destroy him. Wreck him for anyone else. Get our revengeand steal the final exam key while you're at it.

Wait. Me? I was a walking disaster. Why would a guy like Asher look twice at me?

Cleo: Phoebe, you are delusional. How the hell am I supposed to bag Aston's resident god?

Phoebe wasn't backing down. Phoebe: Trust me. I saw the way he looked at you. That eye contact was not innocent. You drop the bait, hell bite.

Asher might need his eyes checked, but Phoebe definitely needed a psych eval. Whatever. I had zero leverage here. Plus, I just bombed the makeup exam. My parents could never find out the real reason I came back to campus early.

The weekend was two days away. I had a fake boyfriend to secure. Time to storm Aston University and drag Asher home with me. Camden and Aston were only separated by one major avenue. Asher was basically royalty over here.

It only took flagging down one passing frat bro to get the exact coordinates of Asher's dorm. Ten minutes later, I was standing outside his building, and my jaw practically unhinged, hitting the concrete.

Chapter 3

PhD housing at Aston University hit different. Forget cramped dormsthis place looked like a luxury high-rise in Manhattan. Almost made me want to apply for grad school.

I staked out the lobby. Thirty minutes later, Asher walked out. Crisp black button-down. Sleeves rolled to the forearms. Sharp, prominent wrist bones. He didn't look like the unkempt, messy guy from the exam room. Today, his hair was perfectly styled. Absolutely stunning.

My lungs forgot how to pull in air. Every girl in a fifty-foot radius snapped their neck to stare.

"Looking for me?"

I blinked. "How did you know?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Youve been hovering by the doors for exactly twenty-eight minutes. You ignored every guy who walked past. The second I stepped out, you made a beeline."

Note to self: never play poker with this guy.

I cut straight to the chase. "Yes. I need you to come to my house this weekend and play my fake boyfriend. To get my mom off my back."

He crossed his arms, the fabric pulling tight across his chest. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you used me! You infiltrated my squad, tanked my makeup exam, and made me public enemy number one! Now I have no excuse for my parents." Heat flared in my chest. The audacity. If it weren't for him, I would've passed. I wouldn't be begging him for a favor right now.

His brow furrowed. "You're playing the victim over failing to cheat?"

"You" I swallowed hard, the fight draining out of me. He had a point. He was Aston's golden boy. He was just doing his job. I had zero leverage here. Phoebe was officially out of her mind. Not innocent, my ass. Messing with him was a death wish.

Asher turned on his heel, heading back toward the glass doors.

A familiar voice cut through the courtyard. "Cleo? What are you doing here?"

I spun around. "Felix?"

We met at a frat mixer. He caught feelings early. Sweet, polite, total golden retriever energy. I had rejected him, claiming I only dated emotionally unavailable walking red flags. Desperation clawed at my throat. I grabbed his sleeve. "Felix, are you free this weekend?"

Felix opened his mouth. Asher materialized right beside us, closing the distance. His eyes were pure ice. "He's busy."

Felix blinked, stumbling back a step. "Uh, Professor Asher, I"

"Did you submit your dissertation draft?" Asher cut in.

Felix puffed out his chest, completely unbothered. "Not yet. But I'll wrap it up by next week."

"Not good enough. Professor Thorne needs it this Saturday. He wants you in his office."

Felixs confidence evaporated. "He didn't send an email."

Asher's voice dropped, deadly calm. "He'll email you tonight."

Felix nodded slowly, swallowing hard. He turned back to me. "I'm free on Sunday, though."

Hope flared in my chest.

Asher's gaze flicked to me. Heavy. Unyielding. "Sunday is out, too. My term paper is due Sunday."

Felix choked on his own breath. "What? You never put that on the syllabus."

Asher pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb tapped the screen twice. "The Canvas notification just went out."

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but Asher kept pushing. "And that mock exam we haven't scheduled yet? I'm thinking"

"I'm booked!" Felix spun toward me, raw panic wiring his eyes. "Sorry, Cleo. I am swamped this weekend. I gotta study. I love studying. Bye."

He bolted.

Chapter 4

Asher closed the gap. His face dipped, hovering inches from mine.

I leaned back, my spine rigid. "Fine. If you play my fake boyfriend this weekend, I'll agree to ten of your demands."

"Deal. Demand number one: you're coming home with me tonight."

I gaped at him. The air seized in my lungs.

Ashers expression remained stone-cold. "What? You just offered me a blank check. Backing out already?"

"No, it's justis this a PG-13 situation?" I took another half-step back, my defense mechanisms instantly activating.

One dark brow ticked upward. "Did you want it to be rated R?"

"No!"

