Page 51 of The Trade

“And you’re such a little tease,” he counters, his voice rich with affection.

Clearing my throat, I busy myself with straightening my disheveled clothing, turning the conversation to safer waters. “So, you want to just ... hang out, then?”

“We could watch a movie?”

“Sure,” I readily agree, pointing a thumb over my shoulder to the bed behind him. “Hop on, and I’ll set it up.”

I rummage through my backpack for my laptop. As I turn back to him, I find he’s already sprawled out on my bed, his hands clasped behind his head in a picture of casual ease.

“So,” he starts, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt. He gestures vaguely around the room. “The Bobcats, huh?”

Caught off guard, I falter. “Oh . . . yeah.” I shrug, attempting to sound casual. “They’re a great team.”

His brow quirks. “Did you grow up around here?”

“Nope, Washington.”

“Hmm, okay,” he says, skepticism etched in his voice. “So, you just have a thing for Mica Jennings, then? That’s your dream man?”

I suppress a gag at his assumption. “Ew, definitely not.”

“Oh, really?” He arches a brow, a challenging gleam in his eyes. His gaze sweeps across the room, taking in my odd choice of decor. “You say ‘ew,’ yet you have his posters plastered all over your room.”

“He’s one of the best cornerbacks in the NFL,” I defend, my tone light.

“Right,” he says, cocking a brow, voice brimming with humor. “And you totally wouldn’t sleep with him if you had the chance.”

The suggestion sends shocked laughter spilling out of me. “Oh, my God, no.” I crinkle my nose, swallowing down the bile in my throat. “Don’t make me puke.”

“What?” he asks, eyes widening. “I mean, he’s not my type. But you can’t deny the guy’s objectively good-looking.”

“Well, yeah, he’s handsome,” I admit, wincing slightly. “But he’s also my brother.”

“Your . . . brother?”

“Mhmm,” I confirm slowly, carefully gauging his reaction.

The stunned silence stretches on for a moment before he finally manages to speak. “Mica Jennings is ... your brother.”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “So—Jade Jennings, huh?”

I study his expression as it shifts through various emotions—from surprise, to confusion, to something I can’t quite pinpoint. With a twinge of anxiety, I finally ask, “Are you mad?”

“No, definitely not,” he rushes to assure me, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’m just ... shocked. Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I didn’t want you to treat me any differently,” I say, my voice quiet. “I mean, I didn’t want to spend all of our time together talking about my brother. Been there, done that.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Has that happened to you before?”

“So many times.”

His expression hardens. “That’s shitty, Jade.”

“I know,” I say, a wave of resignation washing over me. “But it is what it is.”

“I mean, damn, you’re related to Mica Jennings,” he mutters, mulling it over. “The man’s a legend, but ... that doesn’t change how I see you. It changes nothing.”

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