Page 36 of Promise Me Nothing
She laughs.You’d be amazed what people buy.
We spend about fifteen minutes rotating around the tables, oohing and aahing at the fancy stuff people are bidding on. I can’t help but glance at a few of the amounts listed as minimum bids, my eyes nearly popping out of my head when I see what people are willing to throw towards gifts and tickets and extravagant luxury.
I look to Ivy, about to ask her if she’s planning to bid on anything, but pause when I find her staring off into the distance with a sour look on her face.
Everything alright?I ask when she finally looks back at me.
She sighs dramatically.I have to go talk to my dad for a minute. I’ll be back, okay?
I nod.Sounds good. I’m gonna go outside for a bit. I need some fresh air. It’s a little stuffy in here for me.
She giggles, picking up on my pun, then nods and races off to find her father.
And that leaves me free to do whatever I want. Which is definitely finding an empty outdoor space so I can get just a minute to myself.
I walk the perimeter of the room, then slip out of an open doorway, taking in a deep breath when I feel the rush of cool sea breeze on my face.
Closing my eyes, I breathe slowly, enjoying the sound of the water moving around the boats in the marina. I step to the edge of the patio area I’ve found and look over the short hedge to the yachts owned by the millionaires of Hermosa Beach.
There’s so much money here. I can’t help but feel like I’m breaking some kind of rule. Some sort of poor girl rule. Just by being here.
I’m supposed to just scrape by for the rest of my life. Live in shitty apartments. Work crappy jobs. That’s the life the universe has given me.
Mansions that look at the ocean. Fancy dinners. Yacht clubs. I’m not supposed to see these things, let alone be invited to be a part of them.
I take another deep breath, hoping that my moment alone helps me build back up whatever confidence seems to always slip away so easily.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wyatt
She doesn’t know I’m out here.
It’s the only explanation for why she’s standing there, her arms wrapped around her middle, eyes closed, taking deep breaths.
When she first walked out, I thought we might get one of those interactions you see in the movies, where I would say hello and she would startle and giggle a little bit. Maybe we’d chat and I could get her to finally agree to grab a drink with me. Or let me take her home.
But then I saw her face. And as beautiful as it was, it was also incredibly sad. As much as I’d like to get to know the girl, even I’m not the monster who tries to pick up on a chick on the verge of tears.
So I sit here in silence, letting her have her moment alone instead of trying to steal it for myself.
She really is absolutely gorgeous. Her long hair is up in a fancy twist, and she’s wearing a beautiful dark dress with an open back and long lacy sleeves. It’s a little bit short for an evening like tonight, but it shows off her long legs, so I doubt any man in the room would complain.
Maybe a few of the women, but really that would just stem from jealousy.
A few minutes go by where she stands with her eyes closed, her face up to the moon-lit sky, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly.
Then she does something I don’t expect. She takes off her shoes, a pair of black heels, then wiggles her feet around, stretching her toes and ankles.
It’s a move I don’t see often from the girls around here. The whole ‘beauty knows no pain’ mantra having been chiseled into their minds early on.
I think back to our first meeting, when she was in shorts and a shirt, her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head. And our second, a pair of ripped jeans and a zip up hoodie. Nothing about her indicates she’s from money, from privilege and wealth and comfort. If anything, her every movement indicates her discomfort at being here.
Though I can’t help but take in those movements with an appreciative eye, my eyes glued to her legs and that tight ass that fills out her dress so nicely.
Hey, I might let her have her moment, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire her from afar. I’m not a monster, but am a man.
Suddenly, she turns around, which is when she spots me, sitting in the corner, scotch in-hand.
