Page 42 of The Trade

“It’s all good,” I say, waving off her concern. I honestly don’t mind going places alone. Sometimes, the quiet solitude is more comforting than company. Still, Shannon’s presence has a way of making things feel lighter.

She gives me a soft, sympathetic smile. “You probably work better alone, anyway.”

My lips curve into a smirk. “Only in the bedroom.”

“Oh, my God.” Shannon smacks a hand across her forehead, rubbing it down the side of her cheek. “See, we have to find someone better suited to your needs.”

“Very true.”

The room fills with our shared laughter, and the lingering traces of disappointment and confusion seem less overwhelming. I’m thankful for the comfort Shannon provides, for the friendship that’s blossomed between us.

She’s quickly becoming my go-to person, a confidante, and, in a lot of ways, my anchor. There’s only one other person who still takes precedence.

On principle, Mica will always be my first and closest friend. But there are certain topics that are strictly off-limits between us—my love life, my solo sex life, and any potentially graphic details about an athlete’s performance in bed, to name a few.

He’s the overprotective type, and I can practically hear his threats to the male species on my behalf. But despite his overbearing nature, I wouldn’t have him any other way.

* * *

Later that afternoon,I settle into the North Campus Library, a place that’s become almost as familiar as my own bedroom. I’ve claimed a table as my private workspace—books splayed open in chaotic order, pens and highlighters to my right, my torn-up notebook on my left. My laptop’s placed precariously at the center, screen glowing in the dim light.

Finally, I can put this dead seal article to rest. It was interesting, to say the least, but it’s a mental image I’m eager to forget. And Garrett, being the annoying person he is, promptly found another mundane piece for me to cover—the missing bricks in the middle of campus.

Yes, bricks. I can’t decide whether to laugh or groan.

In the midst of contemplating this thrilling topic, something unfamiliar nudges my attention. Raising my eyes from the screen, I find West sliding into the seat beside me.

“I thought you’d be here today,” he says, an air of nonchalance in his tone. He gives a quick look around, then turns back to me. “Where’s your study buddy?”

“Cheer stuff,” I say, my voice relaxed, a casual lift of my shoulder accompanying the words.

“Ah, gotcha.” He cocks his head slightly, eyeing me with a playful glint. “I’m not meeting with my tutor for a couple of hours. Mind if I join you for a bit?”

“Go ahead.”

Without another word, he wraps his fingers around my armrest. Slowly, with an unsettling intimacy, he swivels me around to face him, the legs of the chair grating against the linoleum floor.

His caramel eyes lock onto mine, his tone low, sincere. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since Saturday.”

“I’ve been good.” I force out the words, working to keep the tremor out of my voice. His gaze lingers on me, and there’s a wild fluttering in the pit of my stomach. I nibble on my lower lip, hoping to ground myself with the mild sting. “Speaking of Saturday, your boy never called me.”

I throw the statement out there like bait, waiting to gauge his reaction. But his expression morphs into one of confusion. He blinks, genuinely caught off guard. “My boy?”

“Miller, right?”

His features relax into recognition. “Oh, right.” His broad shoulders lean back against the chair, arms folding over his chest in an unconscious defense. “Probably because I never actually gave him your number.”

My brain sputters to a halt, words struggling to piece together. “What? Then why ask me if you could?”

A hint of a smirk crosses his face. “Shan told me you wanted to try dating an athlete. I was trying to help you out, but then I changed my mind.”

My pulse quickens. There’s something new in his gaze, a secret I can’t quite decipher. “Why?”

“I realized that Miller’s actually a fucking douchebag,” he drawls, his smirk deepening. “Just because you want to date an athlete doesn’t mean you should go for one who only wants up your skirt.”

His words hang in the air between us, and I let out a snort of incredulous laughter. “Is there any other kind?”

He blinks at me as though trying to communicate a message I’m not quite receiving. “Is that a serious question?”

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