Switch Bidder

by Sara Ney

  To date, I haven’t been brave enough to wax anything below the belt. A friend told me it’s not painful, but I know she’s a damn liar because I went with my cousin once, and Clarissa dropped so many F-bombs I thought we were going to get kicked out of the spa.

  Then to have to get it done again a few weeks later? No thank you. I’ll shave and take my chances with a razor.

  Jeez, why am I thinking about this right now?

  “So…what were some of the things guys from the auction have had to do?”

  Good change of subject, particularly since it’s the reason he called in the first place.

  Ryder takes a moment to think. “Lots of housework. Tons of floors and bathrooms—from what I’m hearing, girls are way dirtier than we thought.”

  Yeah, we are—hair and styling products everywhere.

  “Kyle Davenport had to make a few runs to a donation center with some bags of old clothes, which wasn’t a big deal. Aaron Potter—do you know him? Some chick busted her doorjamb kicking in the deadbolt and he repaired it so her landlord wouldn’t keep her security deposit.”

  “That all sounds…legit.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice because quite frankly, it all sounds so boring.

  “Well…” Ryder’s hesitation hangs in the air.

  “What?” I lean forward. “Do you have dirt on people? Tell me the good stuff.”

  “I can’t—I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Right, right.” I pause. Then, “But I mean…one little tidbit? Please?”

  He hesitates another few seconds. “One guy did get locked in a bedroom in only his boxer shorts.”

  “What!” I screech. “Stop it! He did not.” I have so many questions. “Why was he in his boxers? Why was he locked in?”

  Who even has a lock on the outside of their bedroom door? Holy hell, what kind of girl does that?

  My thoughts stray to Mallory—because that’s the sort of thing she might do—then I shrug it off, knowing she would have told me all this. Besides, all she had Jackson do was give her a foot rub and take her for tacos.

  “Dude, if I knew more details, I’d tell you, but I can’t imagine it took much to convince him to get undressed—I know who the girl is, and none of this surprises me.”

  “Was it a prank?”

  “No.” He laughs. “I think it was seduction gone terribly wrong.”

  “That sounds like an understatement.”

  “Ya think?”

  “I’d never…” My voice trails off.

  “Lock a guy in your room?” Ryder finishes. “That’s because you’re not bat-shit crazy.” Pause. “Are you?”

  “Uh, no. And if I was, would I tell you?”

  “Good point.”

  “So…”

  “So.”

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  I look down at my yoga pants—which are just glorified sweatpants—and the tattered hem of my hoodie then smirk. “Oh, it’s gonna be a crazy night for me. Lots of bars and parties and…craziness.”

  “Was that sarcasm I’m detecting?”

  “Yes. I was laying it on pretty thick.”

  “Any chance you want to, I don’t know—hang out?”

  Hang out?

  Hang out.

  What does that even mean anymore? Does he want to sit in his apartment and watch TV, but together? Does he want to go somewhere? To a bar? To a party?

  On a date?

  Scrub my tub while I sit on my toilet?

  I need him to be specific—I haven’t been asked on a date since Jack Wiedmeyer took me to the movies my senior year of high school.

  “Hang out? What did you have in mind?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea. We could…” His voice trails off, because in this college town, there really is nothing to do. The school might be huge, but the town it’s situated in is not. In fact, the largest employer in the county is the college itself.

  “We could go bowling,” he suggests after a long pause.

  My silence is extended enough to answer for me.

  “Okay, so not bowling. How about we go have coffee somewhere?”

  “At eight o’clock at night?”

  What the hell am I saying? Who cares if it’s eight at night—the guy wants to hang out with you! The guy you have had a crush on for six semesters!

  “How about we go to that place on Main Street where you can paint canvases and drink wine and shit?”

  Now he’s talking my language. “Oh! That sounds fun.”

  It actually does. I’ve painted pottery before, never a canvas, but I always see pictures on social media when my friends go do it.

