Page 9 of Even Exchange

Okay :(

See you tomorrow for brunch?

Jonathan

Definitely

Me

Love you

Jonathan

Love you too

“No vodka tonight?” Noah asks, pulling my gaze from the phone to his piercing green eyes.

“Never. Again.” I glare, and he laughs. After the Halloween shit show, I swore off the clear poison for life. A not-so-fun fact Noah is well aware of considering that poison is the reason we became friends. And when Noah Caruso adds you to his roster, you’re set. He’s the guy you can call foranything.At any time of day.

Not that I ever have.

Asking Noah for help would only perpetuate my boyfriend’s unnecessary insecurities, which is why we mainly interact during group activities like parties, games, and events.

Jonathan almost spontaneously combusted when he heard Noah would be on my spring break trip, but our relationship is built on trust, so he agreed I could go.

“Enjoy our performance?” Noah asks.

“I definitely didn’t have CBU Offensive Line Eras Tour on my spring break bingo card, that’s for sure.”

He grins ear to ear. “It was good, right?”

“As ifyouneed your ego stroked,” I toss back with raised brows.

“Come on,” he presses, placing his arm loosely on the back of my bar stool. He’s not remotely close to making contact with my skin, yet it tingles with awareness. “Admit you enjoyed it.”

“Fine.” I smile sweetly, shifting in place. “It wasalmostas good as Elijah’s serenade to Sophia.” He gave a very drunk, adorable, actually impressive rendition of “Your Man” by Josh Turner, and they disappeared immediately after.

I love the stability of a long-term relationship but can’t deny there are times I envy their obsession. Their need for each other no matter where and when.

The most spontaneous Jonathan and I get is when we have sex before date night instead of after.

“Almost?” Noah places his free hand on his chest. “Our choreographed routine totally topped Elijah’s solo.” Another song begins, and he bends to my ear so our conversation doesn’t get lost in the loudness of the room. “Admit it, Charlotte.”

Charlotte.

No one calls me Charlotte. Not even my parents. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been Charlie Benson. My mom even wrote it that way on paperwork, which is why when I was fourteen, I ended up in the boys’ cabins at summer camp. They were thrilled, but unfortunately for them, it was short-lived when the cabin counselor walked in and asked why the hell I was there.

“Whatever, NoahGabriel,” I counter, sipping my wine, the liquid calming my nerves.

What’s with the nerves?

“How’d Nash’s Taekwondo competition go last weekend?” he asks, referring to my six-year-old brother.

“It went well,” I say, beaming. “He got a participation trophy and everything.”

“That’s great.” Noah lets out a warm laugh. “And Denny’s gymnastics meet?” he asks, now referring to my other sibling, and Nash’s twin sister.

Damn, does this man pay attention.

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