The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)
The Trade: Chapter 3

Spring Term

I’m a third-year student retaking Foundations of English Literature during his second semester. If that wasn’t bad enough, the fact that I need a writing tutor really cements the whole thing.

I’m officially a fuckup, and I can’t even afford to pay the guy properly.

Thankfully, my new tutor accepts currency in the form of dining hall points and coffee cart pastries. I realize it’s a brand-new level of pathetic, but I’m willing to exploit my athletic scholarship to the fullest degree.

While the cashier rings up a few cherry tarts and a cheese croissant for Mr. Tutor, my eyes drift to the girl standing beside me. She idly scrolls through her phone, and I take a second to check her out.

She’s tall, leggy, with glowy skin and braided hair. Now, I’m not usually the type to ogle girls in public, but damn.

“Hey, I’m West.” I pause for a beat, waiting for her to glance up and meet my gaze. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at the Grind before.”

“Not interested,” she immediately fires back.

Well, okay, then. I guess I can appreciate that response. She seems like a girl who knows exactly what she wants and exactly what she doesn’t. It’s no skin off my back.

I mean, it’s not every day that someone turns me down. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I know that most women find me decently attractive. Either they’re primarily interested in my looks . . . or they just want me because I play football.

“Hey, man. Great last season!” I tilt my head toward the sound of the unfamiliar male voice, stiffening as he punctuates the compliment with a sharp pat to my shoulder. “You know, you guys deserved to beat the Ospreys this year.”

“Thanks, man.” I nod, holding back a grimace. “We had a great time out there, but I’m definitely looking forward to a rematch next season.”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

I suppress a wince as he grabs his to-go cup and turns to leave. While it’s nice to be appreciated by a fellow student, I’m not sure why they always feel the need to put their hands on me in some way or another. I’ve suffered through more than enough random pats on the back, fist bumps, high fives, and the occasional chest stroking to top it all off.

It’s a bit invasive, excessive, even for a guy like me who thrives on physical affection.

“So, you’re on the football team.” The leggy brunette slides her phone into her back pocket, giving me a blatant once-over.

“I am.” I blink, put off by her sudden change in interest.

It’s ridiculous, but I suppose I should know the score by now. I wouldn’t say this campus is necessarily riddled with jersey chasers, but there’s a select few who always manage to make their presence known—girls who are only interested in the potential money, fame, and popularity that comes with bagging an athlete.

I usually wouldn’t complain, but today, it’s just kind of pissing me off.

“My name’s Aaliyah,” she says, her voice sickly sweet. “Would you want to grab coffee sometime?”

“You know, I think I’ll pass.”

She scoffs. I hold back an eye roll. Then I happily swipe my pastries off the counter without another word and head toward the library. Balancing my snack haul with expert finesse, I stroll across the quad to make my way over to North Campus.

It’s undoubtedly my favorite place to study. Mostly because there are no arbitrary rules about not talking, or not eating, or not . . . breathing the right fucking way. Somehow, I don’t think I could survive an entire study session with my mouth closed.

Once I’m inside, I glance around in search of Mr. Tutor. I’m still a few minutes early, but if I’m lucky, I might just spot those familiar Coke-bottle glasses of his. Instead, I’m pleasantly surprised by the sight of my favorite redhead.

As soon as Shannon catches my eye, she waves me over with a wide grin. The seat beside her is empty, but an unfamiliar girl sits across from her at the same table. Books and notes are spread out evenly between them.

I slide in beside O’Connor, wrapping an arm around the back of her chair as she turns to face me. “Hey there,” I say, lips curving up. “It’s been a while.”

“Sure has.” The smile on her face is pretty, poised, and polite as I drink her in.

“I haven’t seen you since last term,” I say. “I heard you found a new apartment.”

“I did. Actually, this is my new roommate, Jade.” She gestures across me to her study partner. “She’s also a junior this year.”

