Page 77 of Even Exchange

He smiles with pursed lips. “If it’s okay with you?”

My lips smash together, stomach begging to do that somersault thing again. “I’ll allow it.”

“Good.” He pulls me closer and plants a kiss on the top of my head as we reach the practice fields. “I’ll see you later for lunch, yeah?”

“I’ll be waving at you from the kids table.”

He chuckles, our mouths inches apart. “You make me feel ancient.”

“Didn’t you realize we’re in an age gap romance?” I tease.

He huffs another laugh, his breath hitting my lips. “We’re in aromance?”

My mouth opens and closes as I struggle for a reply. My hand grazes my pocket, reminding me of the surprise I have for him. “Close your eyes and open your hand.”

“What?”

“Please?” He does as instructed, and I retrieve the tiny red train whistle out of my pocket and place it in his palm. “Okay, open.”

He looks down at it and laughs. “Oh god. I can still hear this sound in my sleep.”

“I wanted you to have it for good luck on your first full day coaching,” I say, chest spreading with warmth.Man, is the sun beating down on us today…“It’s not acornicello, but it can ward off the scary things.”

He grins ear to ear, tapping his forehead to mine. “Cute. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,babe.” I smirk, backing away and spinning around to join practice.

Every girl on my squad is staring as I walk up.

They have no shame.

I toss my cheer duffle on the sideline. “Good morning.”

“When didthathappen?” Cami, one of our captains, quips.

“Does it matter?” I ask with furrowed brows.

She gives me an indecipherable look, then releases a breath in a huff. “I suppose not.”

The other girls all busy themselves with tying their shoes or whispering to each other.

“Morning, baby cakes,” Stella says, pulling her arm over her chest in a stretch.

Andi just winks at me.

“Alright, girls,” Coach Landry, our cheer coach, shouts out. “Let’s get to work. Cami, you’re in charge of today’s practice.”

“Great,” I mumble under my breath. Well, I’m screwed.

The sun is relentless. Cami has us do a three-mile run and a variety of exercises that would make even the football players gasp for air. The one thing I do admire about Cami: she doesn’t treat this like some little performance. She makes sure we areathletes.

“You can do better than that, Benson!” Cami shouts as I do my seven-hundredth jumping jack, struggling for oxygen. Today’s workout is harder than usual. Maybe due to the lack of sleep from worrying if my little arrangement with Noah will be believable.

“Now spot run. Go!” Cami instructs, pacing the line, inspecting us all as we jog in place.

The humid air has me huffing, and a bit of nausea washes over me. I should have eaten more for breakfast.

“Faster!” she shouts in my face.

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