He hesitates for one more beat before he nods. “Goodnight, Cinderella.”
And then he’s gone.
Chapter 7
Lucy
Iwait until the auction is well underway before I slip down the stairs. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I was the reason TJ Wilson was late. I don’t need anyone staring at me, trying to figure out my story.
I retrieve my purse from coat check and glance at my phone. I’d say I gave it a good effort. I can leave now and honestly tell Cassie I stayed out well past my bedtime.
Three players have been auctioned off on dates in the time it took me to put my heels back on, make it down here, and collect my things. Now it’s TJ’s turn.
The River Foxes have raised a boatload of money so far, and judging by the way TJ struts across the stage and the people in attendance squeal, they’ve saved the best for last.
When bidding for TJ gets underway, there is a lot of interest. My hands clench my purse, and I linger at the base of the stairs, looking on. The bids are rocketing upward, and the auctioneer can barely keep up. His head is on a swivel as he spots the numbers folks are raising from every corner of the room.
The price for a night out with TJ jumps to five thousand dollars, and several of the previous bidders drop out. It’s clear this is going to come down to a war between an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair and a middle-aged woman in a peacock-blue dress with a matching mask that’s lined with flouncy feathers. They’re both sitting near the back of the Atrium, so I can easily observe them.
“Fifty-five hundred.” Ms. Peacock stands and presses her hands into the table, staring down Mr. Salt and Pepper.
“Fifty-six hundred,” he responds, massaging the back of his neck. He shifts in his seat, and I have a feeling his staying power is running out.
I can practically see the steam coming out of Ms. Peacock’s ears. She obviously didn’t expect anyone to last this long. The other players went for a couple thousand dollars apiece. “Six thousand!” she shrieks.
“Wow, six thousand dollars!” the auctioneer’s voice rings out. “That’s a great number. What do you say? Can we go any higher? I have it on good authority that TJ is a good time.”
“I do, too,” I mutter. He’s also considerate and hilarious, and I can still feel the imprint of his lips on my cheek.
Don’t settle.
His voice echoes in my ear. I feel like someone has taken eggbeaters to my abdomen and is running them at speed five, splattering batter all over the place. My fingers find the corner of my paddle number, and I absently play with the thick, shiny cardstock.
Ms. Peacock looks around the Atrium with her nose tipped up, all but daring someone to out-bid her. I pray Mr. Salt and Pepper has it in him, but he gives a slight shake of his head. A slow grin spreads over Ms. Peacock’s face. It’s predatory and triumphant. She turns to the woman sitting next to her at her table and says, loud enough for me to hear, “I can’t wait to get my hands all over that fine specimen of a man.”
Something unfamiliar and green seizes hold of my spine, yanking me upright.
“Six thousand, going once,” the auctioneer calls out. “Going twice …”
My hand is in the air with my paddle number raised before I can think twice. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I do know there’s noway I’m letting Ms. Peacock get anywhere close to TJ’sderriere.Or any other part of him, for that matter.
“Seven thousand!” I shout.
Ms. Peacock spins around and glares at me, the feathers on her mask fluttering around like an angry bird. Everyone else looks in my direction, too, and that’s when my brain catches up with my jealous heart and realizes that this was a no good, very bad, wholly terrible idea.
“Seven thousand dollars from the lady in the white dress,” the auctioneer says. It’s the same guy who announced the team earlier, and he’s shaking his head in awe. He thumps TJ on the back.
TJ stares directly at me. A chill scampers up my back as a torrent of heat builds in my cheekbones. This man—this night—is throwing off my systems, making me feel and function like never before.Whatam I doing? I can’t see him again. He can’t know who I am. This can’t go anywhere. Also, seven thousand dollars is a heck of a lot of money to spend on a date with a guy who I’m pretty sure would have given me his number for free if I’d asked for it. I was the one who set the terms of our arrangement.
TJ’s eyes stay locked on me, and my heart takes off in a gallop when the corners of his lips hitch upward as the auctioneer calls out, “Seven thousand, going once, going twice …”
“Yooouuu hoo! Ten thousand!” A little old lady with a helmet of white hair waves her paddle above her head from the front of the room.
The crowd turns collectively away from me toward her, and TJ flicks his gaze in her direction. Ms. Peacock audibly screeches with displeasure. I suck in a deep, relieved breath and slink away. Saved by the frosty-haired grandma. I toss up a silent prayer of thanks that she prevented me from doing something really stupid.
I retrieve my coat, quickly thank the attendant, and exit the Atrium through one of the side doors. I walk as fast as my heelswill allow, letting the sounds of the player auction and the sensations of my night spent with TJ Wilson fade into the background. I don’t stop or turn around until I’m outside. I lean against the stadium wall, placing one palm on my forehead and one on my heart. I don’t know what came over me in there. My face is hot to the touch, so maybe I’m feverish.
I definitely know something’s wrong with me when I linger for five whole minutes before walking to my car, hoping that maybe TJ will run out here in search of me. Then we could drive off together and talk all night, and in the glow of the orange-and-pink sunrise over the bay of Green Bay, where we’d be parked in his truck, he would kiss me. He’d take his time, and he’d treat me how I deserve. I’d feel the kiss in every nerve ending of my body, and we’d fall madly in love, and …