“Hi.” Her roommate gives me a small wave and a tiny smile, so I take a moment to soak in her appearance. She has shoulder-length chocolate curls with sun-kissed skin. The top half of her body is mostly hidden beneath a baggy sweatshirt. I suppose she has a cute face—heart-shaped with these big, bold brows—but nothing else about her features really stands out to me.

At least, not when she’s sitting across from O’Connor.

“This is my friend West,” Shannon says, completing the introduction. “You know what? I totally didn’t even think of this before, but he’s actually on the football team here at Dayton.”

I give her an odd look before nodding my confirmation.

“Jade’s a huge football fan,” Shannon says. “She’s got posters of the Bobcats all over the apartment. Did you know, her br—”

“Shan,” Jade interrupts, shaking her head, eyes wide, as if to convey some secret signal.

“Anyway.” Shannon awkwardly clears her throat. “Well, yeah, sorry . . . um, what I was trying to say is that Jade loves football.”

Right. I’m sure Jade really loves football, just like every other supposed superfan at this damn school. In fact, I bet she’s been to each and every game just for pure love of the sport.

“So, you’ve seen me out on the field before?” I ask, trying to mask my skepticism.

“Maybe.” Jade shrugs, squinting her eyes to study my face. “What’s your last name?”

“Uh, it’s Westman-Cooke.”

She cocks one brow. “Your name is West Westman?”

“No,” I snort out my denial. “West’s a nickname.”

“Right.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, a sudden look of concentration on her face. “So, what’s your first name, Westman-Cooke?”

“Theodore . . . uh, Theo.”

“Oh, that’s a nice name.” She gives me an easy smile, but I can already tell another question sits on the tip of her tongue, so I wave a dismissive hand.

“Does everyone call you West, or is it mainly a teammate thing?”

“Everyone.”

“Right.” She purses her lips, nods once. “Makes sense. So, what position do you play, West?”

This fucking girl and her endless stream of questions. “Running back.”

“You any good, then?”

“I’m on a full-ride scholarship at a D1 school.” The corner of my mouth quirks up into a cocky grin. “You tell me.”

“Good argument.” Her brow lifts again. “Any plans to join the NFL?”

“Yes,” I say, working over the muscles of my jaw.

“Thinking about declaring early?”

She fires off these questions like they mean absolutely nothing. Like I haven’t spent the last two months agonizing over the prospect . . . as if Coach didn’t think the notion was just some big fucking joke to everyone but me.

I turn my attention back to the redheaded cheerleader beside me. The girl I came over to talk to in the first place . . . before I got sidetracked by this nosy little mouse. Yeah, that’s what she reminds me of—a squeaky mouse who can’t be bothered to mind her own business.

I grit my teeth, fighting back my rising temper. Little mouse is Shannon’s friend, after all. “Where’d you even find this girl, Shan?”

“I told you.” Shannon narrows her eyes, clearly put out by my sour attitude. “She’s my new roommate.”

Right. Mousy’s just her roommate, not her friend.

“Must be nice living with a jersey chaser,” I half-heartedly mutter.

“Excuse me?” The three syllables hit like a strong wind that blows through the room, freezing everything in its path. I turn back to Jade, her dark eyes sparked with a flare of annoyance, cheeks flushed with indignation. “Sorry, Shannon,” she stammers, obviously flustered, “I just remembered . . . I need to go find a book for class.”

She doesn’t wait for any sort of response, pushing her chair back with a loud, grating scrape against the linoleum floor. With a flicker of her dark curls, she disappears among the bookshelves, leaving an uneasy silence in her wake.

“Why are you being so rude?” Shannon’s voice jolts me out of my trancelike state. She punctuates her words with a light shove against my shoulder, a playful gesture that contradicts the serious undertone of her words.

“You’re right.” I sigh, rubbing at my temples. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the best mood.”

She pauses for a moment, her lips pursed in a thoughtful line. Then, with a good-natured roll of her eyes, she waves me off. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” she says, effectively shutting down any lingering awkwardness.

“Yeah.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, nibbling on the soft flesh. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting an interview in the library.”

