Page 74 of The Trade

“Hmm, I don’t know.” She feigns contemplation. “I guess I could try and pencil you in.”

An idea forms, and I act on it. “Wait,” I say, my hand stilling. “What if you asked to cover the game for theDaily?”

“What?”

“Yeah, tell Garrett you have some interviews lined up already. It’s just a scrimmage, so maybe he’d be down to give you a shot.”

She lunges forward to hug me. “Theo! That’s such a great idea.”

My heart lightens at her enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

“Yes! I’m definitely gonna ask him. I mean, there’s no way he could have already assigned the piece to someone else. You just found out about it last night, and you’re on the team.”

“Fair point.” I grin, proud of my suggestion.

“God, see, this is why I date you.” Her hand traces a path down to my arm, gripping my bicep.

“Oh, so that’s the reason?”

She laughs, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Well, that and you’re great in bed.”

“Damn right. Speaking of . . .” I slide my hand over the curve of her hip, a smirk playing on my lips.

“You’re trying to wear me out, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to prepare us both for another weeklong drought. I’m gonna be at practice almost every night.”

Her playful demeanor fades, replaced by a soft pout. “I really won’t be seeing you much, will I?”

I cup her cheek, my thumb tracing her jawline. “Don’t worry, we’ll make time.”

“Promise?”

My answer is sealed with a kiss, soft and reassuring. “I will if you will.”

“Okay.” Her smile returns. “Then it’s a deal.”

* * *

The following day,the sinking feeling of mediocrity sets in as I receive my assignment back from Professor Hartman. A bright red “72%” glares at me from the top of the page. It’s a clear sign that Jade’s tutoring sessions hold more weight than my regular tutor.

Fucking pathetic if you ask me.

As we gear up for afternoon practice, Cam crunches the numbers for me. I’ll need a 75% on the written exam to keep my overall GPA intact. And I don’t have much faith in myself to achieve that. One fuckup has become my Everest, and now I’m standing at the foot of it, unsure of how to scale my way to the top.

I slip my jersey over my head as I pose the million-dollar question to Cam. “How am I gonna make time to study these next couple of weeks?”

“I can pull some late nights,” he offers. “Help you after practice.”

I dismiss him with a wave, appreciating his offer but refusing it all the same. “Nah, man, you got your own shit. And you might be the smartest motherfucker I know, but writing? Not your thing.”

As I deflect, his mind works in overdrive. “What about Jade?” he asks. “She helped you out before, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, conjuring up images of her intense focus, the softness in her voice as she pored over my essay. “But she’s swamped with her own stuff.”

“You should just ask her.”

“I don’t know.” There’s a strange tightening in my chest at his suggestion. I don’t want to push her to help me, to make her feel obligated. “I don’t want her to think I’m asking too much.”

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