Page 9 of The Auction
His eyes flick to mine. “Yeah. I missed home too.”
Notyou. Justhome.
It burns more than I want to admit, but I didn’t come here for nostalgia. I came here to make him see me.
I shift closer, fingertips brushing the inside of his knee. “You know… I’ve always liked you.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. I wet my lips.
“I’ll be eighteen soon.”
“You just turned seventeen, Cricket.” His voice is rough now.
“Do you ever think about me?” My hand inches higher. “The way I think about you?”
“Cass—” He leans in, close enough for my pulse to roar in my ears. I tilt my head, certain my first kiss is coming?—
But his mouth brushes past mine, to my ear. “Go home, little Cricket.”
The words hit like a slap. He walks away, leaving me alone on the cold bench, dress too high, heart in my throat.
Humiliation curdles to heat in my chest. I stand, heels biting into the grass as I pass him without a glance.
My brother’s at the door, leaning in the frame, eyes flicking past me to Jaxon, then back again like he’s piecing it together.
I don’t explain. I don’t hide the flush in my cheeks or the tight set of my shoulders. I brush past him into the heat of the party, the door closing on the sound of my brother’s voice:
“Got a second, Jax?”
I don’t wait to hear the answer. I just find Bree, ready to pretend I never came looking for Jaxon Kane at all.
“Yeah,fuckthat guy,” Bree declares, her voice a little too loud, a little too echo-y in the weed room.
The windows are cracked open now, letting some of the smoke curl out into the night, but the scent still clings to everything—pillows, posters, the back of my throat.
We didn’t smoke anything, but we’re definitely buzzing. Two more beers between us, and one tragic cinnamon-flavored shot that burned like cheap soap and bad decisions.
“Yeah,” I echo, slumped beside her on the sagging couch, my knees pulled up and my hair slightly frizzed from the night air. “Fuck Jaxon Kane.”
A girl across the room looks up—college of course, probably a junior—her eyes sweeping over us with a mixture of judgmentand disinterest. She leans back toward her friend like we’re nothing but background noise.
Maybe we are.
We’re definitely too loud.
But I don’t care.
“I’m totally hot,” I say, mostly to myself, but Bree nods enthusiastically like it’s gospel.
“Absolutely,” she says. “A full-on goddess.”
“I’m smart.”
“Top of our class,” she confirms.
“I’m a catch. Like, objectively.”
Bree leans in. “Like, if I were into girls, I’d be obsessed with you.”
