Page 42 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

“Oh, come on,” I teased, holding up a record of Fleetwood Mac. “Even you can’t deny the classics. This is good stuff.”

“You’re really going to spend money on something you can’t even listen to right now? I could pull up that whole record on my phone right now and the quality would be ten times better.”

“Why not?” I countered, pulling out my wallet. “Future me is going to be very grateful for this. As soon as I find a real place to settle and I can unpack my things, I’m so going to listen to this.”

He shook his head, but I caught the way his lips quirked up in the corner, like he was fighting a smile. Like it might cause him physical pain to truly smile. “Whatever makes you happy, Watson.”

The vendor handed me the record in a bag. “Thank you. And don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly, though his tone didn’t match the smirk he was no longer hiding.

“So what are you working on these days?” I asked him.

“Bikes,” he replied with typical curtness.

“Fascinating. Oh my God! Look at these!” I grabbed a pillow with an embroidered motorcycle on it and held it out to him, unable to contain my laughter.

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced over it. “Not quite my style.”

We moved on to the games. I dragged him over to a ring-toss booth. “Win me a unicorn,” I said.

He snorted. “That thing costs maybe five bucks and you want to spend fifty trying to win it?”

I frowned at him. “It’s not about buying the thing. It’s about the fun you’ll have trying to win it.”

“Why would that be fun?”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself. I didn’t realize you were a chicken shit. You’re obviously afraid I’m going to kick your ass.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I said, grinning. “Unless you’re scared.”

He handed the guy a ten-dollar bill and took the rings, his focus shifting to the bottles lined up on the counter. He tossed the first ring. Of course, it landed perfectly around the neck of a bottle.

I blinked, surprised. “Okay, showoff.”

Dean smirked, tossing another ring. It landed just as easily.

“Beginner’s luck,” I said.

He glanced at me, his smirk widening. “You’re just mad because you know you can’t beat me.”

I grabbed a set of rings, determined to prove him wrong. But my first toss missed by a mile.

Dean laughed, the sound so foreign even the guy running the booth looked surprised. “Need some help?”

I shot him a glare, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Shut up.”

We spent the next ten minutes competing, and by the time we walked away, Dean had won a small stuffed unicorn—just like I asked for. He handed it to me without a word, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“There’s your stupid unicorn,” he said.

I grinned, tucking the pink unicorn under my arm. “You’re full of surprises, Jackson.”

We stopped at a food stand next. I ordered a plate of fried dough. Dean pretended he wasn’t interested, but when I held a piece out to him, he took it without hesitation.

“Thought you didn’t like this kind of stuff,” I said, watching as he took a bite.