Switch Bidder (Jock Hard 2.50)

He’s huge—way bigger than I am—dark, and slightly broody.

You wouldn’t pair us together any day of the week, and yet somehow, I can’t quit the enormous crush I have on him.

We had one class together as freshmen; it was economics, and he always sat in the front row. I always thought it was because he was so interested in the subject, but one day halfway through the semester, he showed up with glasses and moved to the back.

I couldn’t stare at the back of his head after that.

Once econ ended, we never shared the same breathing space again, unless you count the few times we were at the same off-campus house party.

I don’t hate parties. I’m not antisocial.

I’m just…not really the kind of girl guys fall for. I’m too shy, and too quiet, and I blush too much at the dumbest crap—something Mallory is always trying to change, God bless her. She’s always trying to get me out of my comfort zone.

The thing is, I don’t think a person can wake up one morning and suddenly be outgoing—not like her. She’s balls to the wall with everything she does, going hard at school, sports (she plays volleyball), and her social life. Mallory isn’t shy about anything, not her body, not her opinion, and not the fact that she mother-hens me every chance she gets.

All my friends do.

I don’t need to be handled with kid gloves; I’m just not like them.

“Stop trying to hide behind me. He’s not going to bite you.”

Right. Because he’s not even looking at me.

None of the guys are, though most of them are eyeing girls in the audience, no doubt making their picks for who they hope bids on and wins them.

The place is packed. The fraternity rented an alumni room on campus to give more students the chance to attend, and no driving off-site means more participation, just a longer walk if you don’t live in the dorms.

Which I don’t.

Mallory and I walked over together, along with our friends Deonna and Ava, who also live in our apartment complex. Both of them are only here to spectate; they have already boyfriends.

Really, I suspect most of the people crammed into the room aren’t here to actually bid on these guys. They just want to witness the spectacle it’s sure to become. Fraternities on our campus aren’t known for their subtlety; they’re known for drunken beer bashes, and yes, their philanthropies, too—but some of these fundraisers they throw to raise money have been known to raise a few eyebrows.

Mine go up when the master of ceremonies—a total douchebag named Chet Donovan (gag)—takes his place at the podium, clears his throat, and gestures for the guys to clear the stage.

One by one they file off, disappearing behind a makeshift curtain.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today…” He does his best to sound like a preacher, failing miserably when he breaks into a laugh instead. “I kid, I kid—we’re not here for a wedding, although wouldn’t we all love that?!”

The crowd cheers, and one guy in back shouts, “I want a virgin bride!”

Oh my god.

“Let’s get serious for a second here, people.” Chet grips the podium for support, leaning forward. “We’re here for a good cause. We, the brothers of Lambda Tau Gamma, hope you brought all the cash in your piggy banks.” He scans the crowd, his expression somber. “LTG has been raising money for literacy for over thirty years, giving more than seven million dollars among our eight hundred and ninety collegiate chapters. Think about all the books that buys, guys—thousands upon thousands.”

I mentally sigh as he drones on.

“Once you’ve won, you’re going to pay that big moron in the back with the card reader—Derek, hold up your hand and wave it around.” Everyone cranes their neck to see the guy in the back of the room. “He’ll give you the contact information of your LTG member or athlete so you can put him to work. LTG is not responsible for any idiotic behavior, nor does it condone…” He continues reading a legal disclaimer, which was most likely prepared by an actual attorney. “By bidding, you agree to these terms. The money we raise today will go toward literacy programs, books, and scholarships to children across ’Merica, so bid, and bid high!”

“You’re high!” someone yells, and the crowd laughs.

“Without further ado, allow me to introduce the first fine stud, all the way from the Beta house—which, by the way, was a terrible choice.” The Greeks all laugh. “Brian Beloit’s major is chemistry, and not the kind with test strips and beakers, if you ladies catch my drift.”

The crowd groans, and the bidding begins. Not long after that, I need a break.

“You can’t go to the bathroom now! That Kappa bitch Cameron is going to steal Ryder right out from under you.”