Chapter 23
Miles
F uck, I’m on edge, and I blame Dax.
If he hadn’t been such a good slut this morning, my cock wouldn’t be straining in my pants right now.
You’d think the fuck we had, knowing he’s stuffed with my cum, would have been good enough, but it’s never enough with him.
And I don’t know why, but it’s stressing me out as I head to the bachelor auction with Tatum and Caleb.
“Ooh, who are we betting on?” Caleb asks as he drives us to the venue.
“Who are you betting on at a bachelor auction?” Tatum asks. “Did you need to tell us something?” He reaches over from the passenger seat, resting his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “It’s okay. This is a safe space. Your secret is safe with us.”
“The fuck?” Caleb says with a laugh. “I meant we as in ‘who are we excited to see tonight?’ You know?”
“Sounds like you’re not even trying to make sense,” Tatum insists.
“Miles, back me up here.”
I get what he means, but I’m on edge enough to be a dick, so I say, “Nope. Not a clue what you’re talking about.”
Caleb grunts. “Whatever.”
“I’ve got my eye on that Sigma Alpha—Keegan,” Tatum says. “He’s a hottie.”
“Is he not seeing that guy…what’s his name?” Caleb asks.
“Jaxon,” I pipe up.
“Yeah, that’s the guy.”
Tatum sighs. “They’re buddies. And a bunch of straights.”
“Keeg’s straight,” Caleb says. “Jaxon’s bi. Also, why did you say straight like that? One of your friends happens to be a straight.”
“Eh, I guess we’re still hoping it’s a phase.”
Caleb sneaks me a smirk in the rearview mirror. “Well, it might help me with my sex life.”
“Hey, that’s queerphobic,” I snap.
Caleb’s expression twists up. “How is that queerphobic?”
“You’re saying the queer guys are a bunch of whores.”
“No…I’m saying these two queer guys in the car with me are whores.”
Tatum turns to me, shrugging because…yeah, we do like to fuck.
Tatum’s gaze shifts quickly. “Whoa.”
“What?” I ask, figuring I might’ve gotten some of the Hot Pockets I shoved down my throat for lunch on my pants, but it’s just my erection.
“Speaking of whores, Caleb, you might have to pull over. I need to drain Miles real quick.”
It’s clear he’s joking, but I say, “Fuck off,” way too seriously.
“Ooh, someone’s in a mood,” he says.
He’s not wrong. Still, I insist, “No I’m not,” earning a playful glare.
I’d be a lot less moody if this dick was inside Dax. What am I saying? I was just in him this morning. How much ass could I possibly need?
Although, I know it’s not just ass I want.
It’s his ass.
When we reach the hotel where the auction is taking place, Caleb parks, and there’s a line outside.
“It’s never this busy,” Caleb observes as we’re heading through the parking lot.
He’s right. Since they started this thing a few years ago, it’s steadily grown, but this is by far the biggest turnout they’ve had.
Fuck, my stomach is in knots. I’m starting to wonder if we made a bad batch of pancakes this morning, which is hard to believe because they were so damn good.
As we approach the line, Caleb leads us over to a small group of Zeta Taus and Phi Lambdas.
I recognize one of the guys—he’s the sort you can’t miss.
Six feet something, fit, blond, and blue-eyed.
The sort of guy who could tell any goddamn awful joke, and everyone will put on a production worthy of the drama department as they laugh like he’s God’s gift to humankind.
As if reading my mind, his crew suddenly breaks into laughs, and I hate to admit they seem genuinely impressed with him.
Hot and with a sense of humor? Nah. Not buying it.
“Hey, Brady, what’s up?” Caleb fist-bumps the guy.
“Not much. Just looking forward to checking out the guys.”
Oh, maybe he’s cooler than I assumed.
Caleb introduces us, and Tatum says, “Aren’t you Damien Westbrook’s brother?”
Ugh. I knew I didn’t like him.
Brady cringes. “Stepbrothers. But please don’t hold it against me. I’m the non-asshole side of the family.”
Okay, he’s back to being cool.
Clearly, there’s a story there, but that’s not really something you get into right after meeting someone, so we start chatting about school and how the Peach State football team is faring, the latter not my favorite subject.
Fortunately, it isn’t long before we’re inside the main theater, where the auction is going down.
We find seats near Brady and his crew, with Caleb doing most of the talking.
That’s more his thing. Tatum and I are much better at being the awkward loners by his side.
“Looking for someone?” Tatum asks from the seat beside me.
