Dark hair—somewhere between black and red—catching the glow of the string lights.
Burgundy.
I think.
Her eyes stay steady, locked on me like she’s not seeing anyone else in the room.
Something shifts in my chest.
Dallas latches on immediately. “We’ve got fifty! That’s what I’m talking about. Do I hear seventy-five?”
My throat works, ready to protest.Don’t push our luck. Fifty’s more than I expected.
But Dallas isn’t asking or listening.
And I’m a hunk of meat that no one wants… except her.
I keep looking at my bidder. She doesn’t look away, face unreadable, lips slightly parted in a way that puts warmth behind my sternum.
“Seventy-five,” another voice calls, somewhere off to the left.
My jaw tightens.
Dammit.
“Good! Seventy-five. Do I hear one hundred?”
“One hundred.” It’sheragain. The same tone and the same calm as before like she does this every day.
Heat settles low in my gut, unexpected and sharp.
That’s it. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.
But Dallas is back in full swing now. “There we go! One hundred dollars. Do I hear one-fifty?”
“Two hundred,” someone else jumps in, a little louder this time.
I don’t even glance that way. I’m still watching the redhead. Trying to figure out why the hell it feels like the whole room narrowed down to one person.
“Two-fifty?” Dallas calls.
No one moves.
I swallow hard, blinking through the lights.
Then, her paddle lifts, and I hear it. “Three hundred.”
My pulse kicks.
Dallas lets out a low whistle. “Now we’re talking. Three hundred dollars. Do I hear?—”
“Four.” It comes from another bidder, closer to the front. One with short curls of a gray-blue hue. She could be my grandmother. It couldn’t get more awkward. Now, I’m truly invested in the outcome.
Come on, Burgundy.
I shift my stance, something in me sharpening. This is ridiculous. It’s an auction, and I shouldn’t care. But damn if I don’t.
“Five hundred.” Her. Again.
