The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)

Forty is my new hard limit.

Forty rain-washed summer days and forty long, lonely nights spent away from West. He’s been kicking ass at training since my last visit, gearing up for his final collegiate season and next year’s draft. Every day, I remind myself why I’ve chosen to spend this time at home.

Dad’s doing okay these days. Even still, his MS is progressive and unpredictable. For now, he’s mostly independent with daily life activities, yet his health continues to decline. It could be months from now, years even, but someday he’ll need more assistance than our mom alone can offer.

That’s why I’ll never regret spending my summers in northern Washington—even if that equates to a few disjointed months of long distance.

Family comes first for me. Although someday—perhaps in the not-so-distant future—West could become my family, too. In a way, he already has.

Even when we’re hundreds of miles apart, our connection is undeniable. Raw and magnetic, to the point where my parents can’t keep their comments about it to themselves. Always mooning about how brightly their little angel’s been shining.

So, when Ace offered to pay for our trip to Baltimore, it didn’t take much pleading to con him into an extra set of tickets. NFL preseason is about to kick off, and to our shared delight, the star cornerback is scheduled for his first away game.

It’s Bobcats versus Nighthawks.

Or, on a more personal note, it’s West versus Jade—competing in an impromptu battle over who can provide the most orgasms in a single weekend getaway.

Of course, West is winning. He’s always winning.

With less than two hours to kickoff, I find myself perched on the bathroom counter of our hotel room, my legs wrapped around West’s shoulders while his lips tease my clit.

“Theo—that—ohh,” I murmur, bracing myself on the counter’s edge.

My fingers absent-mindedly thread through his thick head of hair. While he sucks and licks like his life depends on it, I resist the urge to grab those silky strands and yank his face even closer, burying that perfect tongue inside me.

“Please,” I beg through trembling lips.

He lifts his head from between my legs, replacing his mouth with one thick finger. I gasp as he pushes it slowly inside of me, filling me as the rough pads of his fingers tighten around my hip.

“Please what, baby?”

One fingertip curls against my front wall, and I nearly lose control. “Just fuck me,” I finally manage to squeak out.

His lips curve into a smug smile. “No.”

“No?” I demand, outraged even as I continue to grind against his hand.

“No.” He grins wider. “You’re gonna come on my fingers again. Then you’re gonna come on my tongue. And then maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you come on my dick.”

A knot of pleasure tightens in my lower belly. “I . . . hate . . . you.”

A low, throaty chuckle escapes him, the vibrations against my thigh making my breath hitch. His thumb draws slow, deliberate circles over my clit, and with one last calculated stroke, I come undone.

“There you go, baby.” He continues to trace his fingers over my sensitive folds. “Such a good fucking girl.”

The following moments are a blur. West’s smug smile, his fingers slick with my arousal sliding into his mouth, my hasty attempt to gather my composure. When I finally find my footing, I tell him in a huff, “That doesn’t count.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.”

“It was going to be a mutual orgasm, and you sabotaged me! Cheaters never win, West.”

“So, I’m West now, huh?” he asks with a teasing smirk. “That’s not what you were moaning when I had my tongue—”

“Fine, then you win,” I cut him off, folding my arms over my chest. “Game’s over. I guess there’s no more orgasms for either of us this weekend.”

With a chuckle, he pulls me close, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “And you call me dramatic.”

Pettiness fuels me to pull away. “Can you just get out of the bathroom so I can finish getting ready?”

“Sure, Jade.” He bumps me with his forearm and flips on the faucet to wash his hands. “If it helps even the score, I’ll let you suck me off after the game.”

“Theodore Westman-Cooke.” I gasp, swatting at his shoulder. “You’re an actual heathen.”

“Good thing I’ve already tricked you into falling in love with me.”

Before I can formulate a response, he cups my chin between two strong hands, leans in, and kisses me. It’s brief but intoxicating. Then he pulls back with a wet, sloppy smack of his lips, saunters out of the bathroom, and flops onto our king-sized bed.

“I still hate you,” I call out, cheeks tightening with a smile.

“And I still love you,” he lazily calls back.

It takes me nearly twenty minutes to comb through the rough tangles in my curls, scrub away the mascara streaks under my eyelids, and fix up my smudged lipstick. By the time I’m finished, we’re chasing the clock.

“Ready to go, love?” I ask as I slip on a pair of sneakers.

“Mhm, don’t forget your phone.” He nods toward the nightstand. “Uh, Garrett may have texted while you were in there.”

“Oh? Did you see what he wanted?”

“I, uh—I swear I didn’t intend to read it.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I heard the notification, picked up your phone, and just saw the message.”

I fight a grin. “Babe, it’s fine.”

“Well, he wants you to call him.”

“Probably just wants to talk about the paper.” I swipe my phone off the nightstand, hovering over Garrett’s unopened message. “Fall term starts in two weeks, so we might need to start hammering things out.”

“Yeah.” He gives a humorless snort. “I’m sure that man would love to hammer things out with you.”