“Huh? No. What?” I must’ve been looking around a lot. Trying to get a sense of who’ll be bidding for my guy…
No, not my guy . Why would I even fucking think that? What upsets me, though, is not that I’m thinking it, but that I can’t say it. Because he’s not mine. I mean, his ass is definitely mine, but not him.
Now I’m thinking about that way too much, which is weird, and Tatum is doing the Tatumiest thing ever, wincing and studying my expression, trying to read my mind.
“Something wrong with my face?” I ask.
He angles his head. “You want me to make you a list?”
“Ass.”
“Prick.”
This is our friendship language and why I get along with him so well.
“I hear they got Dax Armstrong last minute?” one of the girls beside Brady says.
“Why do you think I’m here?” Brady tells her, making her laugh.
And suddenly, it’s like the busy theater goes silent. I stare at him, this rage bubbling up within me. We’re not students at Peach State anymore. I’m a goddamn predator and he’s my prey, and I’ll hunt him down and—
The fuck did that come from? Jesus, I really am a psychopath.
And my chest is really tight right now.
Whatever. Of course he’s into Dax. What person who’s attracted to guys wouldn’t be?
Brady is not the only one thinking it in this room, but I’m also not an idiot and know he has a decent lead on me in the looks department.
And that’s not me being insecure. I know I’m hot, but this guy is a god. Screw him.
I reflect on that day when Dax was working with me through breathing exercises, so I begin counting as I take my breaths so that I can hopefully push through this anxiety that’s come out of nowhere. The counting is not helping nearly enough.
Can this just be over already?
It’s not even five minutes before Troy heads onto the stage, approaching the podium.
“Fuck…” Tatum drags out, turning to me and pretending he’s panting like a dog, which helps ease my discomfort.
Troy gives a funny, endearing speech. He’s got charisma. It’s the kind of thing I envy about him and guys like Brady. I’m so fucking awkward and weird, something that stands out when I’m around all these seemingly normal people.
The bidding starts with a bunch of the frat guys, everyone bidding in the hundred- to two-hundred-dollar range. Pretty typical. There was one time Dax bid on Lance Fehn, and that was a big deal because it was, like, five hundred dollars, which is wild for an event like this.
There are five guys onstage before Dax is introduced, and the crowd goes wild, whistling and shit. I’m a bundle of nerves, gripping the arm of my chair.
Why am I freaking out when I fucking told him he should do this?
And is it me, or is he looking even sexier than normal today? I can tell he’s fixed his hair, and he’s wearing a button-down shirt and slacks—not the look I’m used to seeing him in, but everything’s formfitting, so it’s obvious what he’s working with.
“Okay, settle down,” Troy insists. “I want you to show Dax your love through your bids.”
He’s barely got the words out before Brady calls out, “One hundred.”
I shoot him a dirty look, noticing the way he’s gawking at Dax. It’s pathetic, even if I’m being slightly more pathetic.
“One thirty!”
“One forty!”
“Two fifty!”
I’m realizing this was a terrible idea, and as much as I’m trying to keep it together, I want to shout, “He’s not just a hot piece of meat, you fucking assholes.” That’s not the spirit of a goddamn auction, and some part of me knows that, but the rest is too pissed to think straight.
“Three hundred!” Brady pipes up.
I dig my nails into the arm of my chair. This guy wants a black eye.
A few other calls get it to three fifty.
Then Brady shouts, “Four hundred!”
I’m gonna lunge across Caleb, tear this guy out of his chair, and—
No, I’m not, because the judge was really cool with me and will not show me mercy again if I reappear in his court. And obviously, I wouldn’t actually pummel the guy for simply being into Dax. Even if, fuck, it feels like I should.
“That’s probably a wrap at four hundred,” Troy says, waving his prop gavel. “Going once…twice…”
The thought of Dax sitting across from Brady at a restaurant, this guy batting his blue beauties, charming the fuck out of him, fucks with my head.
Even the thought of Dax laughing at one of his jokes is enough to drive me out of my damn mind.
This bastard doesn’t know Dax like I do.
Doesn’t know what a great guy he is. Doesn’t know how he needs to fuck that ass…
or how to cuddle him right. He doesn’t know a damn thing about him except he’s hot, and he’ll go on a date with my guy over my dead body.
“One thousand!” I say—and I don’t just say it, I shout it at the top of my lungs, so loudly that it echoes through the theater and a girl nearby audibly gasps. No, not a girl. Tatum.
Troy’s mouth hangs open. Dax’s forehead is creased up, and he rightly looks as confused as I feel. Meanwhile, people turn in their seats to see who called that out, and I distinctly hear my name being whispered. Makes me want to crawl into my goddamn chair and die right now.
What. The. Fuck?