Auctioned to Him Book 8

by Charlotte Byrd

  He climbs on top of me, cradles my head. He moves my hair off my neck and kisses it lightly. His kisses send shivers down my body and make my feet feel numb.

  I lift his head up to my lips and kiss him on the mouth. I bury my hands in his hair. His hands remain at my sides, but his lips move along with mine. I feel him push into me.

  I hear footsteps outside the door.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pushing him away.

  “Nothing,” he mumbles and starts to kiss my neck again. He gives me light little kisses along my collarbone, driving me wild. But something at the door is worrying me.

  “What if Juliet comes back?” I ask.

  “She won’t,” he says without stopping. “She’s on her date.”

  “So who’s that? Outside?” I ask.

  “Shhh.” He puts his finger across my lips. “That’s just Dylan and Peyton. They won’t come in.”

  “How do you know?” I ask. I don’t know what’s worrying me. But something is making me stall. I’m trying to buy time. But why?

  “They won’t come in because I never intrude on them. They owe me.”

  I know he’s right. I take a deep breath. Just relax. I’ve done this a million times. We’ve done this a million times. This is Tristan. You love him. And he loves you.

  As Tristan’s mouth makes his way from my collarbone further down, to my breasts and then around my ribs and down to my belly button, I start to relax. All thoughts of intruders suddenly vanish and I’m calm.

  Wordlessly, Tristan pulls off my shirt and undoes my bra. He stands above me as he pulls off his own shirt. He isn’t flexing, but the muscles in his stomach still make a perfect six-pack.

  “You’re so hot,” I say, running my fingers over each pack.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, snuggling out of his jeans. He kisses me lightly along my hipbones and tugs at the top of my leggings. I’m getting warm in between my legs. I lift up my butt to help him pull them off me. With one quick swoosh, I’m suddenly completely naked. No leggings, panties, or socks.

  Tristan presses his body close to mine.

  “You feel nice,” he mumbles, as we start to move in unison. I thread my fingers into his hair. His thick hair is so silky that my fingers can’t seem to find traction.

  He kisses me behind the ear as he finds his way into me. We fumble around at first, trying to find the right pace. But quickly, start to move together. Energy builds up within me. I let out a moan.

  “I love you,” he moans into my ear.

  “I love you too,” I whisper as he sends me over the edge. I curl my toes as warmth pulsates throughout my body. I close my eyes and disappear into another world. Tristan moves faster and faster until he collapses on top of me.

  My mind goes blank as my body goes limp. I can’t feel the lower half of my body.

  “Thank you,” he says, sighing and rolling over next to me.

  “No, thank you,” I mumble.

  3

  We lie quietly next to each other for some time before either of us speaks again. It’s still hard to believe that I’m lying here, next to him.

  Tristan Hilton.

  The guy who was my best friend for many years until one afternoon when he kissed me and we became more than friends. In high school, I thought he was the love of my life. And when his family moved up to the Bay Area in the beginning of our senior year, my heart broke into a thousand pieces. But he promised me that we would make it. We would go away to college together and we would be together forever. And after we finally made it through that year apart, when we got into the same school and almost had everything we had ever dreamed of, we broke up. No, that’s not true. I say that to make myself feel better. But it was really he who broke up with me. The world turned to black. And there was nothing I could do to bring life into it. And then things got worse. I came to college, thinking I would start over, and I found out that he was going to be my roommate!

  “Isn’t this crazy?” I ask. Neither of us bothers to put on any clothes, but I pull the comforter up. It’s getting cold and the radiator is all the way across the room.

  “What?” he asks. “Us?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, it is,” Tristan says with a smile. He rolls over to his side and props his head up with the hand.

  “But I don’t have any regrets, do you?”

  I shake my head. A part of me wishes that he had regretted ever breaking up with me. But another part thinks that maybe that whole thing made us stronger. We both learned something. We both dated people, experienced what it would be like to be out there. Seeing other people.

  “I don’t mean to bring up something bad,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I sort of wish that we never broke up last summer. It was stupid.”

  I shrug and flash him a smile. It makes me so happy to hear that, I feel myself beaming.

  “Why are you grinning like that?” he asks.

  “Why do you think?” I ask.

  “Because you were right?” he asks.

  “I guess. Though those are your words, not mine!”

  He rolls his eyes and kisses me on the nose. I snuggle up in his armpit and close my eyes. I love the way things are now. Different, new, exciting. In ways that I never imagined possible.

  Tristan and I spent the weekend before classes start hanging out. We get our textbooks, go out for brunch, walk around Riverside Park, go shopping in Chinatown. But mostly, we laugh. We laugh like we haven’t laughed in a long time. Like old friends who are just catching up. Everything and every story is exciting. We reminisce about high school. About sneaking out of gym class to go out to lunch. About making out in the church’s parking lot late at night. About watching Jaws together in his parents’ bed when no one was home. And by the time Sunday night rolls around, I realize that I’m no longer holding my breath. I’m breathing easily. I didn’t know it at the time, but our time together over Christmas break felt like a dream. I knew it was happening, but a big part of me almost didn’t believe it. But now that we were back in school and together and happy, I’m no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s like something heavy has been removed from my chest – something I didn’t even know was there.

