Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I love you, Chloe,” Finn suddenly says, completely out of the blue. I turn to face him. He isn’t even looking at me. He’s looking somewhere far off in the distance.

  For a second, I think that I had misheard him.

  “What?”

  “I love you,” he repeats himself in the exact same tone. He turns to me. “I’ve never said that to anyone before. Not to anyone but my mom.”

  “You love me?” I ask skeptically. “But how…do you know?”

  “I used to ask that same question. And now I know. I know because I love you. Because of a million different reasons. But mainly because I want to spend all of my time with you. In all of these weeks, even when you could barely speak, and now that you’re almost back to normal, I’ve always wanted to spend time with you. I looked forward to seeing you, no matter how much time has passed. Even if I had just gone out for a snack to the vending machine. I love you, Chloe. And I just wanted you to know that.”

  I stare at him. At his intense eyes. His beautiful lips. I don’t know what to say. I should say what I feel. That I love him too, and that I’ve loved him since our first date. Since that moment when I thought that someone had stood me up and had rescued me. But for some reason I choke up. Tears start to gather.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, taking my face into his hands and wiping my tears with his strong thumbs. I nod.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize for crying more than anything else.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. That was too much for you. I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”

  I shake my head, no. He doesn’t get it. These are tears of joy. Relief. Hope. I look into his eyes and then pull myself a little closer to him. When I close my eyes, his lips touch mine, and sparks of electricity course through me. It feels just like the first time. His touch causes this chemical reaction in my body, one that I can’t control. His tongue makes his way into my mouth as he buries his hands in my hair and pulls slightly. My heartbeat speeds up, and we start to move as one. His hands run down my neck and shivers run up my spine. As his tongue demands more and more of my mouth, his fingers make their way along the top of my breasts. I start to breathe a little faster. I run my fingers down his body and stop at his thighs. I move my hand up and down his thighs, and his breathing speeds up to match mine. His erection is already full-fledged, and I press down on it, a little bit.

  “Oh, Chloe,” he moans into my ear.

  “Does it feel good?” I ask. He nods through the kiss.

  We mess around for a little bit longer, but never cross the line. My doctor has made it clear to me that I can’t participate in any recreational activities quite yet, and that includes sex. As much as I want to violate that rule, I can’t. A big part of me is relieved when Finn pulls away first. He was there when the doctor explained all the rules of recovery to me.

  After we stop making out like teenagers, he takes my hand in his and we again look out over the roof, admiring the lights below.

  “Finn,” I say after a while.

  “Yeah?” he responds after a moment. Lost in thought.

  “I love you too.”

  Epilogue - Chloe

  It is our two-year anniversary. Exactly two years since our date on top of the rooftop of the Cedar Sinai Medical Center. Though my recovery has been difficult at times, and I still have some pain in my neck when it rains, I’m pretty much all better. After our rooftop date, I went home with Finn and pretty much never left. At first, it was all under the guise that I still need to help with getting better, my parents had to go back home and Lila had to go to work. But after a few weeks, it was because we both wanted it that way. Every time I thought that I was overstaying my welcome, Finn would convince me that I wasn’t. He’d ask me to stay for a few days more. After a while, I just moved all of my things in and we were living together.

  Over the last two years, we moved to Malibu, Finn won an Independent Spirit Award for the movie that we had worked on together and became People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. I started my own wardrobe styling business and just landed a big account with Universal. Three medium-budget movies! On my request, we kept our relationship pretty private, and because I’m not famous, the paparazzi have pretty much left us alone. But occasionally, I do see pictures of myself in US Weekly, shopping at Trader Joe’s in sweats. I rarely look good, and I’ve learned to avoid those magazines altogether.

  Last year for our one-year anniversary, Finn and I both had to work (him in Norway and me in LA), and we had to celebrate the day over FaceTime. So, when this one was coming up, he said that he had planned something extra special, but it’s a surprise. Finn isn’t really the super romantic sort, but I still have no idea what to expect.

  “Where are we going? Can you at least tell me that?” I turn to him in the back of the limousine.

  “That would ruin the surprise.”

  “Why can’t I at least take this off?” I ask, referring to the silk blindfold around my eyes. I don’t know anything about this, except that I should wear a dress and bring a jacket and a scarf. As a wardrobe stylist, I find it particularly annoying getting dressed for a surprise event. A dress and a jacket and a scarf? In the middle of a Southern California summer?

  I’m not sure if I should wear something too dressy or too casual, so I finally settle on a short, light blue dress with pockets and a tailored waist. It can really go either way. With heels, it’s a good fit for a fancy restaurant and, in flats, it’s a good option for the beach. I bring a pair of flats, just in case, a tightly-fitted black jacket, and translucent chiffon scarf.

  When we arrive at our destination, Finn suggests that maybe flats are in order. I change my shoes, and he helps me out of the limo. We walk for a few minutes over soft grass.

  “Good call on the flats,” I say.

  “Okay,” Finn stops me. “I’m going to take off the blindfold now.”

