Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Laughter.
Nervous this time.
Levi’s jaw tightens. “Four thousand.”
Silence.
The announcer clears his throat. “Do I hear forty-five?”
Tyler opens his mouth.
Levi doesn’t even look at him.
“Five thousand.”
The number lands like a thunderclap.
The entire ballroom freezes.
Even the band falters.
I stare at him.
Five thousand dollars?
For a charity date?
For me?
Tyler leans back slowly, hands raised in surrender.
Mark whistles low. “Damn.”
The announcer blinks rapidly. “Five thousand dollars. Going once…”
The room holds its breath.
“Going twice…”
My heart pounds so loud I can hear it.
“Sold!”
The gavel slams.
The room explodes.
Applause. Whistles. Gasps.
Mrs. Dottie clutches her pearls like she’s witnessing a proposal.
Levi doesn’t smile.
He steps forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Every movement says mine.
I try to hold my composure as he climbs the steps to the stage.
He stops in front of me.
Close enough that I can see the tension in his jaw.
“You’re enjoying this?” he asks quietly.
“I didn’t volunteer for this,” I whisper back.
“You didn’t say no.”
“I was shoved.”
His hand closes around mine.
Warm.
Firm.
Possessive.
“You could’ve walked off.”
“And let the roof cave in?” I challenge.
His eyes flash.
“You think I care about the roof?”
The crowd is still clapping, watching, waiting like Levi and I are their favorite reality show.
He turns to the audience and gives a tight nod.
“Happy to support the firehouse,” he says evenly. The applause doubles. Then he leans in so only I can hear. “Walk.”
I let him guide me off stage. The second my heels hit the floor, he doesn’t release my hand. He keeps moving. Through the crowd. Past the buffet. Toward the hallway leading to the church offices. The noise fades behind us.
When we reach the empty corridor, he stops abruptly.
I yank my hand free.
“What was that?” I demand.
“What was what?”
“You just spent five thousand dollars!”
“I can afford it.”
“That’s not the point.”
He steps closer. “It is the point.”
“No, it isn’t!”
His voice drops lower. “You let them bid on you.”
“I didn’t let them do anything.”
“You stood there.”
“I was blindsided!”
“You smiled.”
I throw my hands up. “What was I supposed to do? Cry?”
“You were being auctioned.”
“For charity!”
“For attention.”
My temper flares. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
He steps closer again. “You don’t get to let men treat you like a prize to be won.”
“I am a prize.”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like something they can take.”
“You took me.”
His nostrils flare. “I didn’t take you.”
“You outbid them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question hangs heavy.
His eyes darken.
“Because I don’t share.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
“This wasn’t about sharing,” I say, but my voice loses some edge.
“It wasn’t?” he counters.
“You don’t get territorial just because someone else looks at me.”
“I’ve been territorial since we were sixteen.”
I blink.
“That’s not romantic.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
“Then what are you trying to be?”
“Honest.”
His hand lifts, brushing a stray piece of hair from my shoulder.
“You think it was funny?” he asks.
“The bidding?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitate. “At first.”
“And after?”
“After you said five thousand?”
I swallow. “After that it didn’t feel like a joke.”
His gaze softens slightly. “Good.”
My heart pounds. “You don’t get to control who bids on me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you just did.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I decided.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No,” he repeats. “Control is fear. Decision is ownership.”
My pulse spikes.
“Ownership?” I echo.
He steps into my space again. “You wanted me to fight for you.”
The words steal my breath. “You said I never showed up.”
“That’s not—”
“You wanted proof.”
I stare at him. “That was proof?”
“You think I’d stand there and let someone else win you?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
The heat in his eyes makes it hard to think.
“This was fake,” I remind him weakly.
He leans closer. “Was it?”
The hallway suddenly feels too small. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”
“No,” he says softly. “You are.”
His hand slides to my waist again. The same possessive grip from the closet. My breath stutters. “Levi…”
“You let them look at you like you were available.”
“I am available.”
His thumb presses slightly harder against my hip.
“Not like that.”
“And how am I available?” I challenge.
He studies me for a long moment.
“Not to them.”
My stomach flips.
The noise from the ballroom swells faintly behind the door.
The world still exists. But in this hallway, it’s just us.
“You don’t get to claim me,” I say, though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
His jaw tightens. “Maybe I do.”
My breath catches.
“You’re not my boyfriend,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “I’m worse.”
The heat in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“Levi,” I say, trying to steady myself, “you can’t just throw money around and act like that solves—”
“It wasn’t about the money.”
“Then what was it about?”
He leans in until our foreheads nearly touch. “It was about not losing you again.”
The confession cracks something open inside me.
“You already lost me once,” I whisper.
“I won’t again.”
The certainty in his voice is terrifying.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can choose it.” His hand slides higher, fingers curling slightly at my side. “Say it,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“That you didn’t like watching them bid.”
I swallow. “I didn’t.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“That you were waiting.”
“For what?”
“For me.”
The truth hangs heavy between us.