Page 81 of In My Hockey Era
I ignore him, my eyes still glued to the page.“It’s for charity,” I mutter, almost to myself.“And, I mean, Chase is having an insane season.His jersey’s probably worth—”
Bennett swipes the program from my hands before I can finish.
“Hey!”
“Relax, Quinn.”He flips through the pages lazily.“I just want to see what else is up for grabs.”
I huff, crossing my arms as the bidding begins.
One by one, the items are called—vacation stays, signed equipment, private training sessions with players.Then finally—
“Next up, we have a signed Chase Remington game-worn jersey!”
I sit up straighter, my heart kicking up.
The opening bid starts high, and my stomach sinks.I glance at my purse, where my bidding number sits.I couldtry, but—
“Ten thousand,” Bennett’s voice cuts through the room.
I whip my head toward him.“What?”
He’s leaning back in his chair like this isn’t acolossalwaste of money, his face unreadable as the auctioneer continues.
A man across the room raises a hand.“Eleven.”
Bennett lifts a finger.“Fifteen.”
I grab his arm.“Bennett.”
Another bid comes in at sixteen, and before I can evenbreathe, he goes straight to twenty.
The room murmurs.
The other bidder hesitates.Then shakes his head.
“Going once, going twice… sold!”
The hammer drops, and applause ripples through the ballroom.
I stare at him.“Youdid notjust—”
“I did.”He smirks, finally glancing at me.“And you’re welcome.”
I’m too stunned to speak, my brain struggling to catch up.“Bennett, that wasinsane.Why would you—”
He leans in, voice low and smug.“Because you wanted it.”
My stomach flips.
And in that moment, I know.
I know I’m in serious,serioustrouble.
The night winds down, the chatter in the ballroom softening as guests trickle out, but Bennett and I are still seated at our table, nursing the last sips of champagne and sharing a dessert neither of us actuallyneeds, but neither of us is willing to give up either.
I drag my spoon through the rich chocolate mousse, lifting it slowly to my lips.“I can’t believe you just casually dropped twenty grand on a jersey.”
Bennett, reclined in his chair like he owns the place, lifts his own spoon and smirks.“I don’t do anything casually, Quinn.”