He turned on his heel. "Forget it, then."

"Wait, wait, wait!" I lunged, my fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his sleeve. "I'll go. Who's scared? It's not like you're a serial killer. What are you gonna do to me? But we have a deal. I go to your place tonight, you come to my house this weekend."

Asher dropped his gaze to my hand clutching his arm. A slow, lethal smirk tipped the corner of his mouth. "Done. Let's head up to my place for dinner."

I trailed behind him toward the elevator bank, my thumbs flying across my phone screen in the group chat.

Cleo: Emergency. Asher is taking me to his apartment tonight.

Phoebe: Holy shit! Look at you go! From zero to sixty in two seconds!

Mya: The girls at Aston swear Asher could put Timothe Chalamet out of a job. Drop the masterclass right now.

Darby, the slowest typer on the planet, finally chimed in. Darby: Grab Trojans. The ultra-thins. Straight to the point. Zero hesitation.

Cleo: Shut up. It's a business transaction.

Mya sent a smirking devil emoji. Mya: A transaction in his bedroom? What are you trading? Positions?

Phoebe: I am screaming. Innocent college girl by day, absolute menace by night.

Cleo: You guys are sick! He's a PhD student! He's literally our TA. Have some morals!

These girls could turn a conversation about a toaster into a smut novel.

Mya: He busted you for cheating and immediately dragged you to his place. Connect the dots, babe.

Cleo: I am not connecting anything.

Phoebe: He wants to give you a private tutoring session! One-on-one. Hands-on.

Mya: Emphasis on the hands.

Cleo: I'm wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans. Thanks.

Phoebe: Major red flag. Fix it. There's a Victoria's Secret across the street.

Cleo: I'm broke!

Mya: Didn't you just finesse five hundred bucks out of your mom?

I stared at the screen. Defeated. We stepped into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, sealing us in. I picked at my cuticles, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might actually crack a rib. Asher lounged against the mirrored wall. Total relaxed apathy. He casually scrolled through his phone.

I stole a sideways glance at his profile. Ridiculously gorgeous. A weird itch scratched at the back of my brain. He looked familiar. Like I had seen those sharp features somewhere else before.

I brushed it off. Hot guys all shared the same flawless genetics. Ugly guys, on the other hand, were all hideous in their own unique, tragic ways.

The elevator chimed, depositing us directly into his apartment. It smelled faintly of expensive cedar and sterile cleanliness. "Make yourself at home," Asher said, handing me a sweating glass of ice water.

I clutched the cold glass like a lifeline. I sank onto the edge of his leather sofa, my eyes darting everywhere, desperate to look at anything but him.

Chapter 5

Asher sank onto the leather cushion opposite me. "Cleo Lin. Computer Science sophomore at Camden. Home address is in Maplewood, right?"

I nearly choked on my water. "How do you know that?!"

His expression didn't shift. "I memorized the names of everyone in your little cheating syndicate. Running a background check was easy."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "What exactly do you want from me?"

Asher ignored the question. "When did your mom say you needed to bring me home?"

"Saturday. For lunch."

"Perfect." He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb swiping the screen before he tossed it onto my lap.

I picked it up. A shopping list glared back at me. Two cases of Macallan 25-year scotch. Two boxes of Cohiba Behike cigars. Two cases of imported Italian truffles. Two crates of Rainier cherries. A5 Wagyu ribeye assortments. Two tins of Beluga caviar. Two cases of cold-pressed artisanal olive oil. Two cases of organic raw milk.

I stared at the screen, my brain short-circuiting. "What is this?" Was he planning to buy out an entire upscale grocery store?

"Standard meet-the-parents protocol." Asher leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Tell me what else they like. I'll pick it up tomorrow."

I blinked at him, completely thrown. "Why are you taking this so seriously? You're actually coming with me?"

"I can't let your twenty-eight-minute stakeout go to waste." His tone was flat, but a heavy tension hung in the air. Something wasn't adding up.

His phone vibrated on the glass coffee table. The caller ID flashed: The Queen. He answered it. Before he could even say hello, a womans booming voice filled the quiet apartment.

"Asher! Listen to me. Cordelia found you a match. Hes a piano instructor. Absolutely gorgeous. I just texted you his photos, look at them!"

I froze. A guy?

Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mom, drop it."

"Why should I? Youre in your twenties and youve never brought anyone home! Im not some closed-minded boomer. Boys, girlsI dont care who you like! He is stunning. Just do one coffee date"

"Mom. I have a girlfriend."

Dead silence on the line.

"Bullshit!"

"It's true. Come over right now and see for yourself."

"Do not play me, Asher! Last time you said you were seeing someone, you brought home a stray cat!"

