The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)

It turns out rooming with someone isn’t exactly the nightmare I imagined it to be.

On the contrary, these past few weeks of cohabitating with Shannon have morphed into something unexpectedly great. We spend our evenings cooking meals, our heads buried in books during study sessions, and our weekend nights filled with gossiping about her teammates.

She has this uncanny knack for sensing when I need solitude, and she’s also obsessively neat. Truthfully, it’s like living through some unscripted reality TV show—entertaining, unexpected, and oddly comforting.

Unfortunately, it also means that Mica was right all along, as per usual.

“Jade!” Shannon’s chipper voice echoes from the living room. “Pizza before the library?”

The two of us recently stumbled upon this hidden spot on campus called the Vault. It’s an underground pizza place filled with late-night activities—improv shows, poetry slams, and open mics. The food never disappoints, even when the entertainment isn’t quite up to par.

Ever since the first day we stumbled inside, the place has etched a permanent spot in our Thursday afternoon routine—a few slices followed by a diligent study session at the North Campus Library.

Except for today, Shannon’s bowing out on the latter. Apparently, she needs to attend a team meeting for something called “Spring Spirit Night,” which leaves me to face the library solo.

I don’t mind the lack of company, though. All the more if it means steering clear of Shannon’s less-than-savory friends.

Honestly, the whole thing makes zero sense to me. How does someone like Shannon O’Connor, a girl who’s all sunshine and butterflies, end up associating with a guy like Theodore Westman-Cooke?

Shannon continues to defend him, claims he’s “not usually like that.” But he acted like I was invisible that day in the library. No, it was worse than that—he outright labeled me a jersey chaser. As if I’d ever spare a second glance for someone so self-absorbed.

Dismissing the thought, I make a mental checklist of what I’ll need for today’s session, cram a few books into my bag, and head to the living room. The moment I step inside, Shannon’s amused gaze flits across my outfit.

Lips twitching with repressed laughter, she asks, “Lucky sweatshirt again?”

“Of course.”

It may be silly, but I love this old, ratty scrap of fabric as if it were my own child. Mica gifted it to me the summer before my first semester of college. He wore it to his last round of finals, earning himself a perfect 4.0 GPA. And now, I’m fortunate enough to have that same luck rub off on me.

I wear it nearly every time I study and never forget to put it on for my exams. It seems inconsequential, really, but it’s like my brain can’t seem to absorb information without it. There’s something about the familiar weight of the worn fabric on my shoulders, the way the material has softened with time, that feels like an old friend cheering me on.

“You do realize it’s over seventy degrees outside?”

“Sure do,” I chirp, slinging my backpack over one shoulder.

She shakes her head, a warm-hearted smile lighting up her features. “You and your superstitions.”

“It’s not superstition, Shan,” I insist. “It’s basically a proven science.”

“I guess I shouldn’t judge before trying it myself.”

“Exactly my point.” I return her easy smile. “You ready to go?”

As soon as we reach the Vault, I make a beeline for the counter, stomach rumbling with anticipation. Their pizza is a far cry from the usual, bland campus food we have here, especially considering my usual order—cheese with pineapple and jalapeño on top. I know it sounds odd, but it’s actually the most delicious combination of sweet and spicy.

“So, you excited for your date this weekend?” Shannon asks, patiently waiting for me to finish chewing. It’s only been about thirty seconds so far, but I’ve already managed to stuff half a slice inside my mouth.

“Eh.” I give her a shrug. “Not really.”

I’ve already been out with this guy, Fred Tomlin, and he wasn’t anything to write home about. He’s a Ceramic Arts major, so I thought he might actually be interesting. Or, at the very least . . . that he’d be good with his hands.

Instead, I almost fell asleep while he was going down on me.

“Why are you going out with him again, then?”

“I guess I’m hoping the sex is better this time around.”

“Jade!” She scolds me like a child, swiftly glancing around to ensure our conversation hasn’t turned into public entertainment.

“What?”

“You know, I think that’s your problem,” she begins in a hushed tone, leaning in closer. “You keep going out with these guys you have no real interest in. The sex is bound to be blah.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

My heavy sigh fills the air. It’s true; I’ve always played it safe, choosing the steady, dependable types instead of the riskier ones. Not that they’re bad guys, overall, but there’s been an undeniable void there, an element of passion that always seems to be missing.

“So, maybe it’s time to expand your horizons,” she says. “Try out a different type for once.”

“What else is there?” I groan, rubbing my temples in frustration. “I’ve gone on dates with a bio major, an art major, engineering, philosophy, etcetera.” I tap each finger as I list them off. “I’ve tasted every flavor by now, Shan.”

