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CHAPTER THREE

RORY

The club is crowded—interest from the members in this auction has been so much more than any of us expected. The chatter of the crowd and clinking of glasses is loud, but it’s overshadowed by Tristan’s exuberant voice billowing through the speakers as he auctions off man after man, raising ungodly amounts of money for Our Lady of Grace.

I’m here tonight because Quinn begged me to come for support, but I’d rather be anywhere else right now. Preferably at home, on my couch, watching ESPN and drinking a beer. Instead, I’m stuck in a tuxedo that feels more like a costume than apparel and sitting at the bar beside Declan while I nurse a glass of whiskey.

I take another sip from my glass and glance around the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Conor leaning against the back wall, an annoyed scowl painted on his face. His expression screams, ‘How did I get roped into this shit?’ It’s because he’s a sucker for Layla. I can’t blame him for hating every second of it. Happy doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about Quinn not guilting me into being one of tonight’s bachelors. I’d rather get fucking shot again.

My eyes wander the room again and I see him… Jorge . He’s on the other side of the lounge, not far from Conor, where Layla is staging the bachelors. Fuck, he looks good . His tuxedo fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders. But it’s the way it’s molded to his frame—hugging him in all the right places—outlining the muscles he’s hiding that causes my breath to catch.

“I didn’t realize Jorge was actually doing the auction,” I mutter, more to myself than to Declan, but he hears me anyway. I don’t know why I’m commenting or why I care. It’s not like Jorge is mine. Or would want to be. He’s well out of my league—young, confident, charming, and able to get any guy he wants. What would he want with an old guy like me ? Yet, I’ve spent years watching him from afar—keeping my distance and pining in silence for someone who’s way too good for me.

Declan follows my gaze, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Yeah, he is. Layla said he was the easiest to convince. He practically jumped at the opportunity to be one of tonight’s bachelors.”

I take another sip of the watered-down whiskey swirling in my glass, letting the burn distract me from the sudden knot in my stomach. My eyes dart back to Jorge, and for a second, I forget to breathe. He always looks good, but tonight… That damn tuxedo was made for him. The dark fabric contrasts so perfectly with his olive skin while accentuating the sparkle in his cognac eyes. He’s impossible not to stare at.

Always the outgoing social butterfly, he’s talking to a couple of the other bachelors waiting. The guy standing next to him laughs at something Jorge says, and for a second, I feel a pang in my gut. Jealousy. A level that I didn’t even know I was capable of. My eyes narrow when Jorge laughs in return, his lips curling in that mischievous way that makes him so… irresistible.

“Are you planning to bid?” Declan asks quietly, pulling me from my thoughts.

“No,” I answer quickly, a reactionary response.

Raising a brow, his gaze flicks between me and Jorge like he can read my thoughts. “Are you sure?” No, I’m not. Unable to pull my attention from Jorge, I shake my head in answer to Declan’s question.

It’s ridiculous. A terrible idea. I have no business bidding on a gorgeous man nearly fifteen years my junior. Besides, even if I won… I’d never have the nerve to do any of the things I’ve spent countless nights fantasizing about. He’s far too perfect to put myself out there like that… To consider letting him see me… To risk the possibility of watching his face show how appalled he is.

I need something to cool this anxious fire burning in my veins. As I swallow the last of the whiskey, I draw the remnants of an ice cube into my mouth. Angrily chomping on it, I try to distract myself from the fact that Jorge could be won by any of these men. He dates plenty, and I know it—but I’ve never had to see it before. And knowing that will change tonight makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

I glance back at Jorge—my chest tightening again—and I know I can’t watch this unfold.

No one else can have him.