Page 4 of The Auction
“Kane!”
“Jax! Buddy!”
They clap him on the back, drape arms around his shoulders like he’s a soldier returning from war. Then his gaze cuts back to me.
And he winks.
“Don’t get into too much trouble, Crick.” Velvet-low, like the nickname never left his mouth.
Then he’s gone.
I’m frozen, unsure whether to follow—or stay. Bree steps onto the porch, eyebrow arched. “So… wedding colors and baby names, or what?”
I scoff. “He didn’t even let me say hi.”
“What?”
“He came out, said my name, then got mobbed and walked off.”
Her eyes go wide. “That’s it?”
I nod, pulse still racing—now from irritation.
Bree growls. “Rude.”
“No kidding.” But her earlier words echo in my head:Jaxon Kane can either take the bait or watch someone else do it.
I glance at her, a sly smile tugging my lips. She grins back.
“Hell yes,” she says, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “Make him regret leaving you alone for another wolf to piss a circle around you.”
I snort. “Gross metaphor.”
“Accurate.”
“Painfully.”
We laugh, my nerves burning off with each step toward the house.
If Jaxon wants to walk away mid-moment? Fine.
Let him watch someone else drool over me tonight.
Let him see exactly what he turned his back on.
It takes exactly two seconds once we’re back inside to find some unknowing accomplices to our ploy. One guy spots us, nudges his friend who looks immediately. Bree giggles and pulls me toward them. A space opens in their circle without a word.
Bree slides in like she owns it, looping her arm around some guy and making him laugh hard enough to nearly spill his drink. I follow her lead, letting a small smile play at my mouth.
A guy I haven’t seen yet—tall, tan, good posture—steps toward me with one of the cups, offering it like it’s a rose on a silver platter. “You looked like you could use one,” he says, grinning. I take the cup, fingers brushing his, and let my smile widen a little. “That obvious?”
“Just enough to be charming.”
He’s definitely an athlete. Baseball, I think—he’s got the build for it. Strong shoulders, forearms that could probably crack a bat in half. His shirt clings a little from the heat, andthere’s a smear of something near his collarbone that suggests he’s already survived one beer pong incident tonight.
He’s not bad to look at. He’s even better when he angles himself slightly toward me, giving me his full attention while the conversation swirls around us.
He’ll do.