Her lips curve into a sly smile, green eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re missing a very important category here. You know, you can’t just knock out all of Dayton’s athletic department without even giving them a chance.”

“Gag me,” I say with a derisive snort.

“They would if you wanted.”

“Oh, my God.”

“No, seriously, if you’re bored of your sex life . . . maybe try things out with an athlete.” She gives me an earnest nod. “I can introduce you to some.”

“Oh, you mean like your friend from the library?”

“He’s not as bad as you make him out to be, Jade. But no, there are plenty of other guys who’d be interested.”

“I don’t know, Shan.” I drag my lower lip between my teeth, contemplating. “I don’t see you going on dates with any of these sex god athletes of yours.”

“That’s because I’m not looking for the same thing you are. I think I want a real relationship this time around.”

“Then maybe we can trade. You set me up with an athlete, and then you go out with Freddy this weekend.”

“Ew.” She reaches across the table to smack me, one swift slap to the shoulder. “I’m not going out with a guy you’ve already slept with.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We live together . . . I mean, there’s this little thing called boundaries.”

“Suit yourself, then.”

“Just go on your date with Fred,” she says. “Then I’ll put some more thought into who I might set you up with next.”

I huff out a resigned “Fine.”

“Yeah, it will be fine. But hey, look, I gotta get going,” she says, gaze stuck on her phone, the unexpected urgency of her meeting written all over her face.

“Alright,” I mumble through a mouthful of pizza, the spice still tingling on my tongue. I give my fingers a quick lick before waving her off. “See you later.”

She calls out a hasty “Good luck at the library!” as she races up the stairs.

Left alone, I turn my attention to the remnants of our meal. I gather our trash, tossing Shannon’s discarded crusts into the compost bin. She may be obsessively neat about our apartment, but she always seems to leave a mess behind her everywhere else.

With the table clean, I sling my backpack onto my shoulder, letting out a resigned sigh. The serene quiet of North Campus is my next stop—along with a daunting pile of assignments waiting for me.

An hour into my solo study session, I’ve barely chipped away at my study guide for Mass Media Law. The table in front of me is buried under a wild landscape of textbooks, notebooks, colorful sticky notes, highlighters, and pens.

This may look like a hot mess to an outsider, but to me, it’s the opposite. The more chaotic my physical space is, the more organized my mind becomes. The visual clutter, in a strange, unexplainable way, helps me compartmentalize and sort my thoughts, untangling the knots inside my head.

Unfortunately, my concentration shatters at the sound of a familiar male voice calling my name. I raise my head to the sound, my gaze finding its way to the arrogant face attached to it.

“Um, hello?” I question, my confusion rising at the sight of West amidst my carefully orchestrated chaos. Of all the people, why did it have to be him disturbing my peace?

“Hey, it’s, uh, West?” He furrows his brow, scratching at the back of his neck. “We met the other day.”

A flat “Yes” slips from my lips, my face unreadable. “I recall.”

“Right.” He tightly grips one strap of his backpack, fingers drumming against the worn material. “Well, I just wanted to apologize to you for being a jackass then.”

I raise a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms, sincerity lacing his voice. “I wasn’t in the best headspace that day, and I just . . . well, something you mentioned kind of set me off, I guess.”

My lips quirk up into a teasing smile. “Are you saying that my nonstop questioning offended you, Theo?”

“West,” he corrects swiftly. “And yeah, I guess. Something like that.”

With a playful tap of my pen against my chin, I prod him further. “Which question was it exactly?”

He brushes it off with a curt “Not important.”

“If you say so.”

“You know, all those questions . . . Shan told me you’re a reporter,” he says, veering the conversation off course. “Must be kinda hard to turn it off, yeah?”

“I am,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “And I guess it is, sometimes. Sometimes it’s just my natural curiosity.”

His features twist into a smug grin, echoing my words from the previous day. “So, you any good, then?”

“Well, I recently wrote a riveting article on the new residence hall. I’m sure you read that one, just as soon as you picked up the last issue of the Dayton Daily.”

His smirk broadens, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Ah, must have skipped right over it. I’ll have to scrounge up my copy again.”

“I’m sure you could find one in a recycling bin somewhere.”

“Come on, Jade.” His laughter fills the air, bright and surprising, an ember kindling in his eyes. “Not everything you write is complete garbage, I’m sure.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Theo, it kind of is,” I counter, keeping my voice low. “The day I get to write about something truly interesting . . . well, that’s gonna be a cold day in Hell.”

“It’s West,” he corrects me again with an indulgent smile. “And what is it that you want to write about?”

“Not important.”

