Page 155 of Whistle

Unable to stop myself, I let out a choked hack. It was so strong that I doubled over in the seat and wheezed, trying to recover some air.

Rush’s large palm banged on my back as if he thought that would somehow help. Slap. Slap. Slap. All it did was hammer the words he’d just said deeper into my brain.

Eyes watering, I glanced up. “What did you just say?” I rasped.

“To start off our selection of Elite men, we have breaststroke swimmer Adrian Bennett,” the dean said, but I tuned it all out to focus totally on Rush.

Music blasted and the crowd went nuts. Rush glanced to the stage and let out a whistle.

I grabbed his hand and yanked it from his mouth. “Rush.”

He gave me a quizzical look, then planted his elbow on the armrest between us and leaned in. “So I know you don’t have much to compare it to, but Coach has been a real hard-ass this season so far, so the bros decided to throw in on this auction to help him get some action.” Rush smirked. “And hopefully, a better mood.”

Saying I was stunned was an understatement. “You set this whole thing up to get your coach laid?”

That’s right. I said his coach. Emmett was not my coach. He was my daddy who apparently my ex-bestie was trying to get laid.

Remember that good citizen’s award I mentioned? I should get two because my ass was still planted in this seat and not throwing an epic tantrum.

“Pretty sweet, right?” Rush was proud of himself. Like getting Emmett laid was a good deal.

Rush would not be getting a good citizen’s award.

A whooshing sound filled my ears, and cold sweat broke out at my hairline. Nausea roiled uncomfortably in my stomach as I pictured Emmett going home with someone else.

He said he wouldn’t.

He said he wants just you.

He wouldn’t have to hide anyone else.

I shifted, rubbing against the velvet seat to purposely feel the twinge in my ass, physical and undeniable proof that he’d just been inside me.

I’m going home with him tonight. No one else.

“That is not what tonight is about,” Landry admonished and leaned over Rush to tell me, “We just wanted him to get out. Have a little fun for once. All he does is work.”

“Fun for men is sex,” Rush mused.

Landry groaned. “That’s my dad, Jay.”

My heart was still beating too hard, the palms of my hands clammy. I shifted again, then clenched my ass cheeks, feeling the ache. Blowing out a breath, I slumped back into the chair, the tie around my neck like a noose. Remembering what he’d given me, I shoved my hand into the pocket of my blazer, finding the cool metal of the whistle and wrapping my hand tightly around it. I could feel the small pea inside the body rolling around, and I closed my eyes, imagining the way it sounded when Emmett blew into it. He gave this to me to hold, and though it might not seem like much to anyone else, I knew it meant something.

I relaxed into the seat just as the dean announced the next auction.

“Our next Elite member is a frequent lane four flier with an impressive wingspan of six feet five and a standing height of six feet three.”

Squeals echoed from behind as well as excited chatter. His name murmured through the rows as the dean drolled on.

“He is the top butterfly stroke swimmer at Westbrook, and word on the street is he has his eye on the next qualifiers for the Olympics.”

Damn. I didn’t know that.

Dean Cardinal turned, gazing off to the side stage. “Please welcome Jamie Owens.”

The lights overhead turned a neon shade of pink, and “Pony” by Ginuwine blasted through the speakers.

Jamie strolled out, his long, muscular legs gracefully eating up the stage. He strutted without really strutting because, truthfully, the guy was good-looking enough to not have to be cocky. And judging from the reaction of the people in the seats around us, I wasn’t the only one who thought he was visually pleasing.

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