The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)

The past five days were a blur of libraries, term papers, and far too much caffeine.

While West busied himself with catching up on his reading, I juggled my course assignments. Our first week of dating was far from romantic. But we decided to study together anyway, working to blend our relationship into our daily lives.

Honestly, it’s nice to have a built-in study partner, albeit one who revels in distracting me. West has a knack for derailing my focus, be it by tracing an imaginary line on my thighs, fiddling with the ends of my hair, or sneaking in a quick kiss when I least expect it.

Yes, it’s distracting, but it’s also incredibly reassuring. It feels nice, being wanted so blatantly, so openly.

And West never misses an opportunity to compliment me. He showers me with praises, asserting that I have a “perfect fucking body.” But it doesn’t end there. He thinks I’m smart, funny, talented, and he ensures I know it. He feeds my ego, and I, shamelessly, lap it all up.

I know our relationship is still so fresh, but I like that there are no guessing games when it comes to his feelings. He’s not pretending to be aloof, or cool, or coy. And that’s probably my favorite thing about him—that he’s unapologetically himself.

He’s honest and straightforward. In my mind, he’s the complete fucking package. Actually, he’s everything I never knew I needed.

Before West, I always avoided dating athletes, thanks to Mica’s less-than-ideal dating habits. My brother, for all his good traits, is pretty lousy at being a boyfriend. Football is his world, and his relationships have always taken the back seat.

But Mica is just one guy, and his actions don’t reflect every athlete. West is the proof of that.

Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping.

When Friday night finally arrives, my heart is hammering with excitement. The sound of three loud knocks sends me vaulting off the couch and hurtling toward the door. As I wrench it open, the sight of my brother’s familiar, broad grin smacks me with a sense of homey comfort.

“Ace!” I nearly shout, a surge of joy lighting up my features.

He envelops me in a fleeting hug, his laughter rumbling low in his chest. “Lil, you look so much older every time I see you.”

“Congrats, you’ve got the basic concept of time down pat.”

He steps inside, scoffing as he shrugs off his duffel bag. “You’ve changed, Lil. You’re more . . . cynical. I suppose we have college to blame for that.”

“Well, you definitely played a part in that evolution.”

His gaze sweeps the living room, his grin broadening at the sight of my Bobcats posters plastered on the walls. He jabs me lightly with his elbow, a twinkle in his eyes. “I see your taste in decor hasn’t evolved much, though.”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” I argue, feigning offense. “Shannon’s added her feminine touch to the place—plants, candles, and some other shit.”

“So, she’s giving you a crash course in being a girl, is she?”

I narrow my gaze, playfully swatting him. “You’re insufferable.”

His chuckle rings through the room. “But you missed me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

We sink onto the couch, taking a moment to simply sit in the familiarity of each other’s company. His towering frame fits effortlessly into the space, his six-foot-five presence always commanding, always larger than life. Yet, in my apartment, he seems to blend in seamlessly.

“I’m happy I could swing by,” he says. “I needed a weekend full of sibling bonding.”

The prospect makes me chew on my lip, the tendrils of anxiety curling in my stomach. “Actually, about that . . . I recently started seeing someone.”

“Okay, and?”

“I thought it’d be nice for you two to meet,” I say, attempting to keep the apprehension from my voice.

He grunts, clearly unenthusiastic. “Why?”

“Because I genuinely like him. He’s cool, and I have a hunch that you two would click.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“No, seriously. You and West share a lot of similarities.”

“Mhmm,” he drawls, voice dripping with skepticism. “I’m sure I have a ton in common with the asshole who’s dating my sister.”

“He’s not an asshole,” I counter defensively, then mumble under my breath, “At least, not all the time.” And then louder, “He’s a running back for Dayton.”

His mocking expression slips, giving way to a more serious demeanor. “Lilianna, you’re telling me your jock boyfriend wants to meet me? What a shocker.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” I snap, my fingers kneading the fabric of my jeans. “I know what you’re thinking . . . but he wasn’t aware we were related before we got together.”

His response is a slow, contemplative drag of his hand over his face. “Alright, I’ll reserve judgment if that’s what you want.”

“I want you to be supportive. He’s coming to dinner with us tomorrow.”

“Fine, I’ll try.” He heaves a heavy sigh. “You know I only want the best for you, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, my gaze softening. “But I also wish that—”

The sound of our front door rattling stops me midsentence. It swings open, and Shannon steps inside. There’s a flash of fiery red hair that instantly draws my brother’s attention. And then, there’s her bare, freckled thighs peeking out from beneath her cheerleading uniform, the emerald green of the fabric a stark contrast to her pale skin.

As always, she manages to look put together and full of life.

“Hi,” she greets us with a wave, her attention shifting to Mica. “I’m Shannon. You must be Jade’s brother.”

Mica rises from the couch, a fluid movement that contrasts sharply with his bulky frame. He strides over to Shannon, greets her with a firm handshake, and says, “Mica,” his voice a shade deeper than it was earlier.

It’s his “charming stranger” tone, one I’ve seen him use too many times to count.

At that, I jump to my feet and join them, casting a quick, pointed look at my brother, who answers it with a knowing smirk. “Shannon, you free tomorrow night?” he asks, brushing off my silent warning. “We’d love for you to join us for dinner.”

I clamp my mouth shut, jaw clenched as I wait for her response.

“Sure!” Her tone is light and cheerful, unaware of the tension filling my body.

“Great.” Mica grins, tossing her an unmistakable wink. A very deliberate, very infuriating wink.

The next morning, I’m up with the sun, despite the chaos swirling in my head. Shannon, being the absolute sweetheart she is, insisted on staying at a friend’s house to allow Mica the comfort of her bed.