A loud snort ripped out of my throat before I could clamp my hand over my mouth. Ashers eyes snapped to mine. Pure ice.

The woman on the phone gasped. "Asher! Is someone there? Who is that?"

Asher held my gaze for a tense second. "The cat."

He hung up. The silence in the room was deafening.

Excuse me? You're the stray! I am not a damn cat. I trailed behind him into the open-concept kitchen, still fuming over the insult. "How exactly do I look like a cat?"

Asher didn't look up from the cutting board. "You were huddled in a ball outside my building for half an hour. Looked like a stray to me."

I narrowed my eyes at his broad back. Had he been watching me from his window the whole time? I swallowed the question. I leaned against the marble counter, watching him prep the vegetables.

The rhythmic, rapid thud-thud-thud of the chefs knife against the wood echoed in the quiet room. He had rolled his black sleeves up past his elbows. His wrist bones were distinct, and his long fingers gripped the handle with an effortless, nimble strength.

So much raw strength in his hands. So much control. My brain misfired. A flush of heat crawled up my neck, pooling in my chest. Jesus. Phoebe and Myas gutter minds were contagious. I needed a cold shower.

Asher tossed the garlic and onions into a hot cast-iron skillet. The oil hissed, popping violently as a rich, savory scent filled the apartment.

"Wow." I desperately tried to act normal. "Didn't take you for a domestic god."

The corner of Ashers mouth tipped up into a sharp, knowing smirk. "Theres a lot of things you haven't figured out about me yet."

Chapter 6

Wow. One compliment and his ego tripled.

"Do you cook?" he asked, holding a piece of seared beef to my lips.

Obviously not. I leaned in, taking the bite directly from his fingers. "Me? My signature dish is burnt toast and a fire hazard."

The second dish hit the hot skillet. My phone buzzed. The group chat demanded updates. I snapped a quick, stealthy photo of Ashers side profile and the food.

Phoebe sent a gym selfie. Phoebe: Looking like a literal Calvin Klein model in an apron. Men cooking is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Screw my workout. I'm learning how to play the helpless damsel right now.

Mya dropped a string of fire emojis. Mya: Girl, you bagged a Michelin-star chef. Put a ring on it immediately.

Darby. Slowest typer, absolutely unhinged. Darby: Why are you waiting for him to serve dinner? Serve yourself. Eat him. Are you made of stone? How are you not ripping his clothes off right now?

Reading those texts should be a federal crime.

Asher leaned over my shoulder. "What are you looking at? Your face is completely flushed."

I panicked and swiped to the Duolingo app. "Just maintaining my Spanish streak. You know, gotta get those thirty daily XP points."

He glanced at my screen, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. "Is that why your lifetime score is only three hundred? You've been doing this for exactly ten days?"

I swallowed hard. "No, no. The app resets the points every month. It's a glitch." Lie after lie. I was digging my own grave.

"Oh? Then why doesn't mine ever reset?" He pulled out his phone and opened his app. His lifetime score sat at a massive fifty-one thousand. The corner of his mouth ticked up. Pure, wicked amusement danced in his eyes. Even the slight peek of his canine tooth seemed to mock me.

I gave him a stiff thumbs-up. "Wow. Good job, Professor Asher."

At the word Professor, his jaw ticked. "Drop the title. I'm only TA-ing your class this semester. I'm not a real professor."

I leaned into my obnoxious brown-noser act. "But I have to show respect! You're an authority figure."

"Don't."

Seeing how much the academic title bothered him, a wicked idea sparked in my brain. "If I can't call you Professor, and you aren't just an upperclassman what should I call you? Daddy?"

The word left my lips. A deep flush instantly crawled up his neck.

Oh, this was fun. I leaned in, closing the negative space. My chest brushed his arm. I pressed my lips just beneath his ear, dropping my voice to a breathy whisper. "Daddy."

His breath hitched. I watched his Adam's apple bob frantically as he swallowed a harsh, jagged breath.

His hands snapped to my waist. In one swift, fluid motion, he hoisted me onto the edge of the kitchen island. He caged me in, his thick forearms bracing the marble on either side of my thighs. The scent of cedar and raw, restrained heat swallowed me whole, completely wiping my smugness away.

"Cleo." A low, vibrating growl tore from his throat. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

I hadn't expected him to completely unravel over one word. I slid my arms up, tangling my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "Daddy. Do you like it when I call you that? Because my friends and I will call you that every single day, if you just give us a passing grade on the final."

Asher froze. The heat drained from his body. The air turned to dead weight. He stared down at me. My big, hopeful eyes reflected back in his dark pupils. I waited, holding my breath for a deal.

