Page 45 of The Trade

“Let’s get you laid tonight.” The suggestion, laced with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm, comes from Conor McNair. Wide receiver and resident dickwad of the team, he has a knack for opening his mouth before engaging his brain.

“Dude, you know he’s with Steph,” I say, irritation seeping into my tone. McNair often has his head in the clouds, but this is a low blow, even for him.

“That true, QB?” His eyes seek Noah’s, curiosity flaring in them. “You finally lock that shit down?”

“We’re not official,” Noah mumbles, his shoulders deflating slightly. His gaze finds a fascinating spot on the table, avoiding our prying eyes. “But I’m not looking to score with anyone else.”

McNair, finding no fun in this revelation, huffs in disapproval. “Suit yourself. More pussy for me.” With a graceless shove, he rises from his chair, the grating metal echoing in my ears as he saunters over to the bar, leaving Noah and me in relative peace.

“What’s going on with that, anyway?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Noah and Steph have been dancing around each other for a while, but the delicate dynamics between them remain a mystery to everyone else. “Is Steph still stringing you along?”

“No, man.” He sighs, his voice heavy with emotion. “It’s not like that. She’s been burned one too many times, so we’re taking things slow.”

“Burned?” I parrot back.

“She’s been, uh . . . hurt by guys before,” he clarifies. His expression is a painful mixture of regret and anger. I can tell that something serious is lurking in the shadows of his girl’s past—something that’s shaken Noah to his core.

“Oh fuck, dude,” I blurt, my eyes widening. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I just . . . I love Steph. The idea of being with another girl doesn’t even cross my mind.”

“I get it,” I say. I wish I could provide more solace than a cliché statement, but empathy has never been my strong suit.

His brows shoot up. “You get it?”

“I mean, I don’t . . . get it,” I quickly backtrack. “But I can understand how you feel ...in a hypothetical sort of way.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs noncommittally, an indifferent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“Right,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of in the moment.

“Right,” he agrees, and we clink our beers together again. It’s our silent pact, a show of solidarity.

* * *

A coupleof hazy hours later, I’m staggering back home, flanked by both my roommates. It’s a strange sensation because, as far as I can recall, I’ve only had a handful of beers. Yet, my balance feels off, and the world around me is a blurry mess.

My bed beckons, promising a soft haven from the spinning room. I make a beeline for it, an odd sense of anticipation churning in my stomach.

But the moment my head makes contact with the plush pillow, the harsh light of my phone screen slices through the darkness. A new text notification flashes across the screen, and I pick it up to find a message from Jade.

Jade

hey. your friend miller just DMd me

West

did u respond?

Jade

ya, asked if he was DTF

My mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, each one worse than the last. In an irrational move, my fingers fly over the phone screen, dialing her number. I can’t think straight right now. The only thing running through my head is her voice, her laughter, her presence.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re just fucking with me?” I practically growl into the phone, my fingers digging into the soft material of the mattress. The jealousy rears its ugly head again, a gnawing sensation in my gut.

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