The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)
The Trade: Chapter 23

The weekend turns into a marathon of brain-crushing studying.

Between running endless drills on the field and immersing myself in the world of Victorian prose, I hardly see Jade. Even when we’re together, we’re drowning in books on her couch instead of drowning in each other.

By the time Thursday comes around, fatigue has claimed my body and mind both. Tomorrow looms like a dark cloud, the dreaded day of my Lit exam, but at least this will all be over then. I’m done living and breathing nothing but English literature and the damp scent of the field.

The grind is brutal, and whether it’ll pay off is anyone’s guess.

Jade’s engrossed in her own notes as I stretch my legs out and cross my ankles beside her. The weight of my textbook drops onto the coffee table like lead, an echo of my own exhaustion. “Hey, Jade?” I call out, letting my head fall back against the couch.

She makes a quiet sound, her eyes never leaving her notebook. “Yeah?”

A dry chuckle crawls up my throat as I close my eyes. “Do you think you’ll still be into me when I fail this class, lose my scholarship, and get kicked out of Dayton?”

Without missing a beat, she tosses back, “You’d still have a slim chance of getting drafted. So yeah, I think I would.”

“Wow.”

Her notebook snaps shut, and her warm hands cup my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her touch grounds me, an anchor in my sea of worries. “Theo, you’re not gonna fail.”

I’m drawn in by the conviction in her voice, the way her fingers gently trace the edges of my jaw. “What makes you so confident?”

“Well, first of all, because I believe in you.” The hint of a smile dances in her eyes, her hands slipping from my face to my lap. “And second, because you’re gonna be wearing my sweatshirt tomorrow.”

My gut clenches. “Sorry?”

She wrinkles her nose in response, a touch defensive. “I know you think it’s goofy. But you should really give it a shot.”

A sensation I can only describe as pure, unadulterated warmth spreads in my chest at her words. The fact that she’s willing to share her cherished good-luck charm with me isn’t goofy at all. It’s . . . really fucking special, actually.

As my surprise fades, my mind grasps at words, trying to express my appreciation. “Jade—”

“Please, for me?” She pushes out her bottom lip. “At the very least, you’ll be comfortable for your test. Plus, it’ll probably smell like me.”

My heart thuds against my chest. “You’d trust me with your magical sweatshirt?”

“Again, not magic . . . science. But yes, I trust you.”

A million reservations flood my mind. “What if I accidentally stain it, or lose it, or . . . something? I feel like it’s just too fucking precious for me.”

Her eye roll is accompanied by a playful scoff. “Oh, my God, there you go again with the dramatics. You can take care of a damn sweatshirt, Theo.”

“Okay, yeah. You’re right.” I suppress a smile, the corners of my mouth twitching. “I want to wear it.”

Her eyes brighten. “You do?”

“Of course. I’ve seen what that thing can do for others.”

A pleased sigh slips from her as her grip on my knee tightens in satisfaction. “I knew you’d come to the dark side sooner or later.”

“You’ve definitely turned me.” I brush my thumb against her soft shoulder, tracing the edge of her collarbone.

An excited twinkle lights up her eyes as she pulls back. “Ah, you should really put it on now. Then I can take a picture and send it to Ace.”

“Yeah, no. That’s where I draw the line.”

She bats her lashes at me, tugging at my resolve with a pretty pout. “Please, for me?”

“No amount of begging is gonna work on me.”

“Hmm, what about a hand job, then?”

“Oh, sweet Christ,” I sputter, choking on my own saliva.

“Is that a no?”

“You want to take a picture of me to send to your brother . . . in exchange for sexual favors?”

“I mean, when you put it like that . . . yes?”

“Sex is not currency, Jade.”

Her laughter echoes around the room, her eyes gleaming with unapologetic delight. “Aw yeah, I forgot. Sex is sacred to you, isn’t it?”

“It is when it’s with you,” I tell her, my words laced with sincerity.

The grin on her face spreads wide and bright. “God, you’re corny.”

“And you like it.”

“Nahh, but I do like you. So much.”

Her words wash over me, sparking an affectionate glow in my chest. “And I like you . . . enough to let you take a picture of me in that ratty-ass sweatshirt. For free,” I clarify, plucking at the end of her curls. “No handy necessary.”

She slides closer to me now, her hand inching even further up my thigh. “Mm, you’re so generous,” she coos, her fingers toying with the waistband of my sweats. “So thoughtful. And oh, so—” Her voice drops to a sultry whisper, her hand slipping beneath my boxers. “—dramatic.”

Oh, fuck.

Her delicate fingers envelop me, a perfect contrast to the raw heat pooling in my gut. She moves, her touch fluid, heavy over the ridges and contours of my cock. A primitive groan slips past my gritted teeth as she cradles my aching balls in her free hand.

My hips jerk upward instinctively, seeking more of the friction. “Ah, shit,” I gasp, my composure slipping as she teases the sensitive underside of my shaft with a flick of her nail.

God bless my girlfriend; I don’t think a hand job has ever felt this good.

In a matter of minutes, I’m completely undone. I mean, full-on groaning, rocking my hips into her hand as she moves beside me. And then, she pulls my boxers down and takes me into her mouth. The sudden shift in sensation, the heat, the pressure—it’s enough to make my world spin.

