The gymnasium goes quiet in sections, the silence spreading outward from my row like a ripple. People crane their necks, trying to identify the voice, and when they find me, the murmuring starts immediately. I can hear my name threading through the whispers, followed by Easton's, followed by variations ofare you kidding meandoh my godandisn't that the Omega he torments?
Avery leans past Declan to stare at me with wide eyes. Milo has his face in his hands. Quentin, to his credit, looks mildly entertained.
On stage, Easton’s gaze locks onto mine and the practiced confidence on his face cracks open for just a second. The surprise is written all over his face but there’s something darker that makes the hair on my arms rise. His chin dips just slightly, his eyes narrowing behind those gold frames, and the smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth isn't the one he gives thecrowd. It's the one he gives me in hallways right before he says something designed to take me apart.
My heart starts beating so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.
"Twenty-five hundred to the gentleman in row seven," the announcer recovers, her voice pitched with excitement because she knows a story when she sees one. "Do I hear twenty-six?"
"Twenty-six!" the blonde Omega counters, turning in her seat to find me. Her expression is somewhere between annoyed and confused, like she can't figure out why someone like me is bidding on someone like him.
"Three thousand." My voice doesn't shake. I'm proud of that because everything else about me is shaking, my hands, my knees, and the resolve that's held this plan together since the hallway. Three thousand is more than I should spend. Three thousand is textbooks and groceries and the emergency fund I've been building since freshman year. Three thousand is stupid.
I don't care.
"Three thousand! Do I hear thirty-one?"
The blonde Omega looks at her friend, who shakes her head. The lacrosse Beta has already folded. The other Omega sets her paddle down with a visible pout, crossing her arms over her chest. For a breath, the only sound is the bass line of whatever playlist the events committee has going through the speakers.
"Thirty-one hundred." A new voice kills the silence, coming from somewhere to my left. I don't bother looking to see who it is.
"Thirty-five hundred." I raise my paddle higher. My meal plan is going to take a direct hit. I might have to pick up a third shift at the bookstore. I might have to sell my textbooks early. I don't care about any of it because Easton is still watching me from the stage and his expression hasn't settled back into the mask. He's looking at me with his real face, the one underneath the smirk and the bravado.
The competitor to my left hesitates, then lowers their paddle. The announcer waits, drawing out the moment, scanning the crowd for any last challengers.
Nobody moves.
"Sold! For thirty-five hundred dollars, to the young man in the seventh row!"
The gymnasium erupts with a mixture of cheers and gasps and at least three separate conversations start behind me that I can tell are going to be all over campus by morning. Milo drops his hands from his face just long enough to look at me with an expression that saysI love you but you've lost your entire mind.
I don't respond because I’ve already returned my attention to the stage, where Easton is stepping down.
He walks directly into the crowd, people parting for him without thinking about it. The sea of bodies opens up, row by row, as he cuts through it with his eyes locked on mine. The swagger from thirty seconds ago evaporates as the reality of what I've done catches up to me.
I just bought Easton Cole.
Easton Cole, who makes my life miserable on a daily basis, who shoulder-checks me into lockers, whose scent makes me wet against my will, is walking toward me with an expression I've never seen before and I am sitting in a folding chair with crab cake crumbs on my blazer.
He stops in front of my row as people between us scramble to make room, pressing back into their seats. He's close enough now that his scent hits me full force, and I have to grip the sides of my chair to keep from doing something humiliating.
Easton slowly leans down, bracing one hand on the back of my chair so his arm cages me in from the right. His mouth stops beside my ear, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my neck, and every nerve ending in my body goes live.
"Hope you got your money's worth, Kit." His voice is barely above a whisper, and rough at the edges. "Because I don't do easy."
EASTON
Thewalkacrosscampusshould feel like a victory lap for Kit, but from three steps behind him I can tell it doesn't. His shoulders are rigid beneath that black blazer, his stride fast enough that anyone watching would think he's trying to outrun me rather than lead me somewhere, and the set of his jaw hasn't softened since we left the gymnasium. He's furious and determined and radiating black cherry so strongly that I can taste it on the back of my tongue.
And all I can think about is the fact that he chose me.
Out of every Omega, Beta, and Alpha in that gymnasium, Kit is the one who raised his paddle. He spent thirty-five hundred dollars, money he clearly doesn't have to throw around based on the way his face went pale when the announcer confirmed the number, and he did it while looking at me with the kind of venom usually reserved for people who've committed actual crimes.
He could have targeted any Alpha on that stage or picked someone he genuinely wanted to spend the evening with, but he aimed all of that fire directly at me.Why?
Is this some twisted kind of revenge plot? Does he have feelings for me? Did he set up some kind of ambush or some shit?
On the surface, I'm handling this beautifully, the perfect picture of an Alpha who's been auctioned off before and isn't bothered by the outcome. My teammates watched me walk out with Kit and I gave them the look, the one that saysthis is going to be hilariousrather thanmy entire nervous system is malfunctioning.
