"The March Madness thing? No. Why would I voluntarily watch a bunch of basketball Alphas get bid on? I'd rather eat glass."
"Iris is helping run the event this time. Q and I are going to support her, plus Avery and Declan will be there. It could be fun." He pauses, then plays his ace. "I heard the events committee splurged on those little crab cake things from last month."
"Milo, I'm not going to an auction to eat crab cakes."
"You say that like it's not a valid reason." He grins, bumping his shoulder against mine as we push through the double doors and into the courtyard. The March air bites at my wet hand and I shove it into my jacket pocket, hissing through my teeth. "Besides, the basketball team is auctioning off their starters. It should be entertaining. Easton's one of them."
My feet stop moving.
Milo takes two more steps before he realizes I'm not beside him anymore and turns around, his brows furrowing. "What?"
"Easton's being auctioned?"
"Yeah. He's one of the main attractions, apparently. Star player, big donor draw, you know the drill. And get this, he said he’ll do whatever the winning bid wants." Milo's head tilts to the side, his expression shifting from casual to suspicious in a way that reminds me exactly why this man figured out how to snag the coach’s daughter without getting killed. I’m mildly jealous ofhow happy he is from betting on her during February’s auction. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Something is forming in the back of my brain. Something reckless and stupid and deeply, viciously satisfying. My savings account has been growing since winter break because I picked up extra shifts at the campus bookstore, telling myself it was for textbooks and emergencies. This qualifies as an emergency. A spiritual one.
I think about Easton's smirk, the way he leaned in close enough for me to count the links on his chain. The way he saidwouldn't waste his timelike I was beneath the effort. The way his scent curled into mine and my body responded before my brain had a vote.
I think about how satisfying it would be to own his entire night, to stand in that crowd and claim the thing he values most, his time, his image, his precious Alpha pride, and use it against him. Make him carry my bags. Make him sit through a movie he hates. Make him call me sir. Make him understand what it feels like to be at someone else's mercy for a few hours.
The smile that spreads across my face isn't kind. It's the furthest thing from kind, actually, and Milo sees it forming in real time, his eyes widening.
"Kit. Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"I'm going to the auction."
"Oh no."
"And I'm going to bid on Easton Cole."
Milo's mouth opens and closes twice before he finds words. "Kit, that's insane. You hate him and you swear up and down that he hates you. You're going to spend actual money on a man who shoulder-checks you for fun?"
"I'm going to spend actual money on making his night a living hell, Milo." I start walking again, faster now, because I've got an outfit to pick and a bank account to check and an Alpha todestroy. "He wants to waste my time? Fine. Tonight, I'm buying his."
Milo jogs to catch up, his expression caught somewhere between horror and the kind of morbid curiosity that got him tangled up with an Alpha and his own twin brother on the other side. "This is going to end badly."
"For him? Absolutely."
"I meant for you."
"Then you underestimate how petty I am." I push through the door to the south building, the warmth of the lobby hitting my face as my smile sharpens into something with teeth. "Now help me figure out how much I can spend without losing my meal plan."
EASTON
Thelookonhisface is stuck in my head and I can't shake it loose. I've been sitting on this bench for ten minutes, my suit jacket draped over the locker door, my tie loose around my neck, replaying the hallway like a goddamn highlight reel. The flash of pain across his features before it hardened into fury, his jaw locking tight enough that I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin. Those dark eyes cutting up at me, all that fire compressed into a frame half my size, his lips pulling back over words sharp enough to draw blood.
Maybe you need a new prescription. Those glasses clearly aren't working.
Nobody goes for the glasses. My teammates don't, my coaches don't, the Omegas who throw themselves at me after games definitely don't. But Kit zeroed in on the one thing I'm actually self-conscious about and twisted it without hesitation, like he's been keeping a running inventory of my weak spots.
He has. I know he has, because I've been keeping one of his.
The locker room is chaos around me, the basketball team in various stages of getting ready for the auction. Marcus is fighting with his tie in the mirror. Devon is FaceTiming someone who keeps telling him to unbutton one more, and Terrell is doing pushups in the corner because he's convinced a fresh pump will add five hundred dollars to his bid. The energy is loud, competitive, and the kind of charged-up atmosphere that usually gets me going before a game.
I can't focus on any of it.
"East. Yo, Easton." Marcus snaps his fingers in front of my face, his tie still a crooked disaster. "You good? You've been staring at that locker like it owes you money."
