Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Maliyah is already here,” Giana said quietly when we made our way into the space. “She looks beautiful. And I… I overheard something.”
I just swallowed, looking down at where she still clung to my arm.
“I think she really misses you, Clay. I think… I think our plan is working.” Her eyes searched mine. “She told a group of the cheerleaders in the bathroom that she wants you back.”
I blinked at her reveal of information, waiting for it to hit me, to strike me in the chest, to fill me up with hope or the sense of pride I felt after winning a game.
But I felt nothing.
Two months ago — hell, even one month ago, I would have leapt for joy, or perhaps even cried. I would have run to Maliyah. I would have held her in my arms and begged her to take me back, to believe in us, to see the future I had always seen.
But now, that future was nothing but a foggy, distant dream — one I couldn’t see clearly anymore.
One I had no desire to ever chase again.
I didn’t know what to say, but I tried to pretend to be happy, to fake like that was the news I’d been waiting for.
“Well,” I said, grinning as best I could. “She can eat her heart out when she sees you on my arm tonight.”
Giana tried to return my smile, but there was a bend to her brows that tainted it, and before either of us could say anything else, Charlotte Banks strolled up to us.
“Giana, it’s time,” she said, offering me a small smile before she pulled Giana off my arm. “We’ve got the first five teammates lined up next to the stage and ready to go.”
Giana looked over her shoulder at me as her boss pulled her away.
Her eyes were as mysterious as the ocean depths.
Giana
From the moment I was pulled away from Clay and shoved onto the auction stage quite unwillingly, the night flew.
I blacked out for most of it, nerves rattling my bones as I somehow managed to stand at the podium, to speak loud and clear, to introduce each teammate and their date before accepting bids from the audience.
I wasn’t a natural. I didn’t crack well-timed jokes or charm the room with my dazzling personality the way I’d watched my mother and sisters do all my life. But I did speak clearly, with my chin held high, and with enough confidence to fool the room into thinking this wasn’t so entirely out of my comfort zone that I was certain I’d vomit the moment I stepped off stage.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” I spoke into the microphone, a warm smile touching my lips when I saw who was next on the list. “Refill your champagne and get those paddles ready, because this next date is one you won’t want to lose. Please help me welcome to the stage, Clay Johnson!”
Polite cheers rang out just like they had all through the auction, but there were also some whistles and little screams of excitement that pierced through the air. Bidders really couldn’t go wrong with any of the date auctions tonight, but where some of the players were won by affluent older women in the community who would donate the money for the cause without taking the actual date, others were fought over by NBU students. They weren’t here just for charity — they were here for a husband.
And they were out for blood when it came to the top players.
Clay approached the stage from the stairs behind me, his hand brushing the small of my back as he passed. I flushed, though I didn’t look back at him, not even when chills raced from where he’d touched me all the way up to my ears.
“Safety Clay Johnson is six foot four and two-hundred-and-fifteen pounds of pure muscle,” I read from the script, chuckling when the room echoed with cat calls. “He’s a Cali boy with a love for the beach and reggae music. When we asked his teammates what word best describes Clay, they answered easily and in unison with…” I paused, smiling at the word before I said it. “Loyal.”
I glanced back at Clay then, loving the humble smirk that found his lips as I did.
“His date has been graciously donated by Picnics & Posies,” I said, turning back to the microphone. “Join Clay for a romantic picnic in Boston Common, complete with a bottle of sparkling grape juice, or champagne for those old enough to legally drink, as well as a charcuterie board and local pastries from the North End.”
The room was buzzing with whispered conversations, everyone preparing to make their bids.
“We’ll start the bidding at one-hundred dollars.”
Paddles shot up into the air all over the room, which made everyone laugh and start screaming out random dollar amounts they were willing to pay to win.