The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)
The Trade: Chapter 26

West has been acting all shades of strange since yesterday afternoon. After our little bathroom tryst—where he bent me over, claimed me, left me breathless—he’s been oddly silent, especially after I dropped the news about the article.

Back at his place, he plastered on a smile, brushing off my concerns with a casual, “I just need to sleep it off.” He chalked it up to postgame fatigue, but there was a tension in his voice that gave me pause.

We slid into his bed together, my body finding its rightful place against him. He held me close, wrapping me up in his strong arms. But despite the comfort I felt, there was a rigidity to the way he held me. Something was gnawing at him, keeping him on edge.

His reassurances were earnest when I offered myself to him later, and he turned me down. “I want you. Always,” he said, his voice a tender whisper against the shell of my ear. “I’m just too tired right now.” But even though his words sounded sincere, they felt foreign.

His behavior was far from the West I’m used to. He’s never turned down sex before, backed away from the raw connection that’s always sparked between us.

Not to mention there was something he’d been wanting to “talk” about. He’d seemed eager, insistent even, about discussing something once we reached the privacy of his place. But once we were comfortably nestled into his bed, he conveniently forgot all about it.

And then there was this morning. Apparently, he was in a hurry to get back to his “studies,” even though it’s a fucking Sunday. His big exam is finally over, and so is the scrimmage.

He’s been more than vocal about how much he missed me over the last couple of weeks, and now that he finally has some time on his hands, he’s choosing to bury himself in his books. It doesn’t add up.

Is he upset about the article? My jealousy? Or is there something else, an entirely different reason, lurking behind his strange demeanor?

If he would just communicate, tell me what’s on his mind, I wouldn’t be stuck playing this guessing game. But the West I’m dealing with right now is a mystery—a puzzle I’m desperately trying to solve, piece by confusing piece.

Lost in my head, the sound of the apartment door creaking open finally rips me back to reality. It’s almost noon, and Shannon’s just now making her way inside.

“Hey, Jade!” she says, her cheerful voice echoing off our thin walls. She flings her keys onto the kitchen counter and moves toward me, settling down on the couch.

“Hey,” I say, kicking my feet onto the coffee table. “Did you stay at the Spirit House last night?”

“Yeah, we all got a little too sloppy,” she says, a sheepish grin on her face. “Did you and West end up skipping the party?”

“Nah, we just dipped out a little early. He was . . . tired, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” I say, a sigh escaping me. “He’s just been acting a little weird lately.”

“Weird how?”

“Like . . . tense?” I shrug helplessly, running my fingers through my hair, anxiety knotting in my stomach. “We, um, we had sex at the party last night.”

“At the party?” Her eyes blow wide. “Damn, okay.”

I look down at my hands. “Yeah, weak moment on my part. West was getting all this attention, and I was feeling a little insecure.”

“Okay, that tracks.” Her face softens with sympathy. “Jersey chasers always pop up after a big win.”

I groan, resting my head back on the couch. “It was definitely eye-opening.”

“So, you think he’s mad about that?” she asks, puzzled. “That you were feeling jealous?”

“I don’t know, really. He might be upset about me writing an article on the banquet.”

“Why would that upset him?”

“Maybe he just wants me to be there for him and not for myself.”

My brow furrows at the realization. The banquet is a team event, after all. The premise of me attending should be to celebrate West and all his achievements, but somehow, I’ve made the night about myself.

“That doesn’t really seem like West, though. Maybe he’s just in a weird mood?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, a sinking feeling creeping into my chest. “What are you wearing to the banquet, by the way?”

“Cam says it’s black-and-white themed, so I’ll probably pick a white dress out of my closet. I assume you’ll be wearing black.”

“Duh.” I give her a tiny smile, my spirits lifting slightly. Aside from my favorite sweatshirt, most of my other wardrobe is black—it’s practically my brand at this point. “Are you excited to go with Cam?”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun. He’s a good friend.”

I nudge her with my elbow, waggling my brows. “A friend, huh?”

She snorts. “Yes, just a friend.”

“So, you’re not interested in anything more?” I ask, this time serious. “West says Cam’s a relationship kind of guy. So, he must not be a total player.”

“I figured, but I’m not really getting any vibes from him. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

“Shan, he’d be a fool not to.” I shake my head, casting her a reassuring smile. “You’re, like, everyone’s type.”

“That’s sweet.” She returns my smile, her eyes soft. “But I don’t know, I don’t think Cam’s the guy for me. Guys our age just seem so immature.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say, although West is my one and only exception. “Maybe we should find you an older guy, then? What about a professor?”

She visibly cringes, nose scrunching up. “Jesus. That’d be all sorts of fucked-up.”

