Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Hey, Brady, what’s up?” Caleb fist-bumps the guy.
“Not much. Just looking forward to checking out the guys.”
Oh, maybe he’s cooler than I assumed.
Caleb introduces us, and Tatum says, “Aren’t you Damien Westbrook’s brother?”
Ugh. I knew I didn’t like him.
Brady cringes. “Stepbrothers. But please don’t hold it against me. I’m the non-asshole side of the family.”
Okay, he’s back to being cool.
Clearly, there’s a story there, but that’s not really something you get into right after meeting someone, so we start chatting about school and how the Peach State football team is faring, the latter not my favorite subject. Fortunately, it isn’t long before we’re inside the main theater, where the auction is going down. We find seats near Brady and his crew, with Caleb doing most of the talking. That’s more his thing. Tatum and I are much better at being the awkward loners by his side.
“Looking for someone?” Tatum asks from the seat beside me.
“Huh? No. What?” I must’ve been looking around a lot. Trying to get a sense of who’ll be bidding for my guy…
No, not my guy. Why would I even fucking think that? What upsets me, though, is not that I’m thinking it, but that I can’t say it. Because he’s not mine. I mean, his ass is definitely mine, but not him.
Now I’m thinking about that way too much, which is weird, and Tatum is doing the Tatumiest thing ever, wincing and studying my expression, trying to read my mind.
“Something wrong with my face?” I ask.
He angles his head. “You want me to make you a list?”
“Ass.”
“Prick.”
This is our friendship language and why I get along with him so well.
“I hear they got Dax Armstrong last minute?” one of the girls beside Brady says.
“Why do you think I’m here?” Brady tells her, making her laugh.
And suddenly, it’s like the busy theater goes silent. I stare at him, this rage bubbling up within me. We’re not students at Peach State anymore. I’m a goddamn predator and he’s my prey, and I’ll hunt him down and—
The fuck did that come from? Jesus, I really am a psychopath.
And my chest is really tight right now.
Whatever. Of course he’s into Dax. What person who’s attracted to guys wouldn’t be? Brady is not the only one thinking it in this room, but I’m also not an idiot and know he has a decent lead on me in the looks department. And that’s not me being insecure. I know I’m hot, but this guy is a god. Screw him.
I reflect on that day when Dax was working with me through breathing exercises, so I begin counting as I take my breaths so that I can hopefully push through this anxiety that’s come out of nowhere. The counting is not helping nearly enough.
Can this just be over already?
It’s not even five minutes before Troy heads onto the stage, approaching the podium.
“Fuck…” Tatum drags out, turning to me and pretending he’s panting like a dog, which helps ease my discomfort.
Troy gives a funny, endearing speech. He’s got charisma. It’s the kind of thing I envy about him and guys like Brady. I’m so fucking awkward and weird, something that stands out when I’m around all these seemingly normal people.
The bidding starts with a bunch of the frat guys, everyone bidding in the hundred- to two-hundred-dollar range. Pretty typical. There was one time Dax bid on Lance Fehn, and that was a big deal because it was, like, five hundred dollars, which is wild for an event like this.
There are five guys onstage before Dax is introduced, and the crowd goes wild, whistling and shit. I’m a bundle of nerves, gripping the arm of my chair.
Why am I freaking out when I fucking told him he should do this?
And is it me, or is he looking even sexier than normal today? I can tell he’s fixed his hair, and he’s wearing a button-down shirt and slacks—not the look I’m used to seeing him in, but everything’s formfitting, so it’s obvious what he’s working with.
“Okay, settle down,” Troy insists. “I want you to show Dax your love through your bids.”
He’s barely got the words out before Brady calls out, “One hundred.”
I shoot him a dirty look, noticing the way he’s gawking at Dax. It’s pathetic, even if I’m being slightly more pathetic.
“One thirty!”
“One forty!”
“Two fifty!”
I’m realizing this was a terrible idea, and as much as I’m trying to keep it together, I want to shout, “He’s not just a hot piece of meat, you fucking assholes.” That’s not the spirit of a goddamn auction, and some part of me knows that, but the rest is too pissed to think straight.
“Three hundred!” Brady pipes up.
I dig my nails into the arm of my chair. This guy wants a black eye.
A few other calls get it to three fifty.