Chapter 2 – Luke #2
“I’ll take some to Beau in the kitchen, Ryan,” Cat offers generously. “I’m sure he’s starving. He and Brinley have been in there for hours prepping.”
Ryan beams. “Great idea.”
Cat relieves him of the entire plate, giving the rest of us a reassuring smile. She’s clever enough to find a way to make the pastries disappear without hurting Ryan’s feelings.
Normally, Cat and her husband Nate host group dinners in their apartment a few floors down.
With Maura on semi-bedrest after being hospitalized for a cardiac event, we switched Friendsgiving to James and Maura’s penthouse.
Cat is still doing the bulk of the work, setting the table, arranging flowers, and lighting candles while Beau and Brinley warm up the food in the kitchen.
My sister’s laugh drifts out from the kitchen.
Other than coming out quickly to say hello, she’s stayed by her boyfriend’s side since I got here.
Normally, it would bug me. It’s easier when I see Beau or Brinley by themselves, easier to forget how many years my best friend spent lying to my face about his relationship with my sister.
How carefully and deliberately they hid the truth from me.
I’ve mostly forgiven them, but the sting of that betrayal still hasn’t gone away yet.
Logically, I know he would’ve tried to fight the feelings and was probably terrified I’d make him choose. Once upon a time, I might’ve. Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though. Even if I can see how happy he makes my baby sister. How he treats her right.
I sigh. My mind keeps drifting somewhere else.
I mostly forgot about PrairieSmoke’s invitation, but this morning, something about the wording niggled at me. Can only be bought once. Like she’s only auctioning off a date one time? Or there’s something about the experience that can only be purchased once?
It only took a quick perusal through CamCuties’ seller page to get the gist. Other women repeated the phrasing, but their posters were more explicit, with pictures of cherries and white dresses. PrairieSmoke’s not just auctioning off a date—she’s selling her virginity.
It’s shocking to think that a woman like that, one who owns her sexuality so thoroughly for the camera, is actually still a virgin. It’s probably just a gimmick—bullshit to command a higher price for the date. Which I was never going to bid on to begin with.
Even if it bugs me a little that she’s doing it. It feels wrong, like a violation somehow.
“Dinner’s served!” Beau calls as he carries a gorgeous roast turkey into the dining room.
Brinley and Cat walk behind him, each with side dishes in hand.
James barrels through everyone to make Maura the first plate, while everyone else haphazardly grabs for whatever food is in reach.
Eden’s appetite magically reappears as she snatches fresh rolls from the basket.
Conversations criss-cross as we all chow down on our food.
Convenient, since my mind is half on the auction starting in a few hours.
I wonder how many other people have been invited.
Will it be a crowd of hundreds, or a more elite group?
Where would the “date” take place, anyway?
PrairieSmoke could be anywhere. Would it be at her house, or a hotel?
Would I recognize the walls from her video?
“So Brin, what are your parents doing for the holiday?” I catch Pippa asking through my haze of half-attention.
Brinley shrugs. “Can’t remember if it’s Tahiti or the Bahamas. Luke, do you know?”
“They FaceTimed me this morning,” I say. “All I know is there were palm trees.”
Roger and Tricia did ask what I was doing for Thanksgiving, and I told them about tonight’s dinner. They didn’t make plans for us to meet up another day.
“Brinley’s coming with me to my mom’s Thanksgiving on Monday,” Beau says, grabbing her hand.
“Wish me luck,” Brinley says dryly.
“You’ll do great!” Ryan says. “Mama Bishop can’t stay mad at anyone. She got over me breaking her Sicilian vase in like, sixty seconds.”
“I think she cares less about a vase than the potential mother of her grandchildren being non-Italian. Not that we’re anywhere close to grandchildren,” she says quickly.
A whiskey bottle appears in my peripheral vision. It’s Eden, refilling my glass. She mutters something I can’t quite hear over the other voices, but I think it might be, “in case you need this.”
I glance up at her, in her simple ivory sweater.
She’s the only other person here without a date.
You’d think that would have shoved us together, with the way that couples unconsciously herd single people into the same space to try and convince them to pick a partner.
Instead, we spent most of the party on opposite sides of the room.
It’s strange to think how little Eden and I speak, considering how long we’ve known each other.