  We’re standing on a paddock, and there’s a giant yellow hot air balloon tied up next to us.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, unable to contain my excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go on a hot air balloon ride!”

  “I know,” he smiles in that coy way that makes me swoon. “That’s why we’re here.”

  A few minutes later, we are flying high above the fields of Temecula, the wine region of Southern California. The view is absolutely breathtaking. Rolling hills, vast horizons, patches of green and yellow for as far as the eye can see.

  “This is magical,” I whisper, holding on to Finn as tightly as I can.

  “No, you are,” he says.

  I turn to face him. A few strands of hair fall into his face. His eyes twinkle in the sunlight.

  “Thank you,” I say. “This is the best anniversary present ever.”

  “There’s something else,” he says after a moment of gazing into my eyes.

  Suddenly, his face grows more serious. Contemplative. For a second, it feels like something is wrong, but then he reaches into the front pocket of his grey suit jacket and pulls out a tiny little box.

  I look at it. No. No, this can’t be what I think it is. Can it?

  “Chloe, you have completely changed my life. You have made me into someone who loves life. You have made me a better man. You have taught me what love is, and for that I can never thank you enough. Every day I feel myself falling more and more in love with you. I cannot imagine my life without you.”

  Finn gets down on one knee and opens the ring box. Inside, there’s a large halo diamond ring with little sparkling diamonds all around the sides.

  My heart starts to beat faster and faster. The world spins all around me. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s me or the balloon.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I look into his eyes. We haven’t talked about marriage at all. This is the last thing I ever expected, but there’s only one answer to his question.

  “Yes,” I whisper and wrap my arms around him.

  “Yes? Yes? Yes?” Finn asks over and ove
r. It’s as if he can’t believe it. I can’t really believe it myself.

  When I look up into his eyes again, Finn has never looked this happy. He pulls me closer to him. I close my eyes. When our lips collide, the entire world becomes a blur. Life is an adventure, and he’s is the only person I want to take on my adventure.

  Out of Bounds (Second Chance Book 1)

  5th Grade: Friends

  7th Grade: Best Friends

  11th Grade: Lovers

  12th Grade: Long distance lovers

  First Semester of College: Complicated

  Two weeks before we were going to start Columbia University together, Tristan dumped me and broke my heart. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from attending my dream school. There’re more than 30,000 students on campus. What were the chances that I’d see him again?

  Or so I’d thought. And then I discovered that Tristan was going to be my roommate!

  It’s as if the whole universe conspired for us to fall in love again.

  **WARNING: Steamy scenes and mature situations

  1

  I walk into my dorm room for the first time and take a deep breath. This is the beginning of something new. Something special. All through high school, I felt like college was going to be some sort of epilogue in the chapters of my life. It was everything I worked for, everything I tried so hard to achieve. While everyone else was hanging out and drinking and going to parties, I kept my nose in my books. But when this day finally arrived, it no longer felt like an epilogue. No, this is a prologue. The beginning of something special.

  “What a large room!” my mom exclaims, looking around my new home. The room is quite spacious. However, it’s not quite like the walls college students have on television and in movies. The ceiling is pretty high, but the walls are made of painted cinderblocks. White. Barren. So unlike the cozy, light pink room that I have back home.

  I walk over to the window. It’s a beautiful late August day. I’m on the 16th floor, and from here I can see into other people’s apartments across the street.

  “I just can’t believe that I’m here.” I turn around with a puddle of tears stacking up on the bottom of my eyelids. “In New York.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” My mom puts her arms around me. She knows this has been my dream since I was in middle school. Mom gives me a quick hug and looks out of the window with me.

  “I just don’t know how people live here. It’s so crammed!”

  I smile. My mom is not a fan of New York. I grew up in Calabasas, a town just north of Los Angeles, where the sky is almost always cloudless and blue and the temperature never gets cooler than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. My family’s upper middle class, but not what’s considered rich. At least not by LA standards. Still, our family of five lived comfortably in a 3,000 square foot house with a 6,000 square foot yard with a pool.

  “I hope you have nice roommates,” Mom says.

  “Of course, she will,” Dad pipes in. He’s standing in the doorway, clearly not impressed. “I just can’t believe that this room costs $17,000 a year! And you have three other roommates.”

  Mom and I laugh it off. Even though my dad isn’t cheap, he always likes to complain about how much things cost.

  “Suite mates,” I correct him. “I have one roommate and three suite mates.” Our rooms are separated by a living room with a little kitchen and there’s only one bathroom for everyone to share.

  “The room would be just as big if I’d gone to USC and the school would’ve costs just as much,” I add. University of Southern California is both of my parents’ alma mater. That’s where they met, thirty years ago.

  “Yeah, at least you would’ve been closer to home and wouldn’t need a plane ticket to come see us.” He shrugs. I roll my eyes. We’ve been over this thousands of times before. Now, they joke about it more than anything else. They both know that Columbia has been my dream school for as long as I could remember. And when I got my acceptance packet, I think pretty much everyone knew that that’s where I was headed.