“Okay, maybe not a professor.” I stretch my arms over the back of the couch, nudging her on the shoulder in the process. “How about a TA? They’re totally fair game.”

She gives me a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see what happens. I’m not focused on finding a relationship right now, anyways.”

“Really? I thought you said that’s what you wanted.”

“I thought so, too.” She bites her lip, lost in thought. “Maybe my priorities have changed.”

“Well, if they have, just let me know if you need a wingwoman.” Not that she would ever need someone else’s help to secure a man. Shannon is the kind of girl who lights up the room, not only with her beauty but with her kindness and humor. She’s clever, brave, and fiercely independent. Any man she chooses will be more than lucky to have her. “I got your back.”

“Thanks, Jade. I know you do.”

As the days pass, they’re filled with an unnerving silence from West. His brief texts and clipped calls offer no clue into his thoughts, only a continuous stream of vague commitments and “last-minute agenda items.”

Whatever the hell that means.

And so, the days turn into a week. A week where the only substantial conversation we have revolves around the upcoming banquet—our outfits, the location, the expected attendees—anything but the thoughts trapped inside his head.

Even tonight, he insisted on helping Cam with the setting up, leaving Shannon and me to navigate our way to the banquet alone. It’s not that we’re helpless, but we did spend a ridiculous amount of time primping and preening for this event.

Shannon looks like a heavenly vision in white, her fiery red hair cascading in soft waves across an open back. My dress is a little more understated, black but still elegant and classic. It clings to my body in all the right places. And honestly, I’m excited for West to see me wearing it.

Admittedly, this is a much more refined version of me than he’s used to. A touch fancier than my usual jeans and well-loved sweatshirt. But somehow, no matter what I’m wearing, West still finds me irresistible.

It’s nearly six o’clock by the time Shannon and I pull up in front of the Gaia Hotel. Apparently, Cam picked this location because of the beautiful outdoor gardens. He called it a “welcome clash of green amongst a sea of black and white.”

Seems he’s taken the role of party planner quite seriously.

As Shannon hands the keys to the valet, I notice the guys waiting to greet us at the entrance. A few minutes of compliments ensue before Cam, on a mission, loops his arm through Shannon’s and leads her through the grand double doors.

And now, it’s just West and me—alone together for the first time since the scrimmage night.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, his gaze slowly dragging across my body.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “You look great, too.”

And he really, truly does.

His hair is swept back to one side, just lightly gelled in an effortless sort of way. He’s wearing a nice tailored black suit, with a matching undershirt and tie. His sun-kissed skin and dark hair perfectly complement the all-black ensemble.

“Let’s head inside,” he says, offering his elbow. “Cam did a fucking awesome job setting this all up. You gotta see it.”

I graze my fingertips along his thick forearm, gently wrapping my hand around him. “Hold on a sec.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “What’s up?”

“I just . . . I missed you this week.”

“I missed you, too. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop.”

My heart flutters. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” He laughs softly, a hand moving to my waist. “You’re always on my mind, Jade.”

“And you’re always on mine.”

His grip tightens around my waist as he pulls me closer, his other hand cradling my jaw. He leans in, capturing my lips in a sweet yet passionate kiss. I lose myself in him, his taste, his touch, everything about this moment feels so right.

Finally, he pulls away, a devilish grin playing on his lips. “Okay, now that’s settled, we can go inside.”

During the next ninety minutes, the banquet is a rush of tasty hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, and conversation. In between, I scribble a few quick notes, hoping it’ll be enough to flesh out my article. Still, I’m not stressing too much over it—I trust in my ability to impress Garrett, and the interviews are sure to be the heart of the story anyway.

As we move on to dinner, West and I are nestled at a round table with three other couples. Shannon and Cam, of course, are part of our little congregation, along with Danny, another housemate of theirs, and his girlfriend, Sofia. The last couple consists of Shannon’s friend Emmy and a third football player, whose name I can’t quite recall.

We’re all served a three-course dinner, which is absolutely delicious. In fact, everything about this night has been perfect so far. The entire time, I find myself showering Cam with compliments. The decor, the food, the seamless flow of events—he’s really outdone himself.

As we scrape up the last morsels from our plates, Coach Rodriguez takes the stage. “Hi, everyone,” he announces into the mic, his voice washing over the room. “Thank you all for coming out to celebrate the team. I thought we’d take advantage of everyone still being seated.”

His words stir a wave of anticipation, conversations fade into a lull as all heads turn toward the stage. After expressing gratitude to our banquet planners, Cam and Vance, he delves into a series of awards, ranging from Outstanding Leadership to Best GPA to Most Improved Player.

And as he rattles off the names, I manage to recognize about half, thanks to the handful of games I’ve attended.