  “What’s your address? I’ll come get you.”

  “Oh gosh, don’t worry about it—I can meet you there.”

  Ryder’s long pause is palpable. “Okay, if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

  I know I’m being difficult, but I can’t help it. I’ve always been awkward around men, mostly because I have so little interaction with them. It’s a million times worse conversing with someone I actually like—not to mention Ryder is showing an actual interest in me, which is kind of freaking me out.

  Not kind of—it is. A lot.

  Like, a lot a lot.

  What does Ryder Williams want?

  “Give me an hour to take care of a few things then I’ll meet you downtown?”

  Translation: Give me an hour to take off these yoga pants, slap on some makeup, and untangle this mop of a mess atop my head so I can show up looking cute and not dumpy.

  “Sounds good. See you in an hour.”

  Chapter Four

  Ryder

  I’m early.

  Of course I am. I’m always early because it’s in my DNA. My father is military and didn’t tolerate tardiness. I learned pretty damn fast to be on time—or early.

  Piper isn’t here yet, so I check us in, paying for two canvases and two glasses of wine but waiting to allow her to choose what kind when she gets here.

  7:50.

  Ten more minutes.

  I don’t know what possessed me to ask her to hang out. I’m positive she was confused by it, and I know for damn sure when Kevin finds out, he’s going to be pretty pissed at me.

  He might have had a crush on her for a few weeks, but I’ve had a crush on her for years. So, however mad he is about me breaking bro code, I’ll deal with it later.

  I wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass me by.

  When I found out Piper bid on me at the Lambda auction a few weeks ago, my goddamn heart almost exploded out of my chest.

  Then, when she never contacted me—well, let’s just say that fucking sucked.

  I’ve never had a problem getting a girl’s attention before. As an athlete, I actually have the opposite problem—girls I have zero interest in throwing themselves at me.

  I never get nervous, but I’m nervous now while waiting on Piper. I run my palms down the front of my jeans, wiping the sweat gathered on my skin, staring toward the entrance.

  A car pulls up, its headlights shining through the clear glass door, and my heart races, knowing it’s her. Tempted to run a hand through my hair, I shove them in the pockets of my pants.

  “Quit fidgeting, asshole,” I mumble.

  Jesus Christ, you’ve played in stadiums of thousands and thousands of people, and one girl is making you nervous? Get a freaking grip.

  Within minutes, Piper is through the front door, glancing around before spotting me, her long brown hair loose around her shoulders. She’s not wearing a jacket, only a sweater, and her ripped skinny jeans have holes in the knees.

  Man she’s cute.

  Pretty.

  Two seconds later, she’s at my side.

  “Hey.” Blows a strand of hair out of her mouth, shouldering her purse. “Are we all set?”

  “Uh, yeah. I also got us something to drink, but I wasn’t sure if you were a red wine drinker or white.”

  We settle in,
choosing to paint a colorful abstract and not scenery or a bowl of fruit or whatever. That shit is lame, and I’d never hang it in my house. Not in a million fucking years.

  Sitting next to Piper on a stool, our thighs almost touching almost has me forgetting how to hold a damn paintbrush. The wine I’ve chugged to quell my nerves isn’t exactly helping either.

  She tilts her head, and I catch a whiff of her hair.

  Take a drink—a chug, actually—of my wine, and smile at her. She’s gone rogue with her canvas, adding a few things to it that aren’t on the one we’re copying, so I stare at mine with renewed interest.

  Huh. A blob of blue here might be fun and Jesus, what the hell am I saying?

  “Are you enjoying this?” Her voice interrupts, sending my brush streaking across my painting.

  Shit.

  “I’m way more into it than I thought I would be.”

  “Me too. I’ve always wanted to come do this. I don’t know why I never have before—I’ll have to bring my friends soon.” Piper pauses. “Although, a few of them are unruly, and I’m not sure we’d be allowed to stay.”

