Page 47 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

PORTIA

Dinner wound down, all of us stuffed and sticky. My parents hugged me before they drifted away with Alexis’s parents. The band that had been playing some pretty mild music left the stage. The main attraction for the night, a band that played eighties hair metal, was now setting up.

The families with young children were slowly filtering away from the festival. Now was when the real fun started. The adults got to play.

I noticed Dean check his watch. I wasn’t about to let him go home alone and sulk. He was going to have fun. I had finally turned the page on my own chapter of doldrums. I hated feeling that way and it had only lasted a couple of weeks. If I could bring Dean into the light, I was going to do it.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing his arm. “We’re going to have some fun.”

He grimaced. “I think I’m going to head home.”

I scowled at him. “My parents are still out here. Quit acting like an old fart.”

“How about the pie toss?” Alexis suggested.

I grabbed Dean’s hand before he could protest and dragged him toward the pie-toss booth, Alexis trailing behind us with a grin. The booth was set up with rows of aluminum pans filled with whipped cream and tin plates stacked neatly to the side. A couple of teenagers were manning it, their faces smeared with cream from their own failed attempts at the game.

“You’re not seriously going to make me do this,” Dean muttered.

“Oh, I’m seriously going to make you do this,” I shot back, already stepping up to the counter and handing over a few dollars. “Three tosses, please.”

The teenager handed me three plates, each one wobbling precariously in my hand. I turned to Dean and Alexis, holding one out to each of them. Alexis took hers with a gleam in her eye, but Dean just stared at it like it might bite him.

“Come on, Jackson,” I said, nudging him. “Show me you’ve got more than just brooding in your arsenal.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh but finally took the plate. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Doubtful,” I said, lining up my first shot. The target was a row of metal cutouts shaped like cartoonish faces, each one perched on a spring-loaded pole. The goal was to hit the target dead-center, but the springs made them wobble unpredictably. I took aim, focused, and hurled the plate. It sailed through the air—and missed completely, splattering harmlessly against the backboard.

Alexis laughed, stepping up next. “Watch and learn,” she said, squinting at her target. She whipped the plate forward with surprising precision, hitting the edge of the cutout and sending it spinning. A small puff of whipped cream sprayed into the air, earning her a cheer from the booth attendant.

“Not bad,” I admitted, grinning. “Your turn, Dean.”

He stepped up reluctantly, holding the plate with little enthusiasm. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the target with that unreadable expression of his. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the plate flying. It hit the center of the cutout with a sharp clang, knocking it back so hard that whipped cream exploded in all directions.

Alexis and I stared at him in stunned silence for a beat before bursting into laughter. “Showoff,” I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

Dean shrugged, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I counted that as a win.

“Alright, hotshot,” I said, handing him another plate. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

He took the plate, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on the target. This time, he didn’t hesitate—he wound up and let the plate fly with the same effortless precision. It hit the target dead center again, splattering whipped cream everywhere in a satisfying explosion. The booth attendant let out a low whistle.

“Two for two,” I said.

“Guess not,” Dean replied.

The booth attendant held out a bin with a variety of silly prizes. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Give it to the next guy.”

“Look, it’s Nicole.” Alexis laughed and pointed to the dunk tank.

I heard Dean groan. I looked up at him. “History?”

“Not that I ever want to revisit,” he muttered.

“I do,” Alexis said. “She’s a bitch, and if I can dunk her, I’m going to do it.”

“I’m game,” I said.