Auctioned to Him Book 8

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I will,” I say. And then it occurs to me. Maybe this is as good as a time as ever to tell her about my plans for next year. She might even approve.

  “So, speaking of next year,” I start.

  “We weren’t speaking of next year,” she points out.

  “Okay, you know what I mean.”

  “Oh yeah, about being roommates next year, you mean?” Juliet asks, changing into her pajamas. They are purple and have little coffee pots on them. I’m actually quite jealous of how cute they are. “I’d love that,” she says. “When I said that it’s nice to meet new people, I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be your roommate anymore. You’re an awesome roommate. There are lots of people out there that are way more obnoxious than you and I’d hate to end up with one of them.”

  “Well, thanks,” I say sarcastically. “But no, that’s not really what I was referring to. Actually, I’ve been thinking about…something else.”

  I can’t quite find the words to say what I want to say. Maybe it’s because I’ve already disappointed one person today and I don’t want to disappoint another. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to hurt my friend’s feelings. But sooner or later, I do have to tell her. Be brave.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Juliet gets a concerned look on her face. It’s unusual and I feel like I’m actually scaring her. Honestly, I didn’t know that Juliet was capable of being scared.

  “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking that I might not be here next year.”

  “What? Are you crazy?” Juliet says as her eyes grow wide.

  “I’m just thinking of transferring to USC,” I say.

  “USC?” She repeats the word as if she doesn’t know what it means.

  “University of Southern California?” I clarify.

  “I know what USC is,” she says, spreading her arms out wide. Juliet has a tendency to gesture with her hands and speak with her whole body whenever she’s drunk or angry.

  “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about for awhile. I think I need a change. It’s close to home. And, honestly, this weather is killing me. It’s making me so freakin’ depressed.”

  “Oh, you’re not leaving because of the weather,” Juliet says. “Don’t lie. You’re leaving because of Tristan and Dylan. And your stupid marriage.”

  I sigh. She’s right. But not entirely. I do hate the weather. The fall wasn’t too bad, but this winter is unbearable. The slush and the darkness and the cold. Everyone on the outside seems angry and disturbed by it, too. It’s harder to get a cab. It’s impossible to see one smiling face in the subway. It’s the very opposite of everything that I love and miss about Southern California.

  “It’s not just them. It’s just something I want to do,” I say with a shrug. Another thing I want is for this conversation to be over. Unfortunately, given how much Juliet is pacing around the room, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible anytime soon.

  “Listen, Alice, you’ll get through this. You and Dylan are going to get a divorce soon and everything will go back to normal. And next year, we can live in a completely different dorm, just the two of us, and we never have to see Tristan again. Or Dylan for that matter, if you don’t want to.”

  “You’re right. I know. But I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

  She shakes her head. She tries again. She reminds me of all the fun things we did in the fall and that we can do them again. She says she’ll hang out with me more and won’t go out almost every night. She’s trying her best to convince me to stay. I admire her for that. I listen patiently and say that I’ll think about it. But that’s a lie. I’m done thinking. I’m pretty set about this.

  “Alice is doing what?” I hear Dylan say outside our room. Juliet went into the kitchen and she held this thing to herself all of two seconds.

  “Alice!” Dylan knocks on the door, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he just barges in.

  “What is this I hear about you wanting to transfer? Are you crazy?”

  “No.”

  Great. Another person to explain this to. I had less explaining to do to my parents!

  “But why?” he asks. I go into all the reasons all over again. I feel myself being less exuberant about it all though. I’m losing patience with all of these people questioning my decision. And then Dylan calls me on it.

  “We’re your friends, you know, right?” Dylan says. “That’s why we don’t want you to leave. We love you.”

  That breaks my heart. Dylan’s not one for expressing his feelings well. If at all. He’s from Connecticut, after all.

  “And I’m sorry I’ve been dragging my feet on this divorce thing. The truth is that the fact that we’re still married makes my dad really angry and I sort of love it. Nothing really fazes him much, and this is really getting under his skin. But I’m going to talk to the family attorney in a few days. And I’ll take care of it.”

  Finally, an explanation for all the delays! I’m thankful for it. But I also feel like it’s too little too late.

  No matter what I say convinces either of them that this is really something I want to do and I’m not just running away from my problems here. I won’t admit it out loud, but they’re basically right. So, we eventually call it a night after agreeing to disagree.

  26

  When I meet Tea for lunch the following day, she has a completely different reaction to the news. I’m ready to go into a big explanation about all this yet again, but she just nods and says that she understands. She really catches me off guard. So much so that I don’t even know what we’re going to talk about for the rest of lunch since I thought we’d talk about this the whole time.

  “So I finished my book,” Tea announces after we order.

  “What?”

  “Remember, the romance one about the girl pretending to be a wealthy guy’s fiancée on the cruise?”

  “Of course! I can’t believe you’re done with it already.” While I’ve been head-deep in my own drama, Tea managed to write a whole book. Imagine that!

