Page 47

Kal - Seventeen years old

“ C hampagne, sir?” the waitress asks, and I give a quick nod and a tight-lipped smile, grabbing the tall flute from her tray. The room is buzzing with energy, decked out in extravagant decorations, and everyone looks like they've been counting down to this night all year. At seventeen, I should be out with friends, sneaking into parties and downing drinks I’m not supposed to touch. I should be on the ice, pushing myself for that AHL contract. Not stuck at a charity ball. But here I am, keeping my dad satisfied. He wants me here, molding me to fill his shoes someday. So I plaster on a grin, nod along to conversations that fly over my head, and I usually drink until the night doesn’t seem so bad. My dad always gets swept away into side rooms, discussing big donations or hashing out business deals, leaving me to fend for myself. That’s where the champagne comes in handy—being six-foot-five and two hundred and twenty pounds at this age means no one questions whether I can legally drink or not.

We don’t usually fly out for these things, but the ice hockey coach at Hawksview, where my dad is on the board, has a friend whose brother owns some marketing company. Apparently, there’s something about this charity ball that makes it special. Plus, my grandma lives here in Baltimore, so it’s a solid excuse to spend a week with her. Mom would typically be here, too, but she stayed back because Grandma’s not doing well. I scan the crowd, watching people drink and laugh. Meanwhile, I’m trapped in a five-thousand-dollar tux that feels like a straitjacket. God, when will this night end?

They've been running auctions, and my dad's put our Whitefish cabin up for grabs. Some brooding guy just snagged it. He probably doesn’t even know it’s ours since Dad kept his name out of it. He always goes down as unknown when donating. Another waitress glides by with trays of champagne, and I snatch one, swapping it for my empty glass. “Wait until you hear who we have up for bidding next, ladies and gentlemen,” the woman on stage announces with a sly grin, cranking up the intrigue. I’ve been to countless charity balls, watching properties, trips, and vacations go under the hammer, but never people.

"Bohdi Stiles," she calls out, and the room erupts into shrieks, one of them painfully close to my ear. Bohdi Stiles rings a bell—I think he’s someone my dad has mentioned.

"Toni Delray," she continues, and suddenly it’s like all the oxygen is sucked out of the place.

Fuck, she’s stunning. The most captivating girl I've laid eyes on in my seventeen years. Her hips sway as she strides onto the stage, and cheers and whistles echo around. I can't look away. Her blonde, wavy hair tumbles down her back, shimmering under the lights. Her gown clings to her like a second skin, flaunting her curves without a hint of modesty. The neckline plunges daringly, teasing just enough. She’s all fucking woman. Her eyes sparkle as they scan the crowd, her bright smile unwavering. Confidence radiates from her, and I’m drawn to it like never before. High cheekbones sculpt her heart-shaped face, and loose curls frame her features like a masterpiece. She’s a beacon up there; everything else fades into the background as I fixate on her.

Toni Delray.

Damn. The roar of shouting snaps me out of my trance, but nothing can pull my eyes away from her. Amid the frenzy of voices and movement, all I see is her, high above on the stage.

“Now, Toni Delray is up next,” the lady declares.

Toni’s smile? It explodes into something even brighter than before. As bids fly, Toni exudes pleasure, as men toss another stack of a thousand dollars into the mix.

“I’m thirty soon—a Bali getaway would be the best early birthday treat,” she teases with a mischievous wink.

I’m burning with need for her. She’s twelve years older than me, but that fact barely registers. The hunger I feel is raw and intense, a craving as fierce as anything I’ve ever known. When some loudmouth, overweight, receding-hairline dick shouts a ten-thousand-dollar bid, a surge of anger ignites inside me—I want to crush them all.

Without a thought, I roar, “Fifteen thousand.”

The room drops to a heavy silence as Toni locks her gaze on mine. Her eyes strip me bare, scrutinizing every inch of me—my face, my hair, my body—without a hint of a smile. Her silent appraisal sends shivers down my spine. "Congratulations to the lucky winner…" the lady drags out, clearly fishing for my name.

My mind races; I blurt out, “Kaleb Hawks.” Kaleb is my real name, even if everyone calls me Kal. Hawks is the college I’m starting next semester.Toni’s eyes light up, and her smile softens into something inviting. I lick my bottom lip, drawn magnetically to her full, kissable mouth. The thought of tasting her is like a fucking adrenaline shot. It’s as if she can sense my desire for her—her eyes sparkle, and her smile deepens as they dart from my gaze to my lips.

"Well, Kaleb, I can tell you that fifteen thousand dollars is worth every penny for the stunning Toni. You’ve got a lot to live up to on that date. Have fun." The announcer chuckles. “Have fun.”

Fun? I grin, flashing her a look that promises more than just one night, as I down the last of my champagne without ever breaking eye contact.

I’m not about to have a fleeting date with her. I plan to claim her over and over, starting tonight.

I will carve and bite my memory into every inch of her lightly tanned skin.

Toni Delray is mine.