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.
“Five hundred,” I jumped, surprised at how many numbers still stayed in the air. “A thousand!”
We lost quite a few with that one, but there were still a dozen holding strong.
“Fifteen hundred,” I tried, and I laughed in true disbelief as I ran straight to, “Two thousand.”
That dropped all but three.
I beamed at the remaining contenders, one I recognized from the board of a local advertising agency, one who was sporting a Zeta Tau Alpha jersey and conversing with her sisters like they were all throwing in money for the bid, and…
Maliyah.
My eyes caught on her, and hers narrowed into slits before she held her paddle even higher, as if I didn’t already see it.
“Twenty-five hundred,” I said, though my voice wasn’t quite as loud this time.
The Zeta pouted, looking to her sisters who shook their heads before she let the paddle drop.
“Three,” I said, not needing to say the thousand, and Maliyah glanced over at the lovely older woman whom I wished would win, only to immediately hate myself for wishing it.
Clay would want Maliyah to take the highest bid.
This is what we’d been working for, what we’d been parading our fake relationship around campus for months to achieve.
Maliyah wanted him back — and she proved it with a victorious smile as the other woman nodded her congratulations and lowered her paddle.
My sandpaper tongue wouldn’t work, wouldn’t swallow or let me speak as I banged my gavel against the wooden podium. “Sold, to number two-eighty-one,” I finally croaked.
Maliyah arched a brow at me, and I wished I could have schooled my expression, that I could have refused her the satisfaction of thinking she’d gotten to me. But I was a pale, frozen ghost as I watched her in return.
And I didn’t even have to fake it.
Clay was ushered off stage by one of the volunteers, and I tore my eyes off Maliyah where she darted through the crowd to meet him at the other end of it as the next player was brought up to take Clay’s place.
The show had to go on, and I was the conductor.
Three more players were auctioned before we took an intermission, one I needed so desperately that I all but sprinted from the podium once the band began playing again. I stumbled down the steps of the stage, swiping a bottle of water offered to me out of someone’s hands before I even recognized who it was.
“Breathe,” Riley said when I’d guzzled half of it.
I came back to the room with a dozen blinks, only to have her gently take me by the arm and guide me over to a less crowded part of the room. She was a total knockout in the red number she’d worn for the occasion, and she offered smiles to everyone we passed along the way until she had me tucked behind a table in the corner.
“You okay?”
“I’m great,” I said, trying to seal that lie with a smile.
Riley arched a brow. “That was a low blow from Maliyah.”
I shrugged. “It was generous. It’s a great donation for a wonderful cause.”
“Cut the shit, Giana. She bid on her ex-boyfriend. On your current boyfriend. And she did it to be a bitch.” Riley shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at where Maliyah was gathered with the rest of the cheerleading squad on the dance floor. They moved their hips in time with the beat, laughing and tossing their hands up in the air without a care in the world. “I’ve watched enough Breaking Bad that I think I could help you get rid of the body.”
The laugh that escaped me brought my first real breath in what felt like hours, and Riley offered me a genuine, sympathetic smile as she turned back to me.