The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)

Three weeks.

It’s been three soul-crushing, agonizingly long weeks since Jade left me, saying she needed time away. Time away from me and the mess I had unwittingly created.

Her parting words still echo in my ear. I try to imagine her healing, her moving forward, but the image only brings forth a wall of sharp, jagged pain. Three weeks of silence to me feels like three weeks of giving up.

But damn it, there’s no way I’m giving up, not when it comes to her, to us. No way in hell.

I’m determined to give her all the space and time she needs, as much as it tears me apart. But how is she ever going to find forgiveness in this overwhelming silence? In this physical and emotional distance?

Especially with that smug, insufferable Garrett strutting around, standing where I once stood. Fuck that guy.

“West, get your sorry ass up.” Cam’s voice booms, bouncing off the walls of our cramped living room. “We’re going to Lucky’s tonight.”

My limbs are heavy. Fatigue etches into every muscle fiber. I lazily stretch my arms across the back of the couch, sinking further into the worn-out cushions. “No, thanks, man.”

“Dude.” His voice carries a warning note. “We gotta get you back out there. I mean, you said it yourself—Jade’s moved on.”

My throat tightens at the reminder. “I know, Cam.” My words are barely more than a whisper. I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers. “But it’s not over for me.”

“Really?” His voice drips with disbelief. “Didn’t she get with someone else like the same night you guys broke up?” He doesn’t even attempt to veil his pity. “I’m sorry, but that’s pretty brutal.”

The reality of the breakup, the sheer force of it, slices through me. The dark abyss of that night at the banquet, of finding solace in the false cheeriness of alcohol, still lingers. The days after were no different—just another hangover punctuated by my broken spirit.

Damn it all . . . how would anyone react if the girl of their dreams dumped them and started sleeping with someone else? It was only natural that I sought oblivion, that I spilled my guts to my best friend in my drunken haze.

At first, Cam was a little pissed that I’d confided to Jade about the Trade. But his annoyance melted away into sympathy, understanding. He’s been my rock, then and now. His personal mission: to drag me kicking and screaming out of this hell.

“She’s still figuring out what she wants,” I say, clinging onto this belief like a lifeline. “I’m just . . . I’m giving her space.”

“Giving her space to figure shit out or giving her space to get with someone else?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” I grumble, my voice heavy with frustration. “Both, I guess.”

“Do you think she’d be all over this new guy if she wanted to work things out? Because I don’t,” he tells me, shaking his head. “So let Jade do Jade. You, on the other hand, need some help getting out of your funk.”

A humorless snort escapes me. “And you think you can help me?”

“I think Lucky’s can help you—the alcohol, the team, the jersey chasers. They can all help you.”

“Fine, man,” I say, exhaustion lacing my tone. “I’ll go to Lucky’s, but you need to forget about the girls.”

His grin widens, triumphant. “Alright. Boys’ night, then. I’ll call the team and get the ball rolling.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, the bitter taste of defeat sitting heavy on my tongue.

With a groan, I force myself off the couch, attempting for the first time in weeks to look presentable. Whatever it takes to move past this feeling, this wretched, consuming sadness. Whatever it takes to mend my shattered heart.

By the time Cam and I have settled into a high table, nearly half of my teammates have already shown up. Sure, it’s a typical Saturday night here, but God, it feels alien to me now, like I’m a stranger intruding on a secret gathering.

Especially when I take note of the swarm of girls circulating around us.

It’s as though we’ve got some bright, glaring neon sign hanging over our heads, an irresistible beacon for every jersey chaser in the place.

Cradling my second beer of the night, I barely register the girl sliding into the spot beside me. The first thing that strikes me about her is her cropped black hair, sharp and fierce. It gives her an uncanny resemblance to a younger Zoë Kravitz.

The proximity, however, is not as appealing. She’s so close I can feel her warmth seeping into me, and it’s pretty fucking clear it’s no accident.

A wide-eyed glance in Cam’s direction pleads for help, but the bastard just winks back at me, thoroughly amused by my discomfort. Internally groaning, I inch away from the Zoë look-alike, a move that only prompts her to close the distance between us again. The awkward dance continues until a throat clearing to my side saves me from the embarrassment.

It’s our QB, Noah Elliot, whose voice cuts through the heavy din. “Look who just showed up.” His head nods subtly toward the bar entrance.

My gaze follows his indication, my heart hitching as it falls on those unmistakable dark curls, that breathtaking face. Those long, tan legs on display beneath a tiny skirt are a painful reminder of what I’ve lost.

“So much for getting back out there tonight,” Cam grumbles, the smugness from earlier replaced with a thin veil of sympathy.

“What the hell’s she doing here?” My demand comes out strangled, a knot forming in my chest.

“Fuck if I know, man.” He shrugs, looking as clueless as I feel. “You think Shan brought her?”

I strain to get a better look, recognizing the two girls who accompanied Jade to the scrimmage. “Nah, she’s with some other friends.”

“Just pretend like she’s not here.” Elliot’s advice grates against my already fraying nerves.

