Page 111 of Even Exchange

“No,” I say, unamused.

“Oh.” She pouts. “Thought it might be an apology.”

My eyes fly to her. “For what?”

“For pawning me off on your little friends,” she says with a smirk.

She’s relentless.

“How aboutyougivemean apology for almost ruining my relationship?” I say, tone low.

“Your relationship,” she scoffs, and my veins run hot. “You didn’t seem to care when she threw you at me in Miami.”

“That’s funny,” I say, taking a calming breath. “Because as far as I remember,shewas the one who ended up in my bed that night.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hannah huffs, signaling the bartender for a drink. “Just another guy blowing me off because of my dad.”She is delusional.“Can’t a girl have a little fun?”

“Fun?” I scoff, then lower my voice to a whisper. “Fun is not showing up naked in someone’s bed unsolicited.”

“It’s called the Naked Man. Ever heard of it?”

I blow out a breath. “How I Met Your Motheris one of the best sitcoms, so yeah. I’ve heard of it.”

“Okay, well, I was trying the Naked Man.”

“You’re supposed to do that after adate,” I remind her.

“So I skipped ahead a little. Sue me.” She swirls her drink with a thin straw. “I’m sick of being around all these ten-out-of-ten men and them not giving me the time of day because of who I’m related to. They’re all terrified of my dad, and I thought since I met youbeforeyou were his bitch, I might have a chance.”

I ignore her comment about me being her dad’s bitch because, well, to be honest, as long as he determines my playing time, I am. And that’s fine by me.

“Want my advice?” I say.

“Be my guest.” She takes a sip of her drink.

“Stop trying so hard. No guy wants a girl who stalks them.”

“I didn’tstalkyou,” she squeaks, mildly offended, and I raise my brows. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Our defensive line coach, Mateo Cruz, walks up, towering behind her. “Everything okay here?”

My stomach sinks. I hope he doesn’t have the wrong idea. Not trying to run side steps till I vomit. Hannah rolls her eyes. “Yes, Matty. Everything is fine.”

Two glasses of champagne are placed in front of me, and I retrieve them with haste. “Have a nice night.”

I make my way towards Charlotte, and her eyes—or rather, laser beams—are glued to mine. Setting the flutes down on the table, I take note of the fullness of it and the lack of privacy. The question in Charlotte’s eyes has me tugging her to stand and towards the dance floor. A string quartet is playing, and I twirl her to face me. Her one hand grips mine, the other around my neck. Our eyes meet, and I glide my opposite hand slowly down the soft silk of her dress to land on her lower back.She’s so beautiful.

“Speak your mind,” I tell her as the full dance floor surrounds us like a privacy wall.

“Hannah looks”—her mouth twists—“nice.”

“She looks fine.”

“Fine?” Charlotte scoffs. “She looks perfect.”

“Youlook perfect,” I say, tugging her body against mine. “She looks fine.”

“Don’t stroke my ego,” Charlotte sasses with furrowed brows. “She looked hot. Admit it.”

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