  “I’d love for you to read it,” she says.

  “Oh my God. Yes, definitely!”

  “I can send you an ePub version so you can read it on your phone,” she says.

  “Perfect!”

  Tea has been working on the book since January and it’s finally done. I’m awed by her dedication. In addition to her classes and Tanner, she has been working on this project and now it’s completed.

  “Frankly, I’m really jealous,” I say when our food finally arrives. I ordered a tuna salad and she’s having a grilled chicken panini.

  “What? Why?” she says, laughing.

  “Because you went out there and did this awesome thing. While I’ve been burying my head in the sand and dealing with all of my stupid problems.”

  “Well, another way to think about it is that you’ve been out there living life while I’ve just been writing about someone else’s.”

  “Given how this semester has gone, I really wish I had some fictional drama in my life instead of real drama.”

  “I know,” she says sympathetically. “It’s been really tough. I’m sorry. But I’m sure that when you look back on all this next year you’ll laugh about it.”

  I smile. “Probably not next year. Maybe, in ten years.”

  “Okay, in ten years.” She smiles.

  Tea sends me her book that evening and I plan on just reading a chapter or two. But seven hours later, well past my usual bedtime, I finally finish it. Wow. The characters are so vivid; they seem more real than real people. They practically jump from the page. I don’t remember the last time I devoured a book like that. It’s so different from all the books I’ve read for English classes. Unlike in the books that I’ve read before, the romance and the love in this one was real.

  The characters weren’t just people on the page. When they spoke, I heard them. I saw them. I felt them. Their love is real. The girl, Savannah, acted just like I would, or anyone o
ur age. And the guy, Tatum, well, Tatum was definitely a better version of any guy I’ve met. It’s as if all of the best qualities of the guys I knew, like Tristan and Dylan, were exaggerated to the ninth degree. Don’t get me wrong. He has some bad qualities too, some insecurities. But nothing that his love can’t help him with.

  I lay in bed for close to an hour after finishing Tea’s book, waiting to fall asleep. But unlike all those other sleepless nights I had, the ones that tore me up inside, the ones which I spent hours beating myself up for all the things that I shouldn’t have said and done and all the things that I should’ve said and done, this night was different. I actually lay in bed thinking about the book. Imagining Tatum and Savannah’s love for each other, their first kiss, their first everything. Unlike all these other books, in this one, Tea didn’t shy away from fading to black. She took me everywhere, describing every touch, every feeling, every sensation and smell. And in the end? I fell in love with Tatum and Savannah and I had to have more.

  Why the hell did you write this book?

  I text Tea even though it’s in the middle of the night. Hopefully, she has her phone off if she’s sleeping. But Tea writes back almost immediately.

  What? You don’t like it?

  No, I fucking love it!!!

  Oh…ok. So, what’s the problem?

  What’s the problem? The problem is that I can’t sleep. I love them. And I want more.

  More?

  More about Tatum and Savannah. Are you writing another one? I can’t type fast enough.

  Um…I haven’t thought about it much.

  Well, think about it! I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Not likely though, thanks to your book. Sorry not sorry.

  After putting down my phone, I still can’t get to sleep. This time my mind doesn’t wander. I know what I want. I want what Tatum and Savannah have. I want their kind of love for me. I want to be in love again. I want to feel butterflies over the possibility of touching someone again. I want to wonder how our first date went, whether it was as amazing for him as it was for me. I want to dance in the rain and kiss in a blizzard. I want to live inside a romance novel. But that’s not possible, right? That’s not reality, right? And yet, reading that book sounded more like the truth than my real life. How is that?

  Three weeks later, Dylan comes into the living room where I’m procrastinating on working on my Victorian Lit paper. I should be doing research on it in the library, but instead, I’m looking up something vaguely related to Victorian times on my phone and hoping that I will stumble on a topic to write about that way. So far, no luck. Juliet and Tristan are also in the room. Juliet is painting her nails and Tristan is doing his Macroeconomics problem set. Tristan and I have entered another period of Cold War. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t avoid each other at all costs like we used to. So that’s an improvement in my book.

  Dylan is wearing a wide grin on his face. He flashes me his pearly whites, which do nothing but remind me that I really need to get my teeth professionally whitened. But I’m afraid of dentists and all doctors for that matter so I’ve been avoiding them at all costs.

  “What?” I finally ask. He’s obviously eager to share some news with the room.

  He holds up a thick packet in a manila folder.

  “Guess what this is?” he asks.

  “Your history paper?” Tristan says jokingly. We all know that Dylan did not do very well on his last history paper. And by not very well, I mean that he got a C-. Enough for him to start worrying about passing the class.

  “Ha ha, very funny. No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No, these are divorce papers!”

  I’ve never thought that I’d be so happy to hear the phrase “divorce papers” in my life.

  “Really? Are you sure?” I ask, grabbing the packet out of his hand and scanning the papers. They don’t make any sense of course; it’s all legalized. All I see are the little stickers by the signature lines.

