Page 158 of Whistle

Pink dress girl let out a frustrated wail and flopped back into her seat.

“Sold! To the lovely lady in gold for two hundred thousand dollars!” Dean Cardinal banged a gavel as if that made it official. “Thank you, ma’am, for your extremely generous donation.”

Jamie gave a quick bow and then vacated the stage, still looking slightly flabbergasted.

“Well, that was exciting!” Dean Cardinal announced. “Should we move on while the bidding is hot?”

Down the row, I heard Madison ask, “Does anyone know who that is?”

I glanced back in the direction of the woman who had thrown down some mad pocket change to spend some time with Jamie, but I no longer saw her.

“Jamie’s new sugar momma,” Kruger quipped.

“Ben,” Jess admonished.

Madison looked a little green around the gills, and for a moment, empathy rose in me. I didn’t want to share my man either.

But is he really mine?

Slipping my hand into my pocket, I consoled my bruised emotions by gripping the whistle.

“Our next swimmer really needs no introduction,” Dean Cardinal announced, and people started to cheer. Grinning, he held out his arm. “Ryan Walsh, get out here!”

More R&B music pumped through the speakers—Ne-Yo, if I wasn’t mistaken—and the lights went blue.

Ryan’s dark head appeared, and people got louder, his megawatt smile glowing under the light. Since he wasn’t originally supposed to be in the auction, he wasn’t wearing a tuxedo but, instead, a deep blue suit. It fit like a glove, probably custom-tailored to his swimmer form, and his tie… Wait, where was his tie? He’d been wearing one earlier, but now it wasn’t there.

People continued to holler and whistle as Ryan danced across the stage. In my row, Elite clapped and cheered.

Ryan swaggered down the catwalk, right to the end, and reached for the buttons on his jacket, which raised the already disorderly noise to downright wild.

“Take it off!” someone howled, and Ryan laughed, nimbly undoing the fabric.

Once the buttons were unfastened, he tugged the garment off his shoulders and shook them a little. Gone was the dress shirt he’d been wearing beneath it, which also explained the absence of his tie. In its place was a white T-shirt, the kind with the arms cut off. That flash of skin had people going feral.

Do you see what I mean now about money not buying class?

Ryan spun, putting his back to the crowd, and slid the jacket down, revealing his cut arms. Shrieks echoed to the ceilings, and he tossed the jacket onto the stage to lift his arms and—you guessed it—flex.

“Fucking Walsh,” Rush mused from beside me, but it was a wonder I even heard him over all the noise.

Across the back of the tank Ryan wore was the word ELITE in bold.

The music faded, but the crowd continued to howl as Ryan bent down to scoop up his jacket and fling it one handed behind his shoulder. When he faced the group again, his dark hair was slightly disheveled and he was smiling.

“Well, that was quite the entrance,” the dean said, carrying the microphone toward Ryan. “So listen, since you are a last-minute addition to the auction?—”

“Amen!” someone screamed, and laughter followed.

“This is not church, ma’am,” the dean joked, causing more laughter.

“But Ryan is a swim god!” someone else roared.

Applause erupted.

Ryan grinned.

“Anyway,” the dean said, attempting to get back on track. “I figured I would give you a little pop quiz so our fine bidders could get to know you a bit better.”

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