“Four-fifty.” Her eyes are twinkling. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“Maeve.” I give her a look. “Come on.”
“What?” She blinks innocently. “It’s for the roof fund, Ben.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I do.” She raises her paddle again. “Five hundred.”
I groan. “Six hundred.”
“Six-fifty.”
The crowd is loving this. People are cheering, laughing. Someone yells “GO HIGHER, BEN!”
“Maeve.” I turn to face her fully. “Please.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then her expression softens.
“I think the community center has enough money now,” she says. “Make your final bid, Ben Wilson.”
Relief floods through me. “Seven hundred dollars.”
“Seven hundred dollars,” Tessa repeats. There’s something in her voice I can’t name. “Going once... going twice... sold. To Ben Wilson.”
The room erupts in applause.
Twelve hundred dollars. Worth every penny.
I’m making my way toward the stage when someone grabs my arm and spins me around.
Bea.
She’s grinning like a maniac, her three alphas hovering behind her. River looks amused, Grayson smug, Seth entertained.
River catches my eye and gives me a nod—one alpha to another, one friend to another. We’ve been close since high school, and watching him end up with my sister was strange at first, but now it just feels right.
“Benjamin Andrew Wilson,” she says, her voice dripping with glee. “Did you just spend twelve hundred dollars buying your packmates at a bachelor auction?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe.” She laughs. “Oh, this is beautiful. This is the best day of my life.”
“I’m glad my romantic gestures amuse you.”
“Amuse me? Ben. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” She’s practically bouncing. “Years. YEARS of you teasing me about every crush, every date, every awkward moment with an alpha. And now?” She gestures at the stage, at the crowd, at me. “Now you just made a complete fool of yourself in front of the entire town for a girl.”
“I didn’t make a fool of myself?—”
“You bid against Maeve Bennett for seven minutes straight while the whole room cheered.”
“It was three minutes, tops.”
“River timed it.” She looks at her alpha. “How long?”
“Six minutes forty-two seconds,” River says, not even trying to hide his smile.
“Six minutes and forty-two seconds,” Bea repeats. “Of you and a sixty-year-old bakery owner having a bidding war over our broody woodworker friend.”
