Page 31 of Wasted On You

Five years old playing hopscotch with Val. Long braids. Blue plaid dress. Val’s laughing face.

A trip to Bozeman with Val and their mothers. Eating ice cream. Dancing along the sidewalk in the warm summer rain.

Sleepovers. Movie nights. A trip to Disney World.

Their parents arguing while the two of them hid behind the door and listened—not understanding anything other than things were bad. Bible camp. Horse camp.

Then, nothing until senior year when Val had done the worst thing ever, and Ivy’s life changed in an instant.

Slowly, Ivy exhaled and looked up. Val watched her with an odd expression on her face. Was she walking down memory lane as well? Was she remembering how, at one time, they’d been the best of friends until a falling out with their parents? Was she thinking about how cruel she’d been to Ivy after that? Did she have any idea how much her betrayal had cost Ivy?

The crowd erupted, and she flinched as folks clapped and whistled. Jefferson Smith sauntered onto the stage, and while women eagerly bid on a chance to spend an evening with the eligible bachelor, Ivy had no interest in the event. She wished with all her heart she was home, by herself, cradling a nice bottle of Chianti in front of the fire. As far as she was concerned, men were overrated.

As the auction proceeded, Ivy melted into the background, slowly moving away from the gaggle of women who pushed toward the front of the stage. She avoided Mike Paul’s parents as much as she could, though she gave a small nod at the wave and smile from his mom. Ivy kept to the shadows and was able to breathe a little easier. She would bid on Oliver and leave, hopefully, sooner than later.

Wondering when he would appear, she pulled the program from her small bag and was trying to make out the names listed when the crowd erupted in whistles and more than a few catcalls.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as if electrified by the air in the room, and even though she wanted to look away, she couldn’t. She knew before her eyes swept upward who was on stage.

The spotlight hit Mike Paul at centerstage. It lit up the highlights in his hair and defined his chiseled jaw and sensual mouth in a way that wasn’t fair. The cat calls continued as he smiled and took a step forward, that grin of his devastating as he worked the room.

Mike Paul Darlington was born for this kind of shit. The attention. The female adoration. It came easy to him. Heck, he didn’t have to do anything but wink and smile, and the ladies practically fell at his feet. Jordan McHale looked like she was about to faint, for God’s sake.

Thankful that the shadows kept her invisible, Ivy held her breath when Mary Margaret beamed out at the crowd.

“It’s taken us years to get this young man to participate in our auction, and I have a feeling Mike Paul just might set a new record.” She waved at the ladies in front. “Let’s start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred,” Melinda Danby shouted, teetering on her heels as she jumped up and down excitedly. If the woman didn’t watch herself, her considerable assets were going to pop right out of her dress.

“Two-fifty.” Ivy couldn’t see who upped the bid. Angelina Jolie could be bidding on the man for all she cared.

Liar.

“Three hundred and fifty,” Grace Morgan shouted.

“Let’s keep this going,” Mary Margaret trilled, looping her arm through Mike Paul’s as she stood by excitedly.

Ivy narrowed her gaze. He wasn’t enjoying the attention tonight. There was a tick near his left eye, and his smile was plastic. His eyes kept sweeping the crowd, and she held her breath when he passed over her.

It was too dark. No way could he see her.

Two seconds ticked by, and then his eyes returned to her and never wavered. The smile slowly faded from his face, and for just one moment, it felt as if Ivy and Mike Paul were the only two folks in the room. She was hot. And cold. And her knees trembled. If her legs weren’t cemented in place, she would have run.

“Four hundred,” Melinda Danby practically squealed.

Mike Paul didn’t look away, and God help her, Ivy couldn’t either. She swallowed a thick lump and tried her best to keep breathing. What the hell was happening?

“One thousand.”

That tick at the corner of Mike Paul’s eye sharpened, and Ivy slowly turned. She spied Val near the right of the stage, glossy lips smiling as she looked up at him. Just behind her stood Melinda, who at that moment jumped up and down and shouted, “twelve hundred.”

“Well,” Mary Margaret said through the huge smile on her face, “I do believe we’ve just set a record. Is there anyone who would like to bid higher?”

“Fifteen hundred.” Val turned just as the spotlight swept the crowd and lit up the entire room. She nailed Ivy with a triumphant look that set off bells and whistles, the kind Ivy should have paid attention to. But in the moment, she ignored them and instead focused on the knot of heat and anger in her gut.

“Fifteen-fifty,” Melinda shot back.

“Sixteen hundred.” Val grinned like a Cheshire cat.

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