  “Unruly?” I cock my head.

  “Yeah. My best friend, Mallory, is a beast. She just cannot follow directions, and she’s loud.”

  “Has she ever gotten you in trouble?”

  Piper laughs sweetly. “I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many times she’s gotten me into trouble.”

  “I have a few friends like that.”

  Her brush swirls round and round on a white spot in the corner of her canvas, filling it with the color red. She leans over, dabbing some yellow onto her brush.

  Swish, swish.

  I’m mesmerized by her delicate hands and light strokes. The pale skin on her wrist, the thin gold band circling her middle finger. She has another ring on her index finger, the letter P etched in the metal.

  I follow the length of her extended arm, over the soft fabric of her thin, gray sweater. Study her profile under the bright studio light. The slight curve of her nose, the freckles dotting her skin.

  I watch as her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, her mouth curving into a slight smile.

  “Please quit staring.” Her tone is teasing, but I can tell she’s embarrassed.

  “Sorry. It’s just that…”

  Just that…I think you’re so fucking pretty.

  Just that…I’m really fucking disappointed you never called me at the end of that auction and I’m really disappointed your friend is the one who bid on me, not you.

  “Ryder?” she asks when I say nothing.

  “I wish I’d asked you out sooner.”

  “I’m sorry?” She doesn’t understand.

  “My friend had a crush on you for a hot minute, and I wasn’t about to get my ass kicked for liking you too, so I never asked you out.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bro code.”

  “I know what bro code is, I’m just really confused right now?” All her statements are coming out as questions, which is adorable, but…

  Crap.

  Is she going to make me repeat myself?

  Piper stops painting long enough to twist her body toward me, barely able to make eye contact but facing me nonetheless. This close up, her green eyes are brighter, flecks of gold in the irises, black lashes downcast and bashful.

  Her right hand holds her paintbrush suspended mid-stroke.

  Head cocks.

  Eyes widen.

  I fidget again on my stool.

  “I wasn’t disappointed you never called me after the auction because of the fundraising, or the fraternity. I was disappointed because I wanted to spend time with you and that was the perfect excuse.”

  “But I had nothing for you to do…” She still doesn’t understand what the hell I’m talking about.

  God, this is painful.

  “Piper. I like you.”

  If possible, her eyes widen farther. Mouth gapes a bit, full bottom lip pouty and suckable.

  “Like me? Like me how?”

  She is not being coy. She is seriously clueless.

  “As in—right now I want to…” Stick my tongue in your mouth. Run my fingers through your long hair.

  Pick you up off that stool and carry you out to my truck.

  “You want to what?”

  “Shit, did I say that out loud?”

  “Yes,” she whispers with a nod.

  I go for broke. “Yes I said that out loud? Or yes you’ll let me pick you up off that stool and carry you out to my truck?”

  I’m only halfway joking. I would pick Piper up right this second, toss her over my shoulder like a barbarian, and haul her to my truck. Get to know her better by getting acquainted with her and her pussy, go down on her in the back seat and make her moan.

  Yeah, I’m really digging this idea…

  Piper’s eyes shift toward the front windows, and she clears her throat.

  She slowly sets her paintbrush in the jar of water next to her easel; it clinks against the glass. She runs her palms up and down her thighs, over the denim of her skinny jeans.

  Sits up straight and and clears her throat. “All right.”

  All right? Does that mean she’s going to let me?

  I don’t ask for clarification—I’m afraid if I do, she’ll change her mind. Or chicken out. Or get up and leave.

  Or tell me she has no interest in me. I’ve been friend-zoned before, and it fucking blows.

  Piper stands.

  I’m off my stool in a second, standing behind her and bending to scoop her up. When she gasps, it spurns me on, makes me feel like a goddamn man. Strong and virile and shit.

  “God you smell good,” I say into the crook of her neck, already nuzzling her hair.