  “Yep, got them from the lawyer this morning. You will be glad to know that this divorce is the most amicable one that my dad’s Park Avenue attorney had ever dealt with. He said that the two of us were the most mature clients he’s ever had.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say. “Given that this is probably the stupidest thing that either of us has ever done.”

  “So all you have to do is sign where those stickers are and we’re done. A courier will come tomorrow to pick them up and take them to the court,” Dylan says.

  “Great! Does anyone have a pen?” I ask.

  I want to get this over with as soon as possible. We look around the room, but there’s no pen to be found. And then suddenly, Tristan hands me his.

  With all the excitement, I had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. Our eyes meet as he hands me his pen and our fingers touch briefly. In that moment, it feels like he can see through me, completely and entirely. Like he knows everything about me that I ever was and ever will be. The feeling leaves me uneasy and scared.

  27

  I sign each page as Dylan flips the pages for me. He already signed his portion at the lawyer’s office. When I sign on the last line, a tremendous weight lifts off my shoulders. I give out a big sigh. Suddenly, I’m 300 pounds lighter.

  “We’re divorced!” Dylan grabs me by the shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. “Divorced! Let’s celebrate.”

  “Woohoo!” Juliet says. “Finally.”

  “Who wants a beer?” Dylan asks, getting himself one from the refrigerator.

  “Wait, remind me, isn’t it alcohol that got you into this mess in the first place?” Juliet asks.

  “Oh, whatever, buzz kill,” Dylan waves his arm at her dismissively. “Alice?”

  I shake my head no.

  “I still have some work to do tonight,” I say. “And honestly, given how long it took for all of this to happen, I’m going to pass on partying with you for a while.”

  Dylan is the only one who celebrates our divorce that night, but we all take a rain check. And even for him, it’s not much of a party. He has only one beer and disappears into his room. Juliet disappears into our room soon after to get ready for another date.

  “Congratulations,” Tristan says without looking up from his textbook.

  “Oh, thanks,” I say.

  I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. So I go back to taking a quiz about the decade that I should’ve grown up in on BuzzFeed.

  “I know it wasn’t your fault how long all of this was taking,” Tristan says. This time he looks straight at me.

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Okay. Well, I guess what I wanted to say is that I know that, too.”

  “Okay, I guess,” I say.

  I hate the weirdness that exists between us when we’re alone. In fact, I can’t stand it. I’m about to get up and leave when Tristan stops me.

  “So, Kathryn and I aren’t together anymore,” he says.

  “Oh. Okay,” I say. I don’t really know how to respond to that. It’s so out of the blue. “I didn’t really know you were dating.”

  “Yeah, ever since that night…of the party,” he says.

  That’s one way of putting it. Another is since that night when she slept over and you made her coffee in the morning. Or since that night when she slept over and Dr. Worthington came in and made a huge scene.

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry, I guess,” I say.

  “Don’t be. It just didn’t work out,” he says with a shrug.

  “Tristan, why are you telling me this?” I ask.

  Are you trying to hurt me? I want to ask. But I don’t.

  “I don’t know,” he says. The expression on his face tells me that he’s not really trying to hurt me at all. He’s just over-sharing for no reason whatsoever.

  “Did something happen?” I ask. I don’t mean to. I don’t care. Actually, I don’t want to know. But my mouth gets away from me.

  “She cheated on m
e,” he says quietly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “But it wasn’t working out even before that. We just didn’t fit right,” Tristan says.

  I’m still sitting on the couch and suddenly he gets up and sits down next to me. Very close. So close that I can feel his breath on my face.

  “I’m not sure if it will ever be right with anyone else,” he says.

  “Of course it will,” I say, waving my hand.

  It sounds like he’s just having a moment. He’s just throwing himself a pity party. But when I look back at him, and I see the way his eyes refuse to leave mine, I know that I’m wrong. He’s serious.

  “What I mean is that I kept trying to make myself feel like I did when we were first together. Not just with Kathryn, but with all the others.”

  “What?” I know I should be focusing on the first thing that he said. The first part of the sentence that’s a compliment to me. But instead, all I focus is on is the second part.

  “All the others?” I ask, when he doesn’t reply.

  “Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Just all the other girls that I was with this semester.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say with a gulp.

  “Don’t worry, we weren’t serious. Just girls I met at the bar after work. Very casual,” Tristan says. He’s clearly not aware of the fact that I’m screaming on the inside. What girls? You were seeing other girls? How many? Why?

  “Kathryn and I were dating, but we weren’t exclusive. And I just kept meeting these girls downtown. And you know what, at the beginning of the night, I had hope that this was the one that was going to give me butterflies. Like this is the one that will catch my attention. But after a night together, I just felt…flat. Like it was nothing.”

  I can’t stand this anymore.

  “Tristan, why are you telling me all this? Are you trying to hurt me?”

  “No, not at all. I’m saying it as a compliment.”