Jackson’s eyes widen, but when I look at Wes, my smirk slips from my lips. He might be broad, built, and six three, but right now, he looks so fucking vulnerable.
“Fifteen hundred,” the guy shouts out.
My fingers tighten into fists. I’m going to kill that guy. “Two thousand.”
The laughter and low chatter in the room fades away to silence, and I realize that the lighthearted tone I used for my first bid has been replaced with something else.
“Twenty-five hundred,” the asshole calls.
My eyes haven’t left Wes’, and I see the silent question there, even from where I’m sitting.What are you doing?I’m staking a fucking claim, that’s what I’m doing.
“Three thousand dollars,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing.
I tear my gaze from Wes and glare at the lanky fucker at the table in the back, daring him to up his bid. He opens his mouth, but someone else at his table has some sense because they whisper to him and he sinks down on his chair, shaking his head.
“Sold!” Jackson calls out. “Sol Brooker has won a date with Wes for three thousand dollars.”
Bemused applause ripples through the room, but then Alex and Zak rise to their feet, cheering and hollering, and my ears burn red hot. Both mine and Wes’ parents are clapping loudly too, Jacey all but squealing at my elbow. There are whispers too, but I don’t give a shit. There are going to be a lot of whispers coming my way, and probably some remarks that aren’t so quiet. But I’m ready. The people who I care about the most are on my side, and that’s all that matters.
My eyes are glued on Wes as he leaves the stage, and I’m moving toward him before I even register the decision. Our table is near the front, so he’s barely at the bottom of the steps before I reach him.
“Hey,” he says, looking a little shellshocked.
Up on the stage, Jackson is auctioning off a golfing weekend with Preston, one of the Wolfpack, but it barely registers, my attention fixed solely on the gorgeous man in front of me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Wes says.
I smile, reaching out and hooking two of my fingers with his, and his eyes widen behind his glasses. “I would have paid a hundred times that amount. Three thousand is a fucking steal.”
Wes grins, his shoulders relaxing a little.
“Come on,” I tug his fingers. “Sit with me. I missed you.”
And I really have. Disappointment has been a constant companion today, from turning up at Rosalind Hall to find I’d just missed him, to not being able to get to him all night. The frustration of being so close and so far at the same time has been exhausting.
When we reach the table, my dad is already pulling an extra chair he’s managed to get hold of from somewhere, up to our table and I give him a grateful smile. My fingers are still loosely linked with Wes’, and as we sit, I slide my hand into his properly, squeezing gently.
“I left you a message,” I say, leaning close to his ear. “From the glares you’ve been giving me, I’m going to go ahead and guess you never listened to it.”
Wes grimaces. “I’m so sorry. Jacey explained. I just—”
“Hey,” I cut him off, squeezing his fingers. “I get it. We never really finished talking things out last night.”
“No,” Wes admits, the corners of his mouth curving. “I guess we got a little distracted.”
I lean into him, my heart squeezing. “Just a little.”
We sit in silence for a moment, half listening to the frantic bidding for Preston’s golf weekend. Then Wes leans close to my ear again, his warm breath tickling my skin. “Jacey said that you told Peyton you were seeing someone.”
I swallow. “How do you feel about that?”
“It depends,” Wes says slowly.
“On what?”
“Who you’re seeing.”
I turn to him, eyebrows raised. “Are you being serious right now?”