Page 137 of The Trade

“Garrett, no,” I say, my tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You don’t justintuitsomething like that.”

“Okay, so you’re declining?”

“No, I’m not. Just hold on one second.” I push the heel of my palm against West’s knee, seeking his grounding presence, his silent support. “What would this entail?”

“You’d be doing a lot of the same work you helped me with last spring. You’d also need to head up a few sections. I’ve put you down for feature, student life, maybe news. Of course, I assume you’ll want the sports section.”

“No.”

“No, what?” His voice has an edge, a tiny crack in his composed façade. “So, you are turning down the position?”

“No, I want to be co-editor, but I want nothing to do with student life.” With West’s knee as my anchor, I push back. “You should take that section.”

“Done,” he fires back, leaving me blinking in surprise.

“Done? Really, it’s that easy?”

“You’re a valuable asset, Jennings. I’m not afraid to make compromises so that I can keep you.”

“Uh, thank you,” I manage, glancing at West, my face burning. “I’m glad we’ll be official partners.”

“Agreed. I’m sure you’ll be most happy to divvy up the football coverage however you see fit.”

“It’s funny you say that, considering I’m still gonna have to trade off with Liam this year.”

“Why’s that?” His question hangs in the air, just long enough to make me squirm.

“Uh—I promised my brother I’d go to more Bobcats games. I’m actually on my way to one now.”

“You two big fans or something?”

I pause awkwardly, then plunge right ahead. “Actually ... my brother is Mica Jennings.”

“Nice. Am I—supposed to know him?”

I laugh then, a choked sound that has me leaning against West’s shoulder for support. “No, Garrett. No, you’re not.”

“Alright, then.” He clears his throat, regrouping. “So, I’ll see you on campus next week?”

“That actually won’t work for me. How about the Thursday before term?”

His negotiation is swift. “Make it Wednesday and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Great.” I deflate, dragging my hands over my face to hide my beaming smile. “See you on the twenty-sixth.”

“Have a good evening. I hope you and your brother enjoy the game.”

“Thank you.” My voice is raw, strained. And then the call ends.

Silence stretches on between me and West, thick and heavy, until it snaps with my laughter. Unrestrained, I double over, shaking with the force of it. Through watery eyes, I find West grinning back at me.

He presses a kiss to my head, his voice brimming with pride and affection. “That man is still a certified dipshit. But my God, Jade—I’m so fucking proud of you.”

41

WEST

Whoever fabricated allthat nasty shit about long distance?—how it’s undeniably stressful, how it’s taxing on your relationship, how every damn day is a fight to stay connected?—well, they must not have felt the way I feel.

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