Easier said than done. Even in the jam-packed bar, Jade’s the only one I can see, the only one I want to see. Her presence seems to swallow the room, and memories flood in—tidal waves of recollection that threaten to drown me.

Her black attire, the cascade of curls down her back, the faint red lipstick accentuating her full lips . . . lips that I used to know by heart. Fuck, how I miss kissing her.

I know it’s only a matter of time before she sees me, and the last thing I want is to be caught gawking like a lovesick fool. So, I tear my gaze away from her and back to my friends. I reach across the table and snatch Cam’s beer, downing it in two quick gulps.

“The fuck, bro?” he exclaims, looking at his now-empty glass with an accusing glare.

“Go get another one,” I bark, suddenly impatient. My wallet is in my hand before I can think twice about it, and I’m flicking my credit card at him.

Rolling his eyes, Cam pushes away from the table and ambles toward the bar. As he leaves, I can’t help but let my gaze drift back to Jade. She’s at the other end of the bar, clutching her cocktail in one hand, a radiant smile on her face as she absently twists a curl between her fingers.

As though drawn by the intensity of my scrutiny, Jade’s head jerks up, her eyes meeting mine. A jolt of recognition fires between us, searing through my chest. In this moment, where it’s just us, it feels as if time itself has stopped. There’s a pulse, an energy, a live wire connecting us, causing every thought, every breath to escape me.

Then, out of nowhere, the spell is shattered . . . because Zoë’s hand darts up to fuck with my hair. My senses return as a surge of annoyance pricks my skin.

Twisting toward her, I manage to withhold a grimace, her brazen familiarity irritating me. I catch her wrist, removing her hand. “What are you doing?” I ask, my words clipped, every ounce of my attention already aching to return to Jade.

Her lips twist into a pout. “Sorry, your hair was in your eyes.”

“Sure it was,” I say dryly, letting out an exasperated sigh. I can’t help but cast a quick glance back to where Jade was standing, only to find that she’s already melted away into the sea of bodies. A bitter curse slips past my lips.

My eyes frantically skim the room, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. They halt abruptly at the sight of Jade. She’s sequestered some faceless man from the crowd and is now pulling him onto the dance floor.

Hell, no.

Ignoring the girl beside me, I make a beeline for the bar and order a shot of whiskey. I knock it back, my throat burning, my eyes never leaving Jade as she sways with the stranger. Her body moves against him, her arms coiling around his neck, the sight tearing at my insides.

“Bro, get it together,” Cam warns, materializing next to me, his voice strained with concern. “You’re making an ass out of yourself.”

“Does it look like I give a fuck?” I snap, snatching his beer again.

He grumbles something about me drinking all his booze. “You brought me here,” I remind him bitterly. “And now I have to watch Jade grinding with some asshole. I think it’s the least you can do.”

“Maybe it’ll help if you stop acting like her stalker.”

“I think she’s just jealous,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

“Sure, man,” he says, shaking his head. “Just keep torturing yourself.” With that, he gives me a harsh pat on my shoulder and makes his way back to our table.

As he walks away, I can’t help but look back at Jade. She’s whispering something into the guy’s ear. Then she pulls away, prying his greedy hands off her. She slips out of his grasp and makes a beeline toward the restroom.

For a moment, I contemplate the consequences of following her. Yes, it would be an absolute stalker move. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind tells me she wants me to follow her. She’s playing a game here, and I’m too far gone to not play along.

I take a deep breath, then set off after her, weaving through the crowd until I reach the empty corridor. Leaning against the wall, I try to look casual.

When Jade finally emerges from the restroom, her sigh tells me she isn’t surprised to see me waiting.

“Very creepy, West,” she says, her voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and something else I can’t quite decipher.

“What are you doing here?” I find myself asking. It’s not a great opener, I’ll admit it, but it’s the only thing that seems to make sense in this moment.

“Drinking, dancing,” she deadpans. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You know what I mean. Why here at Lucky’s? You know my boys are always here.”

I take a step closer to her. She doesn’t back away but raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. With a scoff, she says, “My bad. I didn’t realize you and your boys owned the place.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sophie and Maya wanted to come here, okay?” she finally admits, her voice a notch quieter. “They’re on the prowl for athletes tonight.”

Her explanation barely registers. All I can focus on is how close we are. She’s wearing my favorite skirt, the one she wore the last time we were together—when I fucked her in the bathroom at the Cathouse. “And you definitely weren’t hoping I’d be here.”

“No,” she argues, eyes defiant. “In fact, I was hoping you wouldn’t be.”

Her denial does nothing to dampen the spark between us. I smirk, my gaze locked on hers. “And you also didn’t dance with that guy just ’cause you knew I was watching.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you, Jade,” I tell her, voice low and sincere. “And I know how you get when you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” She gives me a dramatic eye roll. “Please, like I would be jealous of that . . . girl. She can have you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that girl,” I say, my gaze steady. “I’d never touch her, not when I have you.”

“You don’t have me,” she says, her words firm, but I can see the conflict in her eyes.