  Jesus, I haven’t even kissed her yet.

  The girl behind the counter watches us, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open with shock.

  “Is…is everything okay?” she asks.

  Better than okay.

  “We’ll be back to pick up our shit later,” I say over my shoulder, shoving the door open with the heel of my foot.

  Hauling Piper into the dark, cold parking lot.

  My truck is at the far end to avoid being dinged by other cars, but it takes me no time to reach it.

  I set Piper down.

  Her boots have heels, so she’s a few inches taller. Still, I lean against the driver’s side door so it’ll be easier for her to reach my mouth when I kiss her. Pull her in, hands planted at her waist.

  When our pelvises are pressed together, my dick twitches knowingly inside my jeans.

  “I thought you were going to actually put me in your truck.”

  “Patience,” I murmur quietly. “We’ll get to that.”

  I don’t know who kisses who first, but all at once I’m leaning forward, our mouths fused. Piper’s fingers are combing through my short hair, brushing along the column of my neck, up and down…up and down…

  She feels good, and I barely know her.

  Was this even a date?

  Her lips are soft and taste like vanilla, and I want to lick and suck all of it off. I lean in farther until we’re completely pressed together, breath and bodies and tongues.

  My hands skim her ribcage, down over the waistband of her jeans, and my fingers grip a belt loop on either side. Pull her closer still.

  God my dick is so hard.

  Her tongue is so wet.

  Suddenly, I’m begging. “Let me go down on you, Piper.” I moan into her mouth, wanting to get her off, not wanting to kiss anymore.

  If she doesn’t want to date me after tonight, at least I can make her feel good. Maybe she’ll reconsider.

  I don’t know what it is about me she objects to. The fact that I play baseball? The fact that I associate myself with Lambda? I don’t know, some girls hate fraternities—maybe she’s one of them? Maybe she doesn’t want to be the girlfriend of an athlete, either—it’s not an easy gig. A lot of girls can’t handle what comes alon
g with it: groupies. Lots of travel. Long-distance phone calls and weekends away. Hours of practice.

  Based on the way her hands are flirting with the hemline of my sweatshirt and tugging it up so she can slide her hands beneath it, I can cross Maybe she’s not attracted to me off the list.

  “Your skin feels so warm,” she coos, palms gliding over my abs. “I could stand here all night touching you.”

  I can’t.

  “Please let me go down on you.”

  Her glassy, glazed-over expression of arousal blinks up at me. “Where?”

  “Back seat.”

  “The back seat?”

  Fuck yeah the back seat.

  “Will you fit?”

  No. “Who cares—I’ll make it work.”

  “But…”

  “Let me get you off.”

  “Um…” She bites down on her bottom lip, debating. “Um.”

  My hands roam her sweater, first over the top then under it, my calloused palms caressing the smooth skin of her stomach. It’s not flat, not toned—it’s soft and silky and perfect.

  I groan. “Piper, I can make you come.”

  “Oh Jesus, Ryder,” she whispers. “I…”

  I don’t want to push her—I just want my tongue inside her pussy. I want to smell her. Taste her.

  Listen to her gasp, all in the back seat of my truck.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Um…”

  “You like that word, don’t you? You say it a lot.”

  I fiddle with the tiny metal charm on the front of her bra. I have no idea what shape it is, but it feels like a heart.

  The pad of my index and middle fingers skim the swell of her breast.

  “Um…okay.”

  She’s off her feet and in my arms and I’m yanking the back door open, setting her on the fabric, pulling her ass to the edge of the seat, already at work unbuttoning her jeans.

  “Oh Jesus,” she says again, watching my handiwork. “You were serious.”

  “I’ve been daydreaming about this pussy for months—maybe years.”

  “You h-have?” Her words come out as a breath, her eyes fastened on my deft fingers as they pull down her zipper. Expose the pale pink underwear she’s got on beneath. “Y-You’re not going to leave the door open, are you?”