Page 19 of The Trade

One way or another, I need to accept that Mica Jennings, NFL pro and star cornerback, always gets what he wants.

* * *

Our usual littlestudy nook is cluttered with an hour’s worth of academic chaos. Shannon’s calculus assignments sit neatly stacked beside my strewn-about textbooks and notes. And as the last slivers of sunset slant through the high windows, the contrast between our study habits couldn’t be starker.

Lost in a sea of torts and constitutional principles, the sound of West’s voice jolts me back to reality. He stands, arms crossed, with a teasing grin on his face. “Hey, you two. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you girls were stalking me.”

The sight of him here, amidst the quiet rustle of turning pages and the murmur of low conversations, is disarming. I blink at him, my mind still tangled in my studies.

Shannon giggles in response to his taunt, pushing a strand of honey-red hair behind one ear. “Didn’t you just get here? Besides, we always come here on Thursday afternoons. It’s tradition.”

“Well, isn’t that just the perfect coincidence?” West’s grin widens. “I meet my tutor here on Thursdays.”

“Tutor?” My curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah—for English Lit.”

“With Professor Hartman?” My question hangs between us. Memories of late-night paper writing and intense class discussions come flooding back. Despite her reputation for being a hard-ass, Professor Hartman’s class was where my passion for writing took root.

West sighs, looking almost defeated. “That’s the one.”

“Cool,” I say, albeit a bit awkwardly. “I took that course freshman year.”

He lets out a surprised snort. “So did I. We must have had class together and didn’t even realize it.”

Caught off guard, I say, “I guess so. So, you’re retaking it now?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I failed the first time around,” he confesses, looking even more deflated.

Shannon, ever the empath, reaches out to pat his arm. “I guess it’s good you found a tutor.”

West grimaces. “Yeah, except he bailed on me today. We have an assignment due on Monday, and our next session isn’t for another week. So, basically, I’m screwed.”

“That sucks,” Shannon murmurs sympathetically.

Noticing my quietness, West turns to face me. His eyes, filled with a mixture of desperation and hope, meet mine. “You’re a writer, Jade. Could you take a look at my paper?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know that I really have time for that.” I mean, I have an exam in Mass Media Law tomorrow, another article due for theDaily, and then there’s my third date with Freddy. Normally, I wouldn’t mind helping someone out with editing, but I’m honestly kind of swamped.

Undeterred, he says, “I’ll pay you. I mean, I can’t really pay you, but . . . what about coffee? I’ll bring you coffee from the Grind . . . every day for a week if you help me out.”

Well, I do love coffee. And I’m kind of strapped for spare cash at the moment, so it’s not like I can afford to buy my own lattes on campus. “Yeah, okay,” I finally relent. “Maybe I could swing it.”

His response is a whoop of joy. “Yes! Thank you!”

I quickly interject, “But I can’t do it right now. I have an exam in the morning, and I need to finish this study guide.”

“That’s fine,” West concedes, his fingers combing through his disheveled hair. His lips curve into a small, appreciative smile. “How about after your exam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, returning the smile, the tension in his posture easing. “We could just meet up here again, say around two o’clock?”

He nods, relieved. “Okay, perfect—give me your phone.”

I rummage through my bag, retrieving the device and handing it over to him. His fingers fly over the screen, entering his contact information before passing it back. “Just text me if you need to bail or something.”

“I won’t bail,” I assure him, our eyes meeting for a brief moment. And there’s that warm caramel again, something strangely comforting in the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m serious.” He meets my incredulous stare with a look that’s both earnest and grateful. “You’re really saving my life here, Jade.”

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