“That’s actually kind of funny,” she says with a giggle, lip twitching as she struggles to contain her laughter. “Jade’s a reporter for the Daily. She probably just got herself into interviewer mode without even thinking about it.”

“Yeah? Well, shit . . . now I really feel like a dick.”

“You should,” she insists, pinning me with a harsh glare. “Jade’s really cool. Actually, now that I think about it, you guys kind of have a lot in common.”

“I’m sure we do.” I shift course, pushing aside the flare of guilt burning in my stomach. “So, you finally did it, huh? Moved out of the Spirit House once and for all?”

Her face brightens. “Yes. It feels so good to be free.”

“Free of Cassidy, you mean?”

She laughs again, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Cass is fine, West.”

“Sure she is.”

“You know, you never told me your side of things. You and I have talked a few times since you two broke up, but you never actually mentioned what happened.”

“I didn’t break up with Cass,” I clarify. “We were never together.”

“Oh, that’s not what she told people.”

“What exactly did she tell people?”

“She said you wanted to be exclusive, but she didn’t.” A sweet smirk twists her expression. “Then you got angry and called her a slut in front of the whole football team.”

“God, Shan.” I give her a humorless snort. “I think you know me better than that. I mean, come on . . . you really believed that bullshit for the past two months?”

“Not really.”

“Look . . . we were never really together,” I adamantly repeat. “Cassidy was also hooking up with other guys on the team, you know? I told her I knew about it . . . but I was trying to have a private conversation. She was the one who started shouting at me in front of Cam. Which, by the way, he was the only other guy around us at the time. Whole team, my ass.”

“That sounds a little more reasonable.” She smiles, and a cute little dimple appears on her left cheek.

“Honestly, Shan?”

“What? You never gave me the lowdown.”

“It’s kind of an unspoken rule—don’t talk about hookups with the girl you’re interested in.”

“West . . .”

“Shannon,” I counter.

“You’re not interested in me.”

“I’m not?” Surprise laces my words, edged with silent laughter.

“I know you, West,” she says. “I know the type of girl you usually go for, and it’s not me.”

“Yeah, no, you’re definitely my type,” I insist, running a ragged hand through my hair. “I think you’re just about everyone’s type.”

I let my gaze wander, unabashed, tracing the contours of her body. She’s undeniably attractive. Gifted with curves in the right places, her skin is a smooth canvas scattered with cute little freckles. And her lips, pouty and inviting, punctuate her soft features perfectly.

“Ohh, I see.” Her giggle is lighthearted, a faint blush filling her cheeks. “So, when you say you’re interested . . . you mean you want to sleep with me.”

I raise both brows.

“West . . . we’re friends.”

“Yeah.” I manage to stifle a full-fledged grin. “And I’d like to stay friends.”

“And you’d like to sleep with me.”

“Shannon.”

“Cass would kill me,” she argues.

“And?”

“And . . . it’s not gonna happen.”

She shifts in her seat, clearly off-put by my sudden forward approach. She’s not a shy person by any means, but I doubt sweet Shannon is used to blatant propositions like this one.

“Okay, if that’s your final answer.”

“That’s my answer for the foreseeable future.”

I lift one shoulder. “Still friends, then?”

“Of course.” A snort of disbelief escapes her, letting me know that I haven’t overstepped my boundaries yet. Hell, maybe she’d actually be interested if it weren’t for the whole Cass thing. Or maybe she’d be interested if I just gave it a little more time.

“Fair enough,” I say, glancing at the clock behind her head. “I need to head to a meeting with my tutor, but can you tell your new roommate sorry for me?”

“You can just tell her yourself next time you see her.”

“Yeah, alright, then.”

“Later, West.” She gives me a shy smile, tugs her lower lip between her teeth, and a soft heat rises from the base of her neck all the way to the apples of her cheeks.

Well, there you have it. She may be saying she’s not interested, but her body language—not to mention that sweet, simmering blush—just taught me two crucial things. First, the door isn’t fully closed on a night with O’Connor. And second, if I want a real shot, I better find a way to make things right with her squeaky little mouse of a roommate.

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