The Trade(10)

“Yessss,” I drawl. What’s she’s getting at?

“Natalie Myers.”

“Myers. Do they have different dads?” I ask, feeling completely confused.

Milly’s face pales as she sinks back into the couch. “Cory . . . Jason’s sister, Natalie . . . she’s married.”

“Wh-what?” I ask, feeling my pulse stutter abruptly.

Married?

No. There’s no way. I looked at her hand. There was no ring.

“Cory, she’s married. I met her husband at the event.”

The excitement, the happiness that was pulsing through me since the event quickly fades away, and I feel just as white as Milly looks.

Married?

But . . .

“I . . . I didn’t.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t see a ring. I didn’t know.” Biting the side of my cheek, I ask, “Are you sure?”

She slowly nods. “Yes, she introduced me to him. Carson was there too.”

Holy shit.

She’s married.

The girl that’s been on my mind ever since the fundraiser, the girl with the gorgeous smile and beautiful personality who’s starred in my dreams, she’s married.

Untouchable.

Off the market.

Completely out of my reach.

“Oh Cory, I’m so sorry.”

I sniff and straighten my shoulders. “It’s fine.” I try to shrug off my feelings. “Not a big deal. I thought we had a connection, maybe I was wrong. Well, I mean, clearly I was wrong. She was just being nice because I donated money to The Lineup. Totally misread her.”

“Cory . . .”

I stand and place the hat and sunglasses back on. “You know . . . I should get going.”

She stands as well, taking my hand in hers. “Please don’t go. I have one more lesson. Come to my place for dinner. We can order pizza or something.”

I shake my head. “I love you, Milly, but I don’t need your pity invite. I’m fine.”

“Cory,” she says with a stern voice. “You know it’s never a pity invite. Don’t say that.”

“You know what I mean,” I say, gently pulling my hand away from her. “I’m fine.”

“Cory, you’re not fine. You were gushing.”

“Can we just drop it?” I ask, my voice growing angry, something that never happens with my sister. From the startled look on her face, she’s just as shocked as I am. “Listen.” I take a deep breath. “I just thought she was cool, okay? Makes sense that she’s married. She’s a catch. It’s no big deal though. I just need some space, okay?”

Milly’s eyes search mine, concern lacing them. “Will you text me later, let me know you’re doing okay?” I nod. “And if you change your mind, the invitation is always open to come have dinner with us.”

“I know.” Feeling bad that I snapped at her, I pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her head. “Thanks, Mills.”

I release her, give her a parting wave, and quickly make way to my car parked at the back of the facility. Once in the confines of my car, I lean against the headrest and let out a frustrated breath.

Fucking married.

That’s just my luck. Goes along with the shit season I had and the inability to win over one Rebels fan. Just tack this on to the list of why this year can’t end quickly enough.

A girl who actually stimulated more than my dick is off the market. And not only is she off the market, but given she’s Jason’s sister, I’ll be seeing her more than I care to.

Fucking . . . great.





Chapter Three





NATALIE





One Month Later





Monica has been my friend since high school, the only girl who doesn’t use me as a tool to get after my brother. She’s never gotten along with him, actually. Whenever they’re in the same room, they bicker with each other nonstop. At first, I thought hate would turn into love between the two of them, but my tall, blonde friend with bigger hips than a Kardashian, never wanted anything to do with Jason. She found her man in college, freshman year to be exact, and they’ve been together ever since. The couple who’s not interested in having kids, but having fun, doing life together.

But I’ve seen this look on her face before, this murderous look.

She’s hangry, and I’m late to our date night.

“Right this way,” the hostess says, walking us through the crowded restaurant. She brings us to a table right next to the kitchen. It’s less than ideal but I know I’m the reason we’re seated in the back, away from anything exciting. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.” She tosses the menus on the table and leaves.

“God, she’s rude,” Monica says, fluffing her hair after she takes off her jacket and hangs it on the back of her chair. As a waiter passes, she grabs him by the arm and points at our empty table. “Can we get some bread and olive oil please? I might die if I don’t eat something soon.”

“Sure thing,” the man with the kind eyes says and walks away.

“I’m sorry.” I cringe and scoot my chair in. “I was stuck on the phone with my lawyer. She’s a talker.”