  I’m taking 16 credits this semester. Writing 101, a required composition class for freshmen, Victorian literature, an advanced elective that I was lucky to get into, Introduction to Anthropology, another requirement - I think it fills the civilization requirement, but I’m not sure - and public speaking. Public speaking is also required, and this is the class that I’m looking forward to the least. Or rather, not at all.

  Public speaking gives me heart palpitations. It makes me shiver (not in a good way!) and makes me want to throw up. I’m not a public speaker. I’m terrified of giving speeches. I’m so bad at it that sometimes I raise my hand in class, and if the professor doesn’t call on me immediately, I start to freak out and sometimes drop my hand and don’t participate at all.

  “I’m sorry, Alice, but you can’t drop this class,” my counselor informs me when I barge into her office without an appointment and try to weasel out of it. “Unfortunately, public speaking is one of the only classes that fulfills the diversity requirement and fits your schedule. If you didn’t want this class, you should’ve thought about this last semester.”

  “The thing is that last semester, I thought I’d be brave. I thought that it would be good for me to take it and get over this fear, once and for all. But now that I actually have to go to class, I just don’t think I can do it. I’m going to have a heart attack.”

  “You’re going to be just fine, Alice.” She smiles at me and ushers me outside. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about this anymore. I have a lot of people waiting. If you would like to schedule an appointment…”

  “No, thank you for your time.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

  I lie. I’m not going to be fine. I’m going to fail.

  I meet Tristan for a late lunch after cl
ass. It’s worse than I even imagined.

  “I thought the professor would lecture for a bit and we would speak in public later. Like later in the semester. But no. I have to make a speech next week!” I say.

  I’m jumbling my words together. I can barely breathe at the very thought.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he says, patting my shoulders.

  Why do people keep saying this? How do they know this? It’s not a given!

  “I have to make five speeches!” I say. “What am I going to do, Tristan? I’m going to die.”

  Tristan smiles. “You’re not going to die.”

  He’s not mocking me, but I’m not sure that he’s getting the severity of this problem either.

  “I’ll help you prepare,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

  “You will?” I ask. I like the sound of that.

  Public speaking is not a big deal for Tristan. He was our class president for three years before he moved up north. Speaking in front of people doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t fear what others think of him. I wish I could be like that. Confident. Self-assured. But I’m not. And the more I want to be like that, the more embarrassed I get over how I really am.

  “My first speech is next week,” I say. “I have to give a toast.”

  “To whom?” he asks.

  “Whomever I want. But I can’t. No, I have to figure out a way to drop this class.”

  “No, you don’t.” He smiles at me. A confident, self-assured smile. “I’ll help you. We’ll get through this together.”

  Something about the way he says that puts me at ease. He’s telling the truth and I believe him. I’m not doing this alone. I’ll be doing this with him. We’ll be doing it together. It’s always easier to do things together. Right? I suddenly feel like this is actually possible.

  4

  “So I’m starting the internship tomorrow,” Tristan says after our pizza is ready.

  We only ordered two slices, but the slices are so large at this place, they take up half the table. Thin crust with a thin layer of fresh mozzarella and veggies. Delicious.

  “Young’s and Associates, right?” I ask, taking a big bite of my slice. He nods.

  “Three days per week,” he adds. “Full days.”

  “That’s intense,” I say. “But exciting, right?”

  He shrugs. He’s anxious about this. I’ve never really seen him this way.

  “What if I’m no good?” he asks. I shake my head.

  “Impossible.”

  He smiles.

  Young’s and Associates is an investment bank on Wall Street. The internship is very prestigious and ridiculously competitive. He found out that he got in over Christmas break. In addition to the internship, he’s also taking a full load of classes. Hard classes. Calculus II and Macroeconomics and a couple of requirements.

  “How are you going to manage?” I ask.

  “Somehow, I guess. It’s such a great opportunity. I just don’t want to mess it up.”

  “So when are you taking classes then if the internship is all day long?”

  “I had to rearrange my schedule today. I’m not taking any classes on the days I’m working. So they’re all crammed into the evenings and two are three hours long on Thursday and Friday.”

  “Wow, that sucks!” I sympathize. “Is it all semester?”

  He nods.

  “Until May. And then if it all goes well and I do really well, I’ll be in the running for their full-time summer internship.”

  “That’s a lot of free labor they’re getting out of college students,” I say.

  “I guess.” He shrugs. “But I know I’m going to learn a lot. Plus, it will set me up well for getting a good job after graduation.”

  I’m impressed by his drive. But I can’t lie, the schedule puts me off.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” I shrug. But I can tell that he doesn’t believe me. “Well, it’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am. I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed. I mean, this is college. I want you to have time for fun. And your friends.”

  “And you.” He finishes my sentence.

