Page 25 of The Trade

“Yeah, I promised you coffee every day for a week, remember? Just send me your address, and I’ll be there.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“It’s only fair play. I owe you.”

“Okay, but just don’t show up before 9:00 a.m.”

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it.”

We take a few steps apart, and she waves me off with a tiny furrow in her brow. Then, with her soft laughter echoing in my ears, I walk away from the library and from her, my mind still buzzing.

Spending time with this girl—with her quirky, little rituals and her penchant for calling me on my bullshit—well, I have to admit, it’s like a breath of fresh fucking air.

8

JADE

It’s been an exhausting day.

Just this morning, I sat through a grueling exam on defamation and criminal liability. Then I spent the first half of the afternoon writing an article about campus budget cuts, followed by three hours in the library editing West’s paper.

Now, I’m sitting through one of the most boring dates I’ve ever been on.

I almost bailed on this date with Fred, but I hoped there might be a redeeming payoff at the end—a physical release I’ve been craving, especially after a taxing day like this. Is that an asshole thing to admit? Probably. But do I care? Not in the slightest.

Fred isn’t captivating by any stretch of the imagination. He knows it; I certainly know it. So, at the end of the day, can’t a girl just try to get laid?

“—yeah, so I started off with just one forty-pound bottle of propane,” he drones on about his pottery project, seemingly oblivious to my rapidly diminishing interest. “But after about three firings, the bottle ran out, and I had to rush to the store to get a refill.”

My eyes threaten to glaze over as I murmur a few noncommittal “mhms” and “ohhs,” feigning interest.

“Very cool.”

“Yeah, and they don’t actually refill the bottles there—they just give you a new bottle. So, after a couple times of doing this, I just decided to get myself a second bottle.”

I force my eyes to stay open, nodding absent-mindedly. “Awesome.”

“Would you two like to split the check?” our server asks as she clears the plates from our table.

“Yes, please,” I say simultaneously as Fred responds with a polite, “No, thank you.”

I shake my head, giving him a wry smile. “It’s fine, actually. I’d like to split the bill.”

He agrees with a nod, handing over his credit card along with mine to the server. As she leaves, Fred, seemingly unstoppable, returns to his story. I groan internally.

Once the server returns, I take the opportunity to change the pace. “Hey, do you wanna head back to my apartment?

He cocks a brow, taken aback. “You don’t want to see the movie anymore?”

“I’d rather skip it,” I say, attempting a seductive tone.

“Really? I heard this film was supposed to be pretty good. Charlize Theron is one of my favorite actresses and—”

“Fred.” I reach out to brush his arm lightly, interrupting him. “I’d rather skip it so that we can hook up.”

“Oh?” He clears the sudden lump that seems to be stuck in his throat. “Yes. Definitely. Let’s go.”

When we reach my apartment, I unlock the door, grateful that Shannon offered to stay over at a friend’s for the night, giving me the house to myself. Or rather, giving Fred and me the house.

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