Page 83 of The Auction
“And I want to see it.”
“Never. It’s not for seeing.”
“Is it of me? A nude portrait, probably,” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down. She laughs and pushes me against my own hallway.
“Not in your life.”
“I’d be happy to pose for you. You could draw me like one of your French girls.” I play with my chest in mock seduction, but she can’t stop smiling and that’s all I want. “Just make sure you get my giant coc?—,”
“You’re the worst person I know.” She claps her hand over my mouth to stop me from finishing a sentence that would be sure to make her cheeks turn cherry red. More than they already are.
I laugh against her hand and have to physically stop myself from pulling her against me. She rolls her eyes and comes with me without another fight.
We end up at one of my favorite motorcycle shops. The woman behind the counter—tattoos, piercings, perfect red lipstick—grins when she sees me. Cassidy’s shoulders go just a little stiff.
“This her?” the woman asks, eyes flicking to Cassidy.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “This is my girl.”
Her heart might not say it out loud, but Iseehow those words land.
Kady already has a few things pulled for her. She’s nice, but Cassidy’s watching her too closely, like she’s trying to figure out if we’ve ever fucked. I don’t bother explaining yet because I love watching her squirm.
We get Cassidy fitted for riding gear—her own boots, jacket, gloves, helmet. She’s nervous, but I can see the excitement in her eyes. She’s been on horses her whole life, but never a motorcycle.
And God, she looks fucking amazing in gear.
By the time we check out, she’s practically bouncing. The total hits the thousands, and I don’t even blink. Not when I threw down three hundred million to save her horses. Not when I paid enough to buy a small country for her at the auction.
“You’ll let me take you riding?” I ask leaning against the counter.
“Yes!” she says, bright-eyed, smiling—and I match it without even thinking.
Then she asks how I know Kady, and there’s a little tension in her voice that I can’t miss.Is my little Cricket jealous?God, I hope so. That would make my day.
“She’s the owner,” I tell her. “Been shopping here for years. Met her wife by coincidence a few months ago—did a job for some architect friends.”
“Wife?” That eases her instantly.
“That’s her—Frankie.” I point to a framed photo on the wall of Kady with her arm around another gorgeous pinup glam type. “Didn’t even put two and two together until I came back here for a new helmet.”
She tilts her head. “Why did you need a new helmet?”
I grin. “Would you still come riding with me if I told you I crashed?”
“Jaxon!” she scolds, smacking my arm.
I laugh, pulling her into a hug that feels… easy. Natural. Flirty in a way that makes it hard to let go. “I’m just playing. I just wanted a new one.”
Her laugh lingers in my head long after we leave, and I know one thing for sure—this girl belongs on the back of my bike, and right next to me.
Forever.
It’s been raining for days, the kind of steady, dreary gray that makes everything feel heavier.
I’ve been back to check on Mom once since those assholes tried to take the horses. She’s been doing well—Shanae keeps me updated almost daily—but I still can’t shake the image of her pale and shaking that day.
Yesterday, I got a text from Jonathan.