  “That’s not what I said,” I say, even though that’s what I meant.

  “Don’t worry.” He gives me a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll make time for us. And I’m not going to work too hard.

  “Okay.” I nod.

  The following night, I don’t see Tristan until 7 pm. He’s at his internship all day and then I get a text that he’s going to happy hour with his associates after work. I won’t admit it out loud, but I’m annoyed. It’s only the first day and it’s already irritating me. I hate that I want him to spend time with me. Make time for me. I don’t want to be that girl; I want to be supportive and steadfast. But I’m not. The best I can do is to keep my mouth shut.

  “Guess what?” Tristan asks me that night, after he comes home. “I didn’t have to use my fake ID downtown.”

  “Really?”

  “Apparently, those bartenders don’t card anyone in a suit. At least, according to Kathryn.”

  “Who’s Kathryn?”

  “Oh she’s just one of the people I work with. She’s quite impressive actually. She graduated from NYU’s Stern School of Business last year. She worked at Young’s for three summers while she was in college before they hired her. She’s really driven.”

  I shrug and nod. Suddenly, I get a strange feeling about the whole thing. Like the existence of Kathryn will play a significant role in the events that are about to take place.

  The next afternoon, I walk into the one class that I’m really excited about taking this semester: Victorian Literature. I can’t believe that I have actually been going around calling myself an English major and I have never read Pride and Prejudice or anything by Charles Dickens. That’s one of the reasons I’m so excited about the class. I’m sure that it will fix all of my literary shortcomings.

  “Hey!” Tea says, sitting down in the seat next to mine with a big, wide smile across her face.

  I’m just as happy to see her.

  “I was hoping you’d be in this class,” I say.

  Tea and I met last semester. After a few awkward weeks when she and Tristan were sort of dating and Tristan was refusing to define their relationship or be exclusive, Tea and I developed quite a friendship.

  “You look really good,” I say, looking her up and down. Tea has always had a gorgeous face, the kind that would have Renaissance painters swooning. But now, she’s even more radiant.

  “Thanks for noticing.” She blushes. “I lost 23 pounds. I’m a size 12 now.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” I smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I haven’t been a size 12 since 9th grade.”

  I nod. Tea is one of those beautiful big women who you’d never know was unhappy with her weight. While I have a tendency to slouch, she always stands up straight.

  “I do feel like I lost it all in my boobs though.” She laughs, grabbing her 36 DDs.

  “What inspired you to do all this?” I ask.

  “I got home from school in December, stepped on the scale, and discovered that I was 198 pounds. That’s almost 200! I’ve never been so heavy in my whole life. So I knew that I had to do something about it. And quick.”

  I look at her body a little closer. Her waistline is more defined. And her breasts are perky and sit higher on her body than they used to. Her eyes don’t look so tired anymore either. And even her skin has a kind of glow to it. Though the last two things could really be because it’s the first week of the new semester, not finals week. I’m sure that my eyes aren’t that tired right now either.

  “Oh. I have more news!” she whispers as the professor introduces herself and passes out the syllabus.

  “I’m dating someone now!” she says with a little shriek at the end.

  “Who?”

  “This guy. His name is Tanner. He’s a grad student in architecture.”

  I’m so happy
for her. She’s a really good girl and she deserves to find someone who could appreciate her for her.

  “What about you? You seeing anyone special?” she asks.

  My heart jumps into my throat. I should’ve expected this question, but for some reason I didn’t.

  I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to talk about Tristan. This is the only thing that’s weird in our relationship. I like Tea a lot. And I know that we can even be closer than we are now. Except that there’s Tristan. Guys always get in the way.

  I mouth “later,” and pretend that I’m listening to what the professor has to say. I don’t want to answer her question. I don’t know how she’ll react, but I know that it will be a defining moment. If she’s upset, we probably won’t be friends. No matter how hard I try. If she doesn’t care, then we’ll be okay.

  The professor is giving an introduction about Charles Dickens. The importance of Oliver Twist for his society and how that book redefined the way the society thought about poverty and child labor and workhouses. It’s fascinating. Don’t get me wrong. But I can’t quiet my mind. It keeps going back to Tea’s question. All I can think about is how I’m going to tell Tea about Tristan, and whether I even should. I mean, I could lie. I could pretend that everything’s fine. That we’re just friends. I’m sure that I can even get Tristan to go along with it. He wouldn’t really care either way. But then what would we have? Would we really be friends if I’m hiding this big part of my life from her?

  By the end of class, I come to a decision. Yes. I’m going to tell her. It’s better to just tell the truth. I don’t know if she would find out either way, but at least we would be friends for the right reasons then. And if we won’t be friends, that’s fine too. I mean, it was Tea who dumped him for not wanting to commit to being her boyfriend. And she does have a new boyfriend now. Maybe it will all work out. Or maybe not. I’m starting to waver…

  Class ends and my decision isn’t as steadfast as it was a few minutes ago. Shit. I take a deep breath and tell her the truth.