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I tossed a grin Kingsley’s way, and he shook his head and smirked.
“River and Reese are putting two guest rooms up for a lease-type arrangement,” Tate announced. “We’ll be making changes to the guest rooms in the tower, and when they’re done, they’ll be like studio apartments, and you can place bids on a six-month lease—with the option of extending.”
That one had the attention and visible interest of several people, actually. And I wasn’t surprised. Our setup was essentially a kinky vacation paradise, and many were good-naturedly envious of the cabins that the founding members had.
“Ivy and Gretchen are donating their Little Maid Service for three house calls,” Tate said next. “They’ll send a crew to clean your house.”
“We’re gettin’ that, darlin’,” Colt called to Lucas.
“We’ll see about that, buddy!” someone called back.
Greer chuckled and leaned closer to Archie. “That woulda been my first bid if I didn’t have a slave, baby boy.”
“How lucky you are, then, Master,” Archie teased in return.
They were too cute.
“Moving on!” Tate said loudly. “Our top donors will show their generosity at the auction too. Franklin is donating a $3000 gift card for a cruise line. Kit wants to send three lucky kinksters to the Miramar Air Show in San Diego next year, all expenses paid—”
“My Daddies and I will be there too!” Kit announced happily. “We can hang out and look at fighter jets!”
Oh, I wanted to do that! I didn’t know much about planes and stuff, but they were still cool, and they flew so fast.
I glanced over at Colt, who didn’t look so tired anymore, just ridiculously in love and amused.
The sight was a sucker punch of envy. Not to mention further confirmation that the feelings I’d harbored for Marcus hadn’t been anything remotely close to actual love in such a long time.
Tate wasn’t done listing things that people were donating. From big things to small. Macklin was donating two things, a gift card to his restaurant and… Lots of members whistled and catcalled when Tate announced Macklin was also giving away a date.
As cocky as he was sweet, Macklin merely waggled his eyebrows.
I sought out Kit immediately, the two of us thinking of the same thing. This was Gael’s shot. If he had the guts.
“Next on the list is Corey!” Tate said.
“What,” I blurted out flatly. What. My name? Me? What? “I mean, what?”
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to confirm this,” he replied. “Macklin added your name and said you’re a brilliant illustrator. He’s suggesting you donate a calendar for the community, but it’s up to you. Sorry to put you on the spot.”
I widened my eyes at Mack as the disbelief tore through me. What I did for a living was no secret, and I’d never told him he couldn’t say anything, but Jesus H Christmas!
“You gotta do it, kiddo,” Macklin told me. “Your cousin agrees with me.”
Gah! I knew I shouldn’t have introduced those two!
“I’m not that good,” I grated out.
My ears felt hot, and everything became uncomfortable. I wasn’t mad or anything; I couldn’t say he’d crossed some line, but it was embarrassing and making me very flustered. I was down to clown until someone told me to clown!
“Your four million followers would disagree,” he retorted flippantly.
“Whoa.” Archie raised his brows at me.
So did Greer.
I squinted and scratched my forehead. This was so, so, so, so not awesome.
“Are you famous, man?” Noa yelled. “Can you autograph my abs?”
“No!” I spluttered, torn between screaming and laughing. This was fucking nuts! Could we rewind? “I’m not famous—Christ. I run a stupid comic thing on Twitter, that’s all.”
It wasn’t even a comic. It was a strip of three extremely anatomically incorrect, could’ve-been-drawn-in-MS-Paint dinosaurs that I posted once a week with thoughts and conversations relatable to people with autism, ADHD, and depression. It’d started out as an attempt to comfort Alva when she was younger. When she didn’t understand why she couldn’t shake her bad feelings. I’d just wanted to console my cousin. Then Lane had suggested I post it to social media, and I hadn’t in a million years thought it would blow up the way it did a few months later.
“I’m not talking about the funny deficit dinos of whatever you call them,” Macklin told me. “I’m referring to the illustrations you post in between—just for fun. They’re fucking amazing.”
I squirmed in my seat, feeling way too many eyes on me.
“Hold up,” Tate said, taking a couple steps forward. “The Attention Deficit Dinos? You’re the creator?”
I flinched and nodded once.
“Holy shit, honey.”
“I don’t know what’s happening, but I still want that autograph,” Noa informed us.
I chuckled uncomfortably.
Then I felt two strong arms around my shoulders.
“Just say the word if it becomes too much,” Sloan murmured in my ear. “We’ll take a breather downstairs if you want.”
I exhaled. His saying that was comfort enough.