  “I’d just like to see you when it gets into the 20s and 30s here and you have class at 8 am,” Mom says. “It’s not always this nice out, from what I hear.”

  “I was fine in Colorado,” I say. Except that I’m terrified of the cold. I can’t wait for the changing leaves and the beautiful crisp fall, but the long hard winter? I don’t know.

  Both of my parents laugh. “A few week-long skiing trips hardly qualify as experience. Besides, Winter Park is a small, sunny town. A six-month winter in New York where everything gets slushy and the snow is black from the cars and the pollution is something else entirely,” Mom says.

  I nod.

  “I think I’ll manage,” I say, putting on a brave face. I turn away from the window to change the topic.

  “So which bed do you think I should choose?” The room has two of everything. Two beds. Two standing wardrobes. Two desks. Two chairs. Two windows. One looking out on 116th Street. One looking out onto Broadway.

  “If you take this one onto 116th Street, it should be a little quieter,” Mom says just as an ambulance turns on its siren and rushes down the street. “Or maybe not.”

  I decide on that one anyway.

  “If you two are done staring at the blank room, I think it’s about time to go back downstairs and get more of your stuff, young lady,” Dad says, glued to his cell phone.

  My mom and dad are both doctors, but they recently started a clinical trials consulting firm, which has made them busier than they’ve ever been when they were in practice.

  “I’ll be right down,” I say. “I’m just going to put some of these things away.”

  Right after Mom and Dad leave, the door swings open and a tall, voluptuous brunette walks in.

  “Alice?” she asks. Her whole face lights up, putting me at ease.

  “Doreen?” I ask.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. I extend my hand, but she pulls me into a warm hug instead. “Call me Juliet, please. I hate Doreen.”

  “Okay.” I nod. Coming from LA, I’m well familiar with name changes. Three girls at my school changed their names officially before they got their boob jobs before graduation.

  “Oh my god, you’re so cute!” she laughs. “And little. You’re from LA, right? You have to tell me your secret. Agh, why am I still holding this?”

  She drops her bags onto her bed, and leans the long mirror she’s carrying against the wall. “I thought we’d hang this on the door.”

  Aha! I finally realize it. That’s what’s weird about this room: there are no mirrors.

  “Great idea. I completely forgot to bring a lengthwise mirror,” I say. “Actually, I thought there would be one here.”

  At home, I have three in my room. I help Juliet hang the mirror on the back of our door and try to see if it still closes. It swings along with the door, but we’re just going to be careful.

  “So?” Juliet turns to me. “What’s your secret?”

  “Secret?”

  “In staying so small. I know you LA girls have your ways.”

  I smile. I look at myself in the mirror. Skinny jeans, size 1, flip flops, white t-shirt. No bra. 32A breasts. Long scraggly blonde hair. Hardly any makeup. Next to Juliet, I look like a child. She tosses her dark curls over her head to give them more volume and reapplies her bright red lipstick. She’s wearing fake lashes and every part of her face is contoured, giving her beautiful highlights across the forehead and bringing out her cheekbones.

  “No secret, really.” I shrug. I’ve had plenty of my own issues with weight.

  “Agh, if you say eat healthy and exercise, I’m going to throw up.”

  “You definitely don’t hold back, do you?” I smile.

  “No, babe. I call it like I see it. Hope that’s okay?”

  I nod. “More than okay.” I welcome her honesty. It’s a breath of fresh air after LA where everyone is nice. But too nice. No one says a bad thing to your face. Not even when you really need to hear
it.

  “Mainly, I try not to eat carbs at night. Avoid processed foods. My mom buys only organic and farmer’s market food. Not too much dairy. Lean proteins and fish. Stuff like that.”

  “That explains it.” She tosses her hair again. “So no burgers with chili cheese fries?”

  I shake my head. “No, not really.”

  I shudder at the thought, actually. I may be thin here, but back home, girls from my class were much smaller. I’m what they called big-boned.

  “That’s more like guy food, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Not when it’s 20 degrees out and you’re coming back from the bar at 4 am. Those spicy fries will really warm you up from the inside out.”

  Again with the cold. Before it scares me even more, I decided that it’s time for me to go help my parents with the rest of my bags.

  My phone beeps.

  * * *

  Where are you? Dad texts.

  * * *

  “I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Need to get the rest of my stuff from downstairs. Are you going to stick around? But my parents are here. I’d love for you to meet.”

  “Yes, definitely!” Juliet smiles and tosses her hair again. Apparently, hair can never have enough volume.

  2

  I walk out into our living room. The accommodations here are a bit more furnished: an ugly blue couch that desperately needs a throw or a few pillows to make it look at least mildly presentable and two identical green recliners that look like they came from some third-rate thrift store. Is there actually a store that manufactures these ugly things? A halfway acceptable coffee table, which has a French country distressed look, except that it’s not cute. It looks like it was actually distressed by the passage of time, not a carefully planned painting job. And a few end tables, which are mismatched in both color and height. Everything in this living room is wrong. And yet, everything about this place feels so right!