Page 5 of The Auction
I laugh at something he says, tossing my hair back and resting my hand on his arm. My gaze isn’t on him, though—it drifts toward the kitchen, where I know Jaxon is with Jonathan. I catch glimpses of him, but he never looks my way.
“You want to dance?” he asks.
I give Baseball Boy my best smile. “Sure.”
The dance floor—or what passes for one—is crowded, hazy with the heat of too many bodies and the undercurrent of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. The lights flicker low and rhythmic, turning faces into silhouettes and shadows.
The music pulses in my chest, the beat vibrating up through my heels as Baseball wraps his arm casually around my waist and pulls me into the crush of the crowd.
It’s not awkward. He knows how to move.
He’s confident, smooth, pulling me close in a way that’s intentional but not gross. His hand presses into the small of my back, just enough to guide me, and our hips fall into the rhythm of the song without too much effort.
Behind him, Bree is already dancing—somehow on beat and off the rails at the same time—and she flashes me a quick thumbs-up as she twirls.
I keep my eyes down. Let my body move. Let myself be pulled into the moment.
Then I feel it again.
That prickle. That pressure.
I glance toward the edge of the dance floor, back toward the kitchen—and this time, he’s there.
Jaxon. He’s standing in a loose circle of guys, drink still in hand, but he’s facingme.
His eyes lift and like a magnet, he finds me. Instantly.
Like he already been watching. Already knew where I was.
Our eyes meet and for a long second, neither of us looks away.
He raises one brow, slowly.
And I don’t even think—I just wink.
His lips curve, barely. Just a flicker. But it’s there.
This just turned into a game and I know sure as shit neither of us wants to be the one to lose it.
Baseball slides his arms around my waist, securing me against him. He’s warm, solid, moving in rhythm with the beat like its second nature.
I rest my hands on his shoulders, palms flat, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He leans in, mouth close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
“You having a good time?”
I smile—small, practiced—and nod. “Yeah.”
He pulls back just enough to inhale, slow and deliberate. “You smellreallygood.”
Then his lips press softly to the curve of my neck.
The first kiss is light. Testing.
The second is firmer. Lingering.
And for a second, I don’t move.
It feels… nice.