And then, the “Solid Rock” awards are announced. “This award goes out to the most solid, consistent, and dependable players of each position,” Coach elaborates. The familiar names roll off his tongue—Noah Elliot, Theodore Westman-Cooke, Treyvon Johnson, Robert Graham, and Morgan Hughes.

West’s fingers tighten around mine under the table, a silent signal before he strides up to the stage to collect his award. I join the applause, my heart thumping like a proud drum in my chest.

When he returns, I lean into his side, my words whispered for his ears only. “Congrats, baby. You deserve it.”

He offers a soft “Thank you,” his hand settling comfortably on my thigh.

Once the coach concludes, the banquet comes back to life with chatter, music, and the bar’s renewed popularity. Most of our table companions scatter to grab drinks or join other groups.

“So, do you think you could introduce me to some of the other award winners?” I ask him, noting down the last few names. “I’d love to get an interview.”

“Sure,” he says, a touch of tension in his voice. “No problem.”

Concern prickles at the back of my mind. “Is everything okay?” I ask, placing my journal back in my bag. “If I’m bothering you with my work, I can put it aside for a while.”

He gently squeezes my knee. “Nothing you do bothers me, Jade.”

While that may be true, something is clearly off with him. I can see it in the way he looks at the table, shoulders drooped. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m just trying to get through this night.”

“Get through it?” I wrinkle my nose. “You just won an award. I figured you’d be excited.”

“No, it’s not—” He’s quiet for a moment, then, “I just—I need some air.”

I offer him an understanding smile, rubbing his bicep gently. “We could go out to the gardens?”

He nods, rising from his chair. “Yeah, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I could go with . . .” I trail off, bewildered as he rushes off alone. “Well, alrighty, then.”

With West making his hasty exit, my focus shifts back to our table, where Emmy is sitting by herself, phone practically glued to her hand. “Hey, girl,” I offer, trying to keep my tone light. “Where’s your date?”

Her response is a soft sigh as she glances up from her screen. “He’s over there, hitting it off with some other guy’s date,” she says with a roll of her eyes. I follow her gaze to find the man in question, making himself cozy with someone who is decidedly not Emmy.

“Oh, I see,” I say carefully, studying her expression. “Are you two . . . together?”

She shakes her head, letting out a dry laugh. “Hardly know the guy. I came because Shannon told me she would be here, too. I mean, I don’t mind him not sticking around . . . I halfway expected it, honestly. But what I didn’t expect is for him to go flirt with everyone else.”

My brows furrow in sympathy, a comforting reply half-formed on my lips when someone interrupts. “Hey, you’re Jade, right?” The voice is masculine, familiar, but I can’t place it immediately.

When I turn to the source, there’s a random guy now filling West’s vacated seat. “Oh, hey,” I say, offering a polite smile. I glance back to Emmy, but her wandering date has already returned. “Yeah, I’m Jade. Have we met?”

The new guy grins, running a hand through his hair as he jogs my memory. “We watched a UFC fight together once. I’m Remi Miller.”

Recognition flickers. “Oh, right. Green hat,” I say, a hint of amusement in my voice.

“Huh?”

I wave his confusion away with a laugh. “Never mind. Enjoying the banquet?”

“Yeah, it’s been great. My date’s off having a chat with my teammates, and I saw you sitting here, so . . .”

Glancing around the table, I note that Emmy and her date have vacated as well. Miller and I are the last and only ones here. “West went to get some air.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He slings an arm over the back of my chair, making himself comfortable. “So, heard you and Shannon are roommates.”

“Yes, we are,” I say cautiously. “She’s awesome.”

His interest seems genuine as he leans in closer. “How’d you guys meet?”

“At a camp last summer. We hit it off right away.”

“That’s cool,” he says with a light chuckle. “Must be fun living together.”

“We do have a good—” I’m cut off as he places a hand on my thigh, his fingers brushing against my knee. My words stutter to a halt as my skin prickles under his touch.

“Miller,” I manage to force out, my voice icy cold.

He grins at me, leaning back in his chair. “Call me Remi.”

“Remi,” I snap, my frustration simmering. “You’re aware that I’m here with West, right? We’re a couple.”

His smirk is infuriating, the grip on my knee tightening. “I doubt he’d mind.”

“Well, I’m certain he would,” I shoot back, pushing his hand away and sliding my chair back with a screech. Without another word, I stalk off, leaving Miller behind in my search for West.

God, what a fucking asshole.

I’m seething as I head outside, my mind a whirl of indignation. I mean, there are boundaries, aren’t there? Isn’t there some unspoken rule that you don’t hit on a teammate’s girlfriend? Apparently not at this damn banquet.

As I step into the quiet solitude of the garden, I hope West is done with his “air break.” The last thing I want is to spend any more time alone at this party, especially with Miller lurking around like a little rat on the prowl.

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