“Yeah.” I turn away from Cara’s disaster and focus on my own table. My pack. “But that’s not our problem tonight.”
The servers bring out dinner—the good stuff, filet mignon and roasted vegetables and bread that’s still warm from the oven. Milo makes a show of cutting his steak with exaggerated care.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What exactly are the terms of these dates you bought us for?”
“Terms?”
“You paid seven hundred dollars for me. I feel like that entitles me to something. Lobster, maybe. A nice bottle of wine.”
“I paid five hundred for you. Elijah was seven hundred.”
“Even worse. I feel undervalued.” He clutches his chest dramatically. “My own packmate thinks I’m only worth five hundred dollars.”
“You literally rolled up your sleeves and flexed for the crowd. You’re lucky anyone bid at all.”
“Those flexes added at least two hundred dollars to my final price and you know it.”
Elijah snorts. Tessa laughs.
“Fine,” I say. “One lobster dinner. But you’re ordering off the regular menu, not market price.”
“Deal.” Milo extends his hand, and we shake on it.
“What about me?” Elijah asks. His voice is dry, but there’s a hint of humor underneath.
“You get whatever you want. You had to stand up there for six minutes while Maeve tortured me.”
“It was entertaining.”
“It was traumatizing.”
“Same thing.”
The music starts—something slow and romantic, the kind of song that gets couples onto the dance floor. I watch the crowd filter toward the center of the room, swaying together under the fairy lights.
“Dance with me?” I ask Tessa.
She looks at me, then at Milo and Elijah.
“Go,” Milo says. “We’ll survive without you for five minutes.”
“Barely,” Elijah adds.
She takes my hand and lets me lead her to the dance floor.
I pull her close, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers. She fits against me perfectly—her head tucking under my chin, her body warm and soft.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For tonight. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.” She pulls back enough to look at me. “I’ve never had this before, Ben. People who show up. People who plan things just to make me happy. People who spend twelve hundred dollars at a bachelor auction because they can’t stand the thought of anyone else?—”
“I’d do it again,” I cut her off. “Every time. Whatever it costs. Whatever it takes.”
“I know.” She smiles, soft and real. “That’s what makes it so scary.”
“Scary?”