When I finally come, my cock is buried deep inside her throat.

I’m still catching my breath as she swipes her thumb across her bottom lip. “You owe me a picture,” she says simply.

“You can have a hundred pictures,” I mumble. “Whatever you want.”

“Mm, I like the sound of that.”

She leans back, plucking her discarded journal off the coffee table. With a casual flick of her wrist, she starts writing again, as if that little interruption never even happened.

It’s in this moment, panting and spent on her couch, that I’m once again reminded how un-fucking-believable my girlfriend is. Not to be dramatic, but I think I’m the luckiest bastard that’s ever lived.

Yesterday was finally the day of reckoning.

I tackled that exam with everything inside of me and, by the end, felt as though I had, if not hit a home run, at least managed a decent hit. It wasn’t so much the content itself that posed a challenge—Jade and I had drilled that thoroughly—but the translation of thoughts into words, the articulation of arguments under time pressure that really tested me.

But I took a deep breath, did my best, and now all that’s left is to let the chips fall where they may. Or maybe, to let Jade’s magical sweatshirt do its thing.

Ah, that sweatshirt. When I pulled it over my head, I felt a surge of belief so strong I could almost see the A+ on my test paper. Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the sweatshirt but the entire sentiment it represented: Jade’s faith in me.

Her words of encouragement, her unflinching belief in my potential—they were like an adrenaline shot straight to my heart.

Empowered by her belief, I felt invincible . . . which is why I find myself knocking on her door now, halfway into my gear for the upcoming scrimmage. She greets me there, a picture of adorable confusion, her cheeks flushed, my loaner jersey hanging off her body.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to come see you before the game,” I say, shifting on my feet, holding up her sweatshirt. “And also, I wanted to return this.”

Accepting it from my hands, she balls the fabric up against her chest. “Thank you, babe.”

I knit my brows together. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just . . . frustrated. I’m trying to finish this fucking article before the game, but I keep wishing I could write about that instead.”

I grab her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Jade, if you want it bad enough, we’ll make it happen.”

Her lips pout as she asks, “How?”

“I’ll kick Garrett’s ass, that’s how.” I can’t help but smile at her shocked expression. “No, but seriously. Stand your ground. Write about the scrimmage anyway. Get interviews that outshine Liam’s. Keep proving yourself. Any good editor would recognize your talent.”

“You think so?”

“Jade, you’re an incredible writer, passionate about the game. You’ve told me repeatedly that you believe in me. Well, I believe in you, too. I know you can show Garrett what you’re capable of.”

“Thank you.” She gives me a genuine smile, a light squeeze to my hand. “I love how you always go after what you want, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

Barely suppressing a smirk, I cock a brow. “Oh, is that what I do?”

“Yes, you’re like the most straightforward person I know. If I didn’t know you better, I’d probably think you were just a cocky asshole. But I know it’s not like that.”

There’s a grin playing on my lips, uncontrollable, drawn out by her admission. “Yeah? What’s it like, then?”

“Honest,” she says simply, her dark eyes locked onto mine. “I guess you’re just . . . honest. It’s a huge turn-on for me.”

The sentiment, so genuine and sweet, hits me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless. “My . . . honesty is a turn-on?” I manage to choke out.

“Yes. I think that’s the main reason why I never went for athletes before you. I was always worried they’d just try to play games.”

“Oh.” I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to wince. “You weren’t worried about that with me?”

“Actually, I was at first,” she confesses, eyes downcast, a touch of reservation in her tone. “I’ve seen the way Ace treated girls all my life. Family comes first for him, then football, and then his teammates. He can barely make time to date, so when he does, he likes to keep things interesting. Meaning . . . he tends to string girls along and act like they’re disposable.”

She stares up at me, trust and reassurance reflected in her eyes. “I thought you might treat me the same way if we gave things a shot. But time and again, you’ve shown me I have nothing to worry about.”

I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck. This entire time, she’s been seeing me as the most honest guy in her life, when I’ve been hiding the truth of the Trade from her. I can’t let this lie continue a second longer. I owe her that much.

“Jade—” I begin, bracing myself.

“I know, I’m sorry for placing my doubts on you right before the game. But I do trust you now, okay?” Her words are like a salve to my conscience, but they also deepen my guilt. “Besides, you’re about to go kick ass against Coastal.”

The scrimmage. Right. I blink, the sudden reminder shoving me back into reality. There’s no time for confession now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen. It has to.

“I’ll be looking for you in the stands,” I tell her, my voice slightly choked.

“I’ll be there to cheer you on, front and center.”

I’m taken aback by the promise in her voice, and it further cements my resolution. After the game, I’ll tell her everything. No secrets. No barriers between us.

“Jade,” I say, my voice heavy with an emotion I can’t quite place.

She looks at me, a crease between her brows, concern etching her features. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for believing in me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Her frown deepens, confusion painting her beautiful face. “But you—”

“I gotta go now,” I cut her off with a quick peck to the lips and check the time on my phone. There’s a game to play, a crowd to wow, and a girl to prove myself to. “I’ll see you after we win.”

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