We met back when I was thirteen, which means Eden must have been ten, visiting her camp bestie Brinley, Eden always looked at me suspiciously, like I was a bridge she was afraid to cross, and for good reason.
Unfortunately for her, she arrived right in the middle of Brinley and my epic prank war.
Brinley started it, putting some fake dog poop she got at a party store in my sneakers. I retaliated by sneaking some hot sauce into her toothpaste. Things escalated from there, but nothing bad—all kid stuff.
While the girls were snacking on cookies at the kitchen table, I hijacked them, managing to tie them each to their kitchen chairs with twine holding their waists, ankles, and wrists.
Brinley fought like hell, screaming and kicking the whole time.
Eden just blushed and gave in. I didn’t understand why. I still don’t.
“Do we have any more sparkling cider for Maura?” James asks.
“It’s in the kitchen. I’ll grab it,” Eden says, walking to the kitchen without even glancing back at me. But I can’t stop staring at her. My eyes track her until she disappears around the corner. My mouth feels slightly dry, and I automatically raise the drink Eden brought me to my lips.
“Luke,” someone says. It’s part of a longer sentence, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure what any of the other words are. I just laugh, hoping it’s the right response.
The rest of the party quickly blurs. Part of it’s the whiskey, which Eden dutifully refills after she tops off everyone else’s wine. She really can’t turn off her party planner instincts.
The real distraction is the CamCuties invite. I still haven’t technically opened it, but I can’t stop wondering what PrairieSmoke must be thinking right now. Is she worried about who will win the auction? Excited? Does she have no feelings at all and the whole thing is just a money grab?
I’m not the only one who gets tipsy as the night moves on.
Pippa proposes karaoke, which I’d normally be all over, but which James categorically vetoes.
Ryan and Beau get into a dishwashing race in the kitchen after dinner, a win for everyone, since the dishes get done quickly without anyone griping.
Around ten, I excuse myself, blaming an early call the next morning. Nobody questions it. I’m enough of a workaholic to take an early Saturday call.
Instead of going right up to my apartment, I take the elevator to the lobby and stroll outside.
My body’s hot enough from the huge dinner and the whiskey that the cold feels pleasantly crisp, even without a coat.
I force myself to walk longer than I want to, because I shouldn’t be contemplating the things I’m contemplating.
I shouldn’t be opening that invitation.
After a few laps around the nearby streets, I finally head back to the House of Cards. Once I walk into my apartment, I pour myself a finger of Twisted Devil. Never mind that I just took a walk to clear my head—I need this now.
I should go to sleep. Instead, I plop down on my couch and pull out my phone. The CamCuties notification is still there. I open it—it can’t hurt just to look at the poster image, right? It’s not like I’m going to really bid—I’m just not that man. I’m just curious, really.
The poster shows PrairieSmoke, her face hidden, her almost-naked curves now familiar to me. The late-afternoon sun illuminates the curves of her lower back, drawing my eye down to a small freckle.
My entire body goes still.
There are five small points at the edges of that freckle.
I’ve seen that birthmark before, when I was thirteen and my sister's best friend held very still while I tied her to a chair.
Eden.
All at once, it all comes into horrifying focus. PrairieSmoke is Eden Locke. Her stories about retail were from working at the Peppermint Press. She mostly wears her thick blonde hair back these days, but it matches the color from the screen.
Fuck, I spent six weeks watching her. Getting off to her. The woman who was supposed to be no one to me, a safe outlet for my sexual cravings, was never really a stranger.
Eden’s twenty-four. She’s broke in a new city. She’s my little sister’s best friend.
And in less than a minute, the auction to buy her virginity will go live.
I should close the tab and tell Brinley. Or tell Beau. Tell someone.
Instead, I click into the online auction.
As I read the five other screen names, my jaw clenches tight.
Rage burns through my veins at each ridiculous name.
DirtyTalker69. What a fucking joke. I can’t let that asshole buy Eden’s virginity.
I have a moral obligation to keep her from making a dangerous mistake.
If she met one of these guys in person, anything could happen. They could hurt her, or blackmail her, or worse. The only way I can keep that from happening is by winning the auction myself.
Which is exactly what I’m going to fucking do.
I stare at the timer in the corner of the screen, smiling grimly when the auction goes live.