Page 61 of The Trade

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The next day rolls around,and Jade and I are tucked away in a corner of the North Campus Library. She’s neck-deep in her latest piece for theDaily, the sound of her tapping away on the keyboard mixing in with the hushed whispers around us.

Me, I’m in the audiobook world of Oedipus the King. But even as my ears are filled with ancient Greek tragedy, my mind has other plans.

More specifically, I’m distracted by thoughts of Jade’s lips. The shape of them. The color. The feeling of them pressed against mine. And now, my gaze is drifting across every little detail of her face—from the scatter of freckles across her nose to the tiny birthmark above her top lip.

And that’s when I land on something new: a small indentation, a soft dimple beneath her chin that I’ve never noticed before. I wonder if it’s a scar.

If it is, how did it come to be? Did she fall off her childhood bike? Or maybe it’s just a playful scratch from a family pet. But then again, do they even have a family pet?

The question bubbles up before I can stop it. “Jade?” I ask, a faint smile playing on my lips, breaking through her dedicated concentration.

“What’s up?” She glances up from her laptop, a cute little crease settling between her brows.

“Do your parents have a dog?”

Her response is a snort—a sound I’ve grown quite fond of. “Now, there’s an urgent question.”

“Ah, come on,” I coax, gently nudging her laptop aside to command her full attention. “Do they?”

“They don’t.” She pivots in her chair to face me, a teasing grin spreading across her face. “Why this sudden curiosity?”

“Just popped into my head.”

Guided by impulse, I lean forward, my hand instinctively seeking hers. She flips her palm up, so I press my thumb into the center and give it a gentle squeeze, our fingers interweaving. It’s simple and warm—a silent promise of comfort.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says. “Does your mom have a dog?”

“No, she doesn’t.” I break our hand hold, instead opting to rest mine gently on her knee.

“That’s nice. I’m so glad I paused my work to have this extremely enlightening conversation.”

My chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. “Apologies for the interruption.”

Her eyes flit down to my hand resting on her knee, her smirk deepening. “I’m sure you are.”

“You know, I read your article this morning,” I say, my hand unconsciously trailing up her leg, drawing small, lazy circles on her legging-covered skin.

“You did? The one about the bricks?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wow,” she says, her tone carrying a note of disbelief, the hint of a proud smile playing on her lips. “And?”

“I’ll be honest, it was a little hard for me to get through,” I say, my hand subtly continuing its journey up her leg. “I blame it partially on the dyslexia and partially on the subject matter, but damn, Jade—you’re an incredible writer.”

She snorts dismissively, her cheeks blooming with a soft pink hue. “Oh, please. It was a piece about literal bricks.”

“Exactly,” I counter, my touch growing bolder. “It was an article about bricks, and I was still into it.”

“You’re just saying that because I wrote it.”

“No, I read it because you wrote it. I enjoyed it because you’re fucking talented.”

“Oh,” she stammers, blush deepening, gaze drifting down to my hand on her thigh. “Stop doing that.”

“I’ll stop if you stop,” I say, my smirk growing wider.

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