His grin spreads wider. “Aw, come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Fine.” I sigh, my hands clasped on the table, a silent signal of surrender. “I’d like to write for the sports section, but my editor is against the idea. Honestly, I just wanted to cover, like, one of your games last season.”

His brows shoot up. “You want to write about football?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice laced with dry sarcasm. “But apparently, I’m not qualified, just because I’m not part of some good ol’ boys club.”

His scoff is indignant, his expression morphing into disbelief. “Your editor doesn’t think you can write about football just because you’re a woman?”

“Don’t act all surprised. I saw your reaction when Shan mentioned I’m a football fan.”

He winces, a twinge of guilt crossing his face. “You’re right. That was part of my shitty mood . . . not that I’m making excuses.”

I wave him off, working to keep my tone neutral. “Go on.”

He rubs the back of his neck again. “You wouldn’t believe how many girls lie about being some big fan of mine. It gets old pretty fast.”

“Oh yeah.” A snort escapes me. “Must be utterly exhausting, having all these gorgeous women falling all over you.”

He looks straight into my eyes, sincerity etched into his features. “It is when it’s not genuine . . . when it’s not about me at all. I could be any random guy on the team, so long as I’m a football player.”

Something strange coils inside my gut. A pang of . . . what? Some sort of sympathy that surprises me, considering the awful impression he’s made so far. I pause, taking the opportunity to truly soak in his features.

Tall, strong jawline, dark hair. Toned, tan arms. Not to mention those hands. And his eyes, they’re a deep caramel brown, a sweet concoction of butter and brown sugar. He’s a good-looking guy, no doubt about that. And he might have a decent personality . . . when he’s not acting like an arrogant dick for no good reason.

I clear my throat, an attempt to regain my composure. “Well, I definitely don’t operate that way.”

He presses on. “So, you’ve never had a crush on a Dayton football player?”

“Not a chance.”

“An NFL player, then?”

“. . . Maybe,” I finally relent. It’s not as if I can help it. Some of the guys on my brother’s team are just. . . well, there’s really no words to describe the physique of a pro football player.

His smirk returns in full force. “I knew it. Come on, Jade. Who’s your dream man?”

“I think I’ve overshared enough.”

He raises a thick brow, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You can tell me some other time, then.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll see,” he dismisses my protest with a casual wave of his hand.

“Whatever. All I’m saying is that I’m not a jersey chaser.”

“Nah, I suppose you aren’t.” He gives me a genuine smile, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“You definitely shouldn’t have,” I say. “And now it’s your turn. Pay up.”

He blinks in confusion. “Huh?”

“You promised to show me yours.”

A slow, cocky smile stretches across his face. “I did, didn’t I?”

I narrow my eyes. “It’s only fair play.”

“Alright.” He sighs, collecting his thoughts. “When you asked me about declaring for the draft . . . Well, that’s a touchy subject for me right now. Coach won’t let me declare early. I approached him about it multiple times last term, and he wouldn’t even entertain the idea.”

“Why would you want to declare early? I mean, I’m sure you’re a decent player, but don’t you want to graduate?”

A shrug of his broad shoulders, a brief flicker of bitterness in his eyes. “School’s never really been my thing.”

“Wow,” I sigh, understanding dawning on me. “That’s a tough break.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging in turn. “Were you expecting me to say something else?”

“Just figured . . . you know, I might get another lecture about the importance of finishing my degree, especially from a girl like you.”

“A girl like me, huh?”

“Oh, come on.” His smirk returns in full force. “You’re a good girl. Aren’t you, Jade? Studious. Straight-laced. Serious.”

An amused snort escapes me, eyes rolling at his stereotype. “I don’t think you actually know a thing about me.”

“Maybe not.” He leans in, a challenge simmering in his gaze. “But maybe I’d like to.”

An unpleasant snort squeaks out of me. “Yeah, those lines don’t work on me.”

“You think that’s a line?”

“Oh, come on.” I huff, exasperation lacing my tone. “You’re not a good guy. Are you, Theo?”

“You could find out.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” I shake my head, pulling out my phone to check the time. “And maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome. I came here to study. Is there some other reason why you’re here?”

He stands, tapping the back of my chair twice with his knuckles. “Just to study. So, I’m going to go do that now. See you around, Jade.”

I wave him off, a mild twinge of amusement tugging at my lips. “See you.”

Despite myself, my gaze lingers on him as he saunters away, an unexpected flutter stirring in my chest. Okay, so he may not be the world’s biggest jerk, but that cockiness of his could certainly do with a reality check. It’s unfortunate—and somewhat frustrating—how he seems utterly convinced of his own self-importance.

And as I watch him disappear into the crowd, I force myself to shake my head, brushing off the inexplicable warmth that’s somehow crept its way into my cheeks.