Page 30 of The Auction
Because apparently, humiliation comes with a side of carnitas tonight.
The smell hits first—slow-roasted meats, warm tortillas, something cheesy and fried. It’s a full-body assault. I could die happy right here in this parking lot.
But instead of heading to the trucks, Jaxon veers off toward one of the empty picnic tables near the string lights. He spreads a leather jacket I hadn’t noticed on one of the benches and pats it.
“Sit.”
I blink. “I can’t sit on your jacket.”
The look he gives me in response makes my stomach dip and my thighs clench.
“You could sit—” he cuts himself off, glancing away briefly, then back. “You can sit on it.”
His jaw ticks and I sit, pretending not to notice. He doesn’t push, which is somehow worse.
Before I can gather a retort, I hear footsteps behind me. An older woman—short, round, and radiating grandmother energy—approaches with two paper baskets filled to the brim with tacos. A young boy, maybe ten, follows with another set of baskets, steam rising from the contents.
The woman grabs Jaxon’s cheeks like he’s five years old and kisses both of them loudly, muttering something in Spanish too fast for me to follow.
Jaxon responds fluently. I had no idea he could speak Spanish.
I pretend to be extremely interested in whatever’s hiding under all that chopped chicken.
The woman pulls two bottles of orange soda from her apron along with sets of plasticware, handing them off with a smile. Then she and the boy vanish like food-truck fairies into the night.
He cracks open one soda and hands it to me before opening his own.
I finally dig through the pile of food—and gasp.
“Are these… tell me these are cheese arepas.”
He smirks over his bottle, leaning back against the table edge. “They’re cheese arepas.”
I nearly sob.
“They’re just like those ones at that horse track you guys used to takeWarcryto.”
The name hits me like a whip crack—our prized black stallion growing up. Dominion’s sire. Fierce, wild, untamable. Suddenly I’m nine years old again at the racetrack with my mom. Sitting with Jaxon and my dad eating cheese arepas. Warcry starting the legacy that Dominion would finish.
I tear into the food like it holds the answers to life’s mysteries. One bite in, and my eyes flutter closed as the creamy cheese, crispy edges, and spiced chicken melt across my tongue.
I moan. “Oh my God.”
Eyes closed, head tilted back slightly, pure bliss in edible form.
When I open my eyes, Jaxon is staring at me. Not subtly, either.
He’s got the end of the plastic fork between his teeth, not even pretending to eat. His expression is somewhere between curiosity and something darker. Something I’m afraid to name.
“I’ve been searching for arepas like these foryears,” I manage between bites. “And you’ve known about this place theentire time?”
I stab the top of his hand with my fork—lightly. Playfully.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins and finally takes a bite.
We eat. We talk. And somehow, it’s… easy.