Page 29 of The Auction
A few minutes later, he swings into a parking lot with a dramatic turn that makes the tires squeal. I catch a glimpse of a small food truck gathering—three trucks angled like a triangle, with picnic tables and string lights strung between them.
“What are we doing here?”
He shrugs as he pulls into the center of attention, matte-black supercar gleaming beneath fluorescent parking lights. “I ruined your dinner.”
My eyes roll so hard I practically see the back of my skull.
It wasn’t ruined, not really. Brad was about three seconds away from asking me back to his apartment where he probably had a neon ‘hustle’ sign and a fridge full of protein shakes. Jaxon might’ve saved me from having to invent a fake emergency.
Not that I’ll admit that.
He parks, engine purring as heads turn in all directions. People stare like Batman just showed up to fight crime.
I reach for my door, but it won’t open.
I swear to God I’m pulling on the handle but before I can glare hard enough to melt the window, Jaxon rounds the car with casual confidence, rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t know every woman in a ten-mile radius is watching him. One hand is shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, making the thick muscle of his arm flex beneath the sleeve of his black tee.
When he opens my door, he holds out a hand.
I hesitate.
Then I take it.
His palm is warm. His fingers wrap around mine like he’s done it a hundred times before.
I ignore the way it makes my skin hum.
But he doesn’t step back. He just stands there—so close I’m practically pressed between him and the car. His body heat wraps around me. His scent—clean, warm, woodsy—settles in my lungs. He’s so tall I have to look up to meet his eyes, which are nearly black under the low lights. Intense. Endless.
It’s not just his size or strength that makes him feel overwhelming.
It’s him.
Jaxon has always been gravity.
And right now, I’m fighting like hell not to fall into it.
“I had a craving for tacos,” he says, voice low.
I narrow my eyes.
Tacos are my weakness.
That wasn’t a statement. That was a question without asking one. A test. A reminder.
Like he’s saying he knows me.
“Well…” I say coolly, lifting my chin. “I suppose I could choke down a taco or two.”
His grin hits full wattage. It’s the kind of smile that could make the devil give up his throne and retire. And the moment I see it, I instantly regret opening my damn mouth.
My cheeks burn but it does the trick, and he finally takes a step back, releasing me from the pull of his orbit.
“Shall we?” he says, tipping his head toward the trucks.
I sigh like this is a massive inconvenience.
But I follow.