“Ew, stop.” I stifle a gag. West already knows that nothing happened between us—past, present, and certainly not future. “I told you he’s in a relationship. He has a partner, whom he lives with.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively.

I tuck my credit card, some Carmex, and our hotel key into a transparent bag. Phone in hand, we head out the door.

“Should I call him on our way to the game or just wait until tomorrow?”

“How about you just wait until school starts?” he grumbles. “I’m sure Garrett would love if you did his job for him, just like the end of last term.”

“That’s not how it was.” I thread our fingers together. “We were a team.”

We enter the elevator at the end of the hall, and he punches the lobby button, perhaps just a tad too forcefully. “Yeah, a team where he’s the editor in chief and you’re doing the grunt work without an official title or rank.”

“When you put it that way.” I stiffen as his thumb presses into my palm, a silent sign of reassurance. “Um, maybe I’ll just call him now—see what he wants.”

“Sure.” He pats his back pocket. “Should I order the Uber?”

“I forgot to tell you Ace sent a car for us. They should be here to pick us up—” I pause for a moment, double-checking the time. “—about five minutes ago.”

“God damn it.” His grip tightens around my fingers. “I owe him enough for this trip already.”

“You don’t owe him anything. He’s glad to do it.”

The elevator dings open, effectively cutting off his continued grumbling. We hustle through the lobby hand in hand, and he tugs me close as we slide through the revolving doors.

Once we make it outside, there’s a black SUV waiting for us at the portico, engine idling. West hastily pulls open the back door, and we both rush to slip inside.

This whole thing, from the driver in the tailored suit to the heated leather interior, is some Mica Jennings luxury bullshit. I’m certainly not accustomed to it, but I’m also not complaining.

I nudge West’s thigh with my knee. “I’m gonna call him now.”

“Go ahead, baby.”

I slide one finger over Garrett’s contact with a sense of resignation. As expected, he picks up on the first ring. “Warner speaking.”

“Hi, you wanted me to call?”

His voice booms through the speaker, businesslike, curt. “Yeah, I need you back on campus next week.”

“What?” My brow crinkles. “I’m not planning on coming back until the Saturday before term starts.”

“As co-editor in chief this year, I need you here for planning purposes.”

A stunned silence falls over me. “As what now?”

“Co-editor.”

I can’t help but shake my head, although I know he can’t see me. “No, I heard you the first time, but I’m a little confused. Since when am I co-editor?”

Beside me, West comes alive, his eyes darting in my direction, searching my face for answers I can’t give. I shrug, lost in the same confusion he must be feeling.

Garrett’s voice returns, methodical and plain. “I thought it was intuited after all our teaming last term.”

“Garrett, no,” I say, my tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You don’t just intuit something like that.”

“Okay, so you’re declining?”

“No, I’m not. Just hold on one second.” I push the heel of my palm against West’s knee, seeking his grounding presence, his silent support. “What would this entail?”

“You’d be doing a lot of the same work you helped me with last spring. You’d also need to head up a few sections. I’ve put you down for feature, student life, maybe news. Of course, I assume you’ll want the sports section.”

“No.”

“No, what?” His voice has an edge, a tiny crack in his composed façade. “So, you are turning down the position?”

“No, I want to be co-editor, but I want nothing to do with student life.” With West’s knee as my anchor, I push back. “You should take that section.”

“Done,” he fires back, leaving me blinking in surprise.

“Done? Really, it’s that easy?”

“You’re a valuable asset, Jennings. I’m not afraid to make compromises so that I can keep you.”

“Uh, thank you,” I manage, glancing at West, my face burning. “I’m glad we’ll be official partners.”

“Agreed. I’m sure you’ll be most happy to divvy up the football coverage however you see fit.”

“It’s funny you say that, considering I’m still gonna have to trade off with Liam this year.”

“Why’s that?” His question hangs in the air, just long enough to make me squirm.

“Uh—I promised my brother I’d go to more Bobcats games. I’m actually on my way to one now.”

“You two big fans or something?”

I pause awkwardly, then plunge right ahead. “Actually . . . my brother is Mica Jennings.”

“Nice. Am I—supposed to know him?”

I laugh then, a choked sound that has me leaning against West’s shoulder for support. “No, Garrett. No, you’re not.”

“Alright, then.” He clears his throat, regrouping. “So, I’ll see you on campus next week?”

“That actually won’t work for me. How about the Thursday before term?”

His negotiation is swift. “Make it Wednesday and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Great.” I deflate, dragging my hands over my face to hide my beaming smile. “See you on the twenty-sixth.”

“Have a good evening. I hope you and your brother enjoy the game.”

“Thank you.” My voice is raw, strained. And then the call ends.

Silence stretches on between me and West, thick and heavy, until it snaps with my laughter. Unrestrained, I double over, shaking with the force of it. Through watery eyes, I find West grinning back at me.

He presses a kiss to my head, his voice brimming with pride and affection. “That man is still a certified dipshit. But my God, Jade—I’m so fucking proud of you.”