Page 177 of Sour Notes

“Uhh, hi.”

The MC stares at me expectantly, but I got nothing. I’m not about to stand here and drone on about how excited I am to help raise funds for the cause.

Quite frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck about that or anything else anymore. I just want to be left alone to lick my wounds on the world's worst pull-out mattress in my office.

Why is that so hard to grasp?

“Oookay, not a talker, huh? I’m sure you have plenty of other talents though, amiright?”

The room erupts in wolf whistles and laughter as he elbows me conspiratorially. It takes all my restraint not to punch the guy. I don’t know who this fucker is, but I hate him already.

“Okay, so describe your ideal date to the crowd. What can our lucky winner expect from the esteemed Deputy Heartthrob?” He winks at me and white-hot rage boils my blood.

“I. Don’t. Date.” My hands fist at my sides and I don’t miss Haven’s concerned glance, or the way Axel and Beckett take a step closer to the stage.

Wonderful.

Rock bottom looks real good on me.

“International man of mystery right here. Deputy Heartthrob doesn’t want to spill all his secrets, but if the rumors are to be believed, I’m sure he won’t disappoint. Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

He grins at me and it’s a lesson in restraint that my fists stay at my sides. It’s probably not even his fault. I’m usually a lot more controlled and rational, but I used up every last shred of my control walking away from my girl and my heart. And right now, I frankly have zero fucks left to give.

A hand shoots up from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, drawing my attention.

“One fifty.”

“Three hundred,” Mary shouts from the corner.

Oh god, please, no.

A flash of white catches my eye from the back of the room, but when I look it’s gone.

I could have sworn…

No. A woman walks past the doors again in a white dress, but she’s no Mia.

Fan-fucking-tastic, now my mind’s playing tricks on me. Maybe laying off the whiskey was a good choice. My sanity is already hanging on by a thread.

“Four hundred,” another voice to the left of the room bids this time.

Jesus, I hope they like Wendy's. I have nothing else to offer them.

“Six hundred.” Mary strikes again.

God, if you’re real, I know I probably don’t deserve shit, but please do not let Mary win this auction. I’ll do anything.

“Seven hundred,” the same voice from the middle shouts again.

“One thousand dollars.” Mary’s shrill voice almost pierces my ear drum.

Fuck me, she’s not gonna let this go.

“Twelve hundred,” the woman in the center shouts back, clearly gearing up for a bidding war.

Why the hell do they want me? I’m no one special.

I’m no hero running into burning buildings like Axel.