“Eighteen hundred.” That’s from one of my old high school buddies who’s out and proud. I tip my head, glad to spend my time catching up with him when Liz throws out a bomb.
“Twenty-two hundred.”
Fuck. No way the universe is handing me off to my ex with the highest bid of the night. But no one raises their paddle, sealing my fate.
“Going once… twice… and sold, folks!” The gavel cracks like a damn rifle shot. “Our hometown rodeo champion is officially off the market.”
I didn’t even want to be on the market, and now a girl I might be catching feelings for (yes, I said it) is going out with my best friend while I’ve been roped into spending time with my ex.
All because my sister insisted I join this stupid auction in the first place. The only saving grace from this shitshow is that she’s stuck with whatever chaos she just unleashed into the world.
Pushing past the enormous tree, I slip out of the meeting hall before Liz can corner me about scheduling our dates. The last thing I need right now is to pretend I’m excited about this arrangement.
Gentry follows me outside, the cool December air hits as he claps me on the shoulder. “Well, that was interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.” I loosen my bow tie, feeling like it’s choking me.
I need a drink. And air. And to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to sit through three dates with my ex when the only woman I want to spend time with just bought dates with my best friend.
By the time we make it next door, I have two words on my mind: full bar.
Three dates with my ex? Fine.
Hallie on someone else’s arm? Fine.
Everything’s fucking fine.
Now somebody pour the damn whiskey—and make it strong.
Chapter 8
Colt
We’re in the event center next to the meeting hall, where it’s been transformed into a winter wonderland. Shimmery snowflakes hang from the ballroom ceiling, with buffet tables along the perimeter hosting a variety of hors d’oeuvres and sweets. Round tables adorned with red and white linens are scattered throughout the space, each with holiday centerpieces that add to the festive spirit.
Which I’m not feeling one fucking bit.
A local band plays a jazzy “Jingle Bell Rock” while the fine citizens of Stone Ridge dance away. I knock back my next shot, the amber liquid fiery smooth down my throat as I watch Hallie dancing with Gentry. Why the hell are they still out there?
We did our obligatory thing with all the other auction couples by kicking off the first dance. And before anyone goes around assuming I was a dick to Liz, I was a perfect gentleman. It was nice to catch up. But neither of us was interested in a third dance like these two.
My watch pings with a message from my sister.
Brooke: Fix your face.
I roll my eyes and hear another ping.
Brooke: Saw that.
I set the glass on a service tray and head over to the happy couple. Enough is enough.
“May I cut in?” My tone doesn’t leave room for Gentry to do anything but step aside.
My boy slaps my back and heads to my spot at the bar, where he pretends to ignore my sister.
“Glad you saved a dance for me, Cupcake.”
I pull Hallie into an embrace before she can protest, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other clasping hers. The band plays something softer, and I try not to think too much about the way she fits against me like she was made for it.