I take another step closer, backing her up until she’s pressed against the wall, and her breath hitches in her throat. “I beg to differ.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“And yet, you still want me.” I barely register the words leaving my mouth, my fingers tugging at a loose curl. “Admit it.”

A shudder courses through her as I bend closer. Her eyes, heavy with longing, stay fixated on mine, as if willing me to read the desires she’s too guarded to voice.

“Maybe . . . maybe physically,” she confesses, her voice catching in a way that suggests she’s lying, and that scrap is just enough to give me hope. “But that’s it.”

“Yeah?” My voice drops to a husky whisper, the question on my tongue drenched in anticipation. “I can work with that.”

She swallows hard, her eyes still half-lidded, staring up at me through a veil of longing and conflict. “I’m sure you can.”

My fingertips trace her jawline. “Jade.”

“I . . . no.” She shakes her head gently, gaze still glued to my lips. “This is a bad idea.”

“If it’s such a bad idea, then why is your hand on my chest?” I throw back at her. Each thud of my heart against her fingertips amplifies the raw, aching need coursing through me.

“Your hand’s on my cheek!”

“Because I don’t think this is a bad idea.” I move another breath closer. “I think it’s a great idea. I’ve been dying to kiss you ever since I saw you walk into this bar.”

The second the words tumble out, her fingers clutch at my shirt, dragging my lips down to hers. The world shifts and narrows until there’s only her—her taste, her touch, her scent consuming me whole. She kisses me with a kind of desperation that shatters my last shred of restraint.

My hand cups the back of her neck, and the other roams freely along her side. As I grip her hip and pull her against me, it feels as though I’ve finally come home. But then, she pulls away slightly, her breath heavy.

“We’re not getting back together, you know?” she whispers.

My stomach drops, but I carry on kissing her anyway. If this is the last moment we’ll have together, then I might as well take advantage of it.

Her arms are around my neck, my thigh wedged between her legs as I press her into the wall. The world outside this darkened hallway fades into a mere hum, the presence of others an afterthought against the draw of her body moving with mine.

My hands venture from her waist to her hips, and even though we’re in a semi-public space, our actions border on indecent.

“Tell me this doesn’t mean anything,” she murmurs against my lips.

I respond by shifting my hands up, my palms coming to rest on the swell of her ass. A gasp slips from her as she instinctively wraps one leg around my thigh, her body rocking against me in sweet desperation. As I sneak my hand underneath her skirt, a soft sigh escapes her.

I break from the kiss, moving along her jaw, her cheek, until I reach the spot just below her earlobe. I let myself get lost in her, tracing my lips along her throat and marking her with my desire until she’s whimpering beneath me.

“West, tell me,” she manages to gasp.

“Lie to you?” I choke out, my voice ragged. “I promised I wouldn’t do that again.”

She goes still beneath me, eyes wide. She disentangles herself, the cool air suddenly stark against the heat of her body. “This was a mistake.”

“Was it?” I challenge, a part of me unable to accept her denial. “It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

“Well, it was.”

“Because of Garrett?”

She flinches, a visible sign of her discomfort. “No.”

I study her, my gaze tracing her body language—the deflated posture, the guarded look in her eyes, the reluctance in her voice. “There was never anything between you two, was there?”

“No,” she finally admits, the word slipping out like a quiet sigh, her fingers nervously tugging her clothes back into place. “There wasn’t.”

“You just let me think there was,” I say, the weight of my accusation hanging heavily between us. “For weeks.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“You’re right. You don’t,” I say, a heavy mixture of relief and indignation swirling in my gut. “But it’s nice to know you haven’t moved on.”

“I . . . whatever.”

I draw in a deep breath, readying myself for the inevitable heartache. “Tell me the truth . . . do you still want space from me? Because space is the last thing I want when it comes to you.”

A heavy silence follows, the seconds stretching into a lifetime. “I’m not ready to forgive you, West.”

“Fuck, I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“What—your name?”

Her indifference punctures me. “You know, you’re killing me tonight.”

“I’m not intentionally trying to hurt you,” she says, her voice softer now. “See, this is why we just shouldn’t be around each other.”

“That’s so fucking false. I’d rather have you break my heart a hundred times over than spend another week without you.”

Her eyes pinch shut at my confession. “Look—”

“No, I get it,” I interrupt her. “You’re still not ready. Just . . . go find your girls and have fun tonight. Dance with whoever you want. I’ll mind my own fucking business.”

With one last lingering look, I turn to leave, knowing that there’s another stiff and solitary drink in my future.

“West,” she calls after me. “I’m sorry.”

I pause, my heart racing as I meet her eyes. “For what?”

“For kissing you tonight when I wasn’t ready to.”

With a bitter smile, I shake my head. “Don’t apologize for going after what you want.”

And when I finally leave her alone in that dark bathroom hallway, a cocktail of emotions surges through me, a chaotic symphony of heartbreak, hope, and resolve.

Jade hasn’t moved on. Not in the slightest. And maybe, it’s time for me to fight for her forgiveness, to fight for us, rather than stay drowning in my own self-pity.