Page 50 of Running
“Wow, you must really want those tennis lessons,” Roderick says.
I swing my gaze back to Landon, and yeah—I woke him up. He looks…growly. Like he’s about to burst through an offensive line and lay out the quarterback. Hopefully not me, now, here.
From the crowd, another bid comes in. “$2,100!” Shit, it’s from the real estate developer Thompson Smith, who I’d called and convinced to come tonight.
I get ready to raise my paddle again, but then Landon beats me to it.
“$3,000,” he shouts, again to many whispers from the crowd. The man looks heated now.
A female voice shouts out the next bid. “$3,100.”
I look around to see who it was, but before I can pinpoint the source, another bid comes from Landon.
“$10,000!” He says it so loudly I swear my glass of water shakes.
He then turns right to me, and in a whisper only I can hear with all the ambient noise, adds: “and she’s mine.”
Never discount the power of a little competition, I guess. Of course, I have no interest in Rori, but my best friend is in a state right now, so I’m not going to expect him to be rational at the moment.
Once I hold up my hands to Roderick indicating I’m out, he makes it final. “Okay, the bid winner is Mr. Battle. Enjoy that time with Rori!”
“Oh, he will!” I yell, hoping to cause Grace to laugh again.
But then I turn to Landon and clear things up so he doesn’tstay pissed at me. “Don’t worry, brother. Even if you’d have chickened out on the bid, I would have won and handed the prize to you. Grace gave me marching orders.”
He looks surprised, and then brings his eyes back up to the stage. I do too, only it’s Grace I’m looking at, not Rori. She wears a look of satisfaction, and damn, it feels good to see.
Shortly afterwards, they close the auction portion of the night, and everyone leaves the stage.
I take a deep breath and look over at Landon. He still appears shell-shocked.
To ground him, I place a hand on his shoulder. “Go claim your prize.”
“Yeah.” He blinks, and then stands up and walks to the door that will lead him backstage for the Meet & Greet.
Meanwhile, as the dinner tables break up across the room, people start heading to the dance area.
“Alright, ladies and gents, it’s time to get your groove on,” the DJ announces as the live band sets up around him. “Live for the next hour is none other than Orlando’s own Jumping Billy’s.”
The first song they play is upbeat, and all the people who’ve made their way to the dance floor get moving to the tunes. I see several teammates having fun, being goofy together, and I walk over to join them for a song.
“Show us what you got, QB,” Carter teases me.
I don’t have much by way of dance skills, but no one cares, thankfully.
The next song has a fast rhythm too, and I stay with the group, while also making sure to nod to any non-player attendees who recognize me. I can tell by the way their glazes linger on me, something I’m used to as a starting quarterback at this level.
“Thank you for coming,” I try to mouth to as many of them as I can while dancing. I know they’ll remember that I acknowledged them, and it’s part of the discipline I’ve adopted to represent the team well.
About half-way through the song, a movement by thebackstage door catches my eye. When I focus my attention there, I notice Grace slipping into the main event room, her face unreadable. She heads towards the bar area, and I decide to follow my pull to her.
“Sorry, boys, I’m going to go get a beverage,” I explain to the guys cutting up the dance floor.
As I approach the bar, Grace leans across the wooden countertop, talking to the server on the other side.
God, she’s beautiful—and hot as fuck. Yes, she looks elegant in her lace dress. But I also can’t help admiring her legs as she hovers over the bar, her strong, toned muscles doing all sorts of things for me.
She turns around after getting a drink, her eyes on the band, missing my presence.
