Page 34 of The Summer We Lie

"I thought you canceled the auction shit. You said she's too young. But if you want her, I'll back off."

"I don't," I say, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue. "Because she's too young for any of us, and she's Harper's best friend, so she's off limits."

He chuckles, seeing right through my pathetic attempt at deception. "You're the only one who cares about the age difference. Plus, she's hot and cool as fuck. So if you aren't going to go for it, then I will."

"The fuck you will," I snap, stepping up to him, closing the distance between us in one aggressive stride. What the fuck am I doing? Am I actually about to fight my best friend over a nineteen-year-old girl that I cannot have? "Stay away from her."

Yeah, so apparently I am.

Ethan starts laughing, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement. "Chill, Dom. I'm just fucking with you. Logan and I both were. We just wanted you to admit it."

"Admit what?" I ask, tension still coiled tight in my shoulders, ready to spring.

"That you want her. And the fact that you're all up in my face right now—which, by the way, you have never done—tells me we were right. You're fucked, bro." He laughs again, the sound grating on my already raw nerves.

I step back, dragging a hand down my face, feeling the rough stubble against my palm. "I am so fucked," I admit quietly, the confession hanging heavy in the night air. "I'm sorry."

"It's cool. And for what it's worth, she's a cool chick, and we're not going to judge you," he says, clapping me on the shoulder before walking back into the house.

I stand alone in the cooling night air, watching the stars emerge one by one, wondering when exactly I lost control of everything.

Chapter Fifteen

Skye

I toss over on my stomach, still not able to sleep. When everyone left after dinner tonight, I came back to my room to take a real shower and then laid down. That was two hours ago, and even though I'm exhausted, sleep just won't come. Maybe it's because it's a new place and new bed, or maybe it's because I can't stop thinking about Dom.

I grab my phone off the nightstand and check my socials. I watch a few funny videos—one of a bird having a dance party to music playing. Then I check my Good Girl Gone Live app and see a few notifications, requests for private shows. My heart does that familiar little flip between guilt and relief that at least I have income options.

One of my regulars who always wants me to get myself off and knows I don't remove my panties—he always tips big, almost embarrassingly so—so I reply to him and let him know what times I'm available tomorrow. Another regular who just likes me to sit in nothing but panties and talk to him about art and music, I message him back with a friendly note. And another guy I don't know requesting me to fuck a dildo for him, who I decline because in my profile it states that I'm a virgin and will not put anything inside of me. Some guys never bother to read profiles.

After all of that is taken care of, my fingers hovering a bit longer than necessary over each message as I second-guess my wording, I check my emails. There's a ton of spam, a couple from school about upcoming graphic design workshops, and one from Obsidian. My stomach tightens instantly at seeing that name. I clear the spam, check the school ones to make sure there's nothing urgent, and then open the most important one.

FROM: Obsidian Elite Services [[email protected]]

TO: Cherry Red [[email protected]]

SUBJECT: Auction Results- Exclusive Arrangement

Dear Cherry Red

We are reaching out regarding your auction. As of this communication, we have not received confirmation or cancellation from either party involved. Please advise if you still wish to proceed with the arrangement. If we do not hear from you or the bidder within 24 hours, we will assume the auction is canceled.

With appreciation for your discernment,

The Obsidian Management

This communication is encrypted and intended solely for the addressed recipient. Any unauthorized access is tracked and legally actionable under our membership agreement.

That's weird. I thought Mr. Grayson was canceling it. The auction I never thought would actually happen is still apparently on the table. I need to ask him tomorrow, though the thought of bringing it up makes my insides twist into complicated knots.

I put my phone down and sit up, rubbing my eyes. I guess if I can't sleep, I'll just draw until I get sleepy. Art always calms me down, helps me process the chaos in my head. I get up and grab my supplies out of my luggage and set them on the bed, organizing my pencils and sketchbook with practiced movements. I want to grab a water first though – my throat is dry from the fan.

I leave my room and head to the kitchen, padding silently through the unfamiliar hallways. I guess the good thing about being down here is that I don't need to worry about waking anyone—Harper is on the second floor and her dad is on the third. I walk through the kitchen and open the fridge. I grab one of the fancy waters with the Italian name I can't pronounce, close the door, open the water and take a drink. The cold liquid soothes my throat. Then I notice all of the dirty dishes in the sink, remnants of the dinner Mr. Grayson prepared for us.

I take another drink and put the top on. I turn on the water in the sink and wait for it to get hot, testing it with my fingers. I check the dishwasher and it's empty, so I start washing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher, careful to arrange everything properly. At least if I help out, I won't feel like such a leech. Besides, he shouldn't have to do them since he cooked that incredible meal for us.

I remember earlier when he wasn't even going to eat. Something about him is under my skin, burrowing deeper with every interaction, and I could not let him sit there while we ate, so I made him a plate. And I definitely remember when my leg brushed his hand under the table—he didn't move it and neither did I because I secretly loved the feel of his skin on mine. The memory sends a shiver down my spine even now.