The heavy lust vanished from his face, replaced by a terrifying, glacial calm. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

"You are relentlessly ambitious," he bit out.

Obviously. A college student's only priority is securing the grade.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

The doorbell shattered the silence, followed immediately by a loud, muffled voice echoing through the wood. "Open up, sweetie! Mommy's here!"

Chapter 7

What? His mom? Panic spiked. My survival instincts flared, urging me to dive under the dining table.

Asher crouched down, trapping my gaze. Amusement danced in his dark eyes. "Muscle memory, Cleo? You make a habit of sneaking around with guys behind closed doors?"

The pounding on the door grew louder. I rolled my eyes, my pulse racing. "How exactly are you going to explain a girl in your apartment at night?"

His long fingers clamped around my bicep, hauling me up. "Explain what? You're here to kill the rumors."

Oh. I get it. He needed a beard. He wanted his mom to think he liked girls. Which meant He didn't. My brain spun out of control, connecting invisible dots.

The front door swung open. Asher's mom swept inside. She wore a flawlessly tailored, pearl-white pantsuit. The kind of aggressive haute couture that screamed, My blazer costs more than your four-year college tuition.

She ignored the shoe rack. Her eyes locked onto me, lighting up instantly. She marched across the hardwood, her Louboutin stilettos clicking a crisp rhythm.

She yanked me into a crushing hug. Holy shit. She smells expensive. A suffocating wave of custom Tom Ford perfume hit my nose. The kind of wealthy, elite fragrance where a single drop could pay my grocery bill for two months. "Oh, look at you! Absolutely gorgeous. Flawless skin, perfect eyes." She pulled back, gripping my cheeks. A massive, cold emerald ring pressed against my jaw as she tilted my head side to side. "Wait. You look so familiar."

I froze. I plastered on a sweet, innocent smile. "Hi, Mrs Asher's mom. I'm Cleo. I just have one of those faces. Super average."

She tapped her temple, her eyes widening. "I know! I saw you in Asher's art studio!"

Yikes. She definitely had the wrong girl. I couldn't even draw a stick figure. I avoided art buildings like the plague. But I kept my mouth shut. Just nod and smile.

Dinner turned into a chaotic interrogation. His mom possessed the social energy of a hurricane. It drained my social battery into the red.

"You need to eat, sweetie." She piled another massive scoop of braised short ribs onto my overflowing plate. "Eat up. If you like it, Asher can cook for you every single night."

Yeah hard pass.

"So, when are you two moving in together?"

I choked on a piece of beef, coughing violently into my napkin.

Asher let out a harsh, exasperated sigh. "Mom. We just started dating."

"How long?" she fired back.

"Three months," Asher replied without missing a beat.

"Birthday?"

"October tenth, twenty-oh-six."

"Hometown?"

"Seattle."

They volleyed the questions back and forth. A rapid-fire interrogation.

"What exactly do you like about her?"

"She's bold. Funny. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Relentless" Asher rattled off the list smoothly, his dark eyes finally flicking to mine.

A knowing smile spread across his mom's face. "Impressive. You memorized her resume perfectly."

Asher stabbed his fork into a piece of roasted potato. "Not as perfect as your private investigator's background check."

The woman never stopped talking. She extracted every detail of my life. My major. My zodiac sign. My parents' occupations. My apartment complex's HOA fees. An FBI interrogator could take notes from this woman.

I answered on autopilot, stealing glances at the kitchen. Asher stood at the sink, scrubbing the plates. The dark apron pulled tight across his broad shoulders, highlighting the lean muscle shifting beneath his shirt. Damn. He looked good.

Chapter 8

Mid-conversation, his mom smoothly pivoted. "By the way, Cleo, what's the sleeping arrangement tonight?"

I blinked. "Oh, I'm heading back to campus."

"Nonsense. It's pitch black outside. Too dangerous for a young girl." A sly, knowing smile crept across her perfect makeup. "Just stay here. I had Asher prep the guest room."

Before I could protest, Asher materialized from the kitchen, drying his massive hands on a towel. "Mom, the guest room sheets are musty. They need to go to the dry cleaners."

"Then she can just squeeze in with you." She waved a dismissive hand, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're dating. What's the big deal?"

I turned to solid stone.

Asher faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, a mask of perfect, icy indifference slammed into place. "Fine by me."

Fine by you?! My eyes blew wide. I shot him a frantic glare. What the hell are you doing?

He completely ignored my silent meltdown. "Get some sleep, Mom. I'm taking Cleo to my room."

A triumphant grin split her face. "That's more like it. Don't be shy, kids. Go to bed early. Don't stay up too late