“Why would he sleep on the couch?” she’d asked, oblivious to the situation. “There’s a perfectly good bed in my room.”

Mica’s petty antics are as predictable as they are irritating. Step One: Invite Shannon to dinner, knowing I’d feel cornered. Step Two: Dazzle her with his star-athlete charm, right in front of me. Step Three: God, I hope we never get to step three.

While I’m not particularly bothered by her joining us, it’s obvious he invited her as a provocation. He’s had a vendetta against every guy I’ve dated, stretching as far back as my first high school boyfriend, whom he had quite seriously threatened to castrate.

It’s juvenile. It’s chauvinistic. It’s downright infuriating. And yet, it’s also somewhat endearing. I know my brother cares for me, that he wants to protect me. But there’s absolutely no reason for him to do so with West.

“Ace,” I call, pounding on the door to Shannon’s bedroom. “Get your ass out of bed. We’re going to the farmer’s market.”

Predictably, he groans, “Shut up.”

I count to five in my head, putting on my best “mom” voice. “Get up, or I’m coming in there.”

Sure enough, Mica’s out the door and ready to go in less than five minutes. With just a pair of jeans, a simple T-shirt, and a quick run of a comb through his hair, he somehow looks like he’s walked straight out of a catalogue. It’s annoying as hell.

We make it through the day relatively unscathed, but as we prep for our dinner, I find myself issuing the same warning to him over and over again—not to fuck with Shannon. After the sixth repetition, I can only hope he’s taken it to heart.

“You know I’m serious,” I say, my voice a hushed whisper. “She’s, like, my best friend. I don’t want you screwing with her, even if you think it’s harmless.”

We’re in my room, with him buttoning up his shirt and me trying to wriggle into my two-inch Manolo heels. Shannon’s in the living room, ignorant of our conversation. And by my calculations, West should be at the restaurant already, waiting for us.

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You both are,” I correct him, my voice firm. “Which is why your flirting doesn’t amuse me.”

“Okay, okay.” He rolls his eyes in playful resignation. “Just make sure your running back keeps his hands to himself.”

“Don’t you worry about West. He’s one of the good guys.”

His laughter fills the room, an easy sound that temporarily calms my nerves. “Yeah, we’re all good guys . . . until we’re not.”

“Who’s the cynic now?”

“We both are,” he says, mischief dancing in his dark eyes. “I just happen to know how guys think, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well . . . keep your guy-brain away from Shan, and we’re golden.”

He laughs again, though it doesn’t give me the reassurance I’m hoping for.

“Ace . . .”

“Lil, I love you.” He turns away from the mirror to pull me into a hug. “I’ll be on my best behavior tonight.”

His promise hangs in the air long after his words fade. I hold on to it, hoping against hope that he’ll stick to it. For the sake of Shannon, West, and especially me.

For the past hour, Mica’s been trying to uphold his promise, keeping his interactions with Shannon civil and merely polite. He initiates rounds of drinks, orders a handful of appetizers, even extends the courtesy to ask for West’s preferences.

Yet the man in question is nowhere to be found. He’s nearly an hour late, with not so much as a text or call to offer a lifeline.

And Mica, bless his heart, is holding it together, but the clench of his jaw and the darkness flashing in his eyes betray his anger. He’s trying for my sake, and damn if that doesn’t twist my insides in guilt.

Escaping our table, I step outside, the third time tonight, desperate for fresh air and a break from my brother’s silent wrath. Phone pressed to my ear, I’m left again with the dial tone ringing in my ears, West’s voicemail message practically imprinted on my mind.

“Hey, I’m so sorry.” His voice, gruff and tinged with regret, startles me from my frustrated thoughts. Turning around, I’m met with an apologetic gaze.

I cross my arms, working to suppress the tremble in my voice as I shoot back, “What the hell, Theo?”

He tries to reach out, but the disappointment on my face must stop him. “We had a team meeting—it ran late. I accidentally left my phone at home.”

A long sigh escapes my lips. Shit. It’s not entirely his fault, and I know it. But a flicker of disappointment is hard to shake off. He could have planned better.

“You know, this is strike two with my brother, and you haven’t even met yet.”

“Strike two?”

I manage a small smile, attempting to lift the heavy mood. “The first strike was dating me.”

His relief is evident as he takes a step forward, his movements slow and cautious as if he’s scared I might bolt. Our fingers entwine, and his thumb rubs comforting circles on the back of my hand. “Jade . . . I feel like such a jackass. I’m sorry I’m late, and I’m sorry I left your brother waiting.”

My sigh echoes the soft night. “It’s a good thing Shan’s here to play buffer.”

He cocks a brow. “Shan’s here?”

“Yeah, Ace invited her. I’ll fill you in later.”

We enter the restaurant together, his grip on my hand a silent promise of reassurance. Yet, as we step toward the entryway, he stops in his tracks. “Wait, Jade,” he says, his voice a soft plea. When I turn to look at him, the intense sincerity in his gaze is enough to dampen my lingering frustration. “Will you forgive me?”

His question leaves me at a crossroads. I could choose to continue being frustrated, casting a further shadow on the night and hindering any hope of smoothing things over between Mica and West. Or I could opt for forgiveness and focus my energy on bridging the gap between them.

The answer bubbles up naturally. “I forgive you,” I say, matching his sincerity. “It was a mistake. Unfortunate timing, but we all make them.”

His sigh of relief wraps around me. He leans in, his lips meeting mine in a tender, apologetic caress. The kiss is brief, the kind of sweet that leaves your stomach fluttering in anticipation. “Now I need to go apologize to your brother.”

“Oh, are you planning to kiss him, too?”

“Only if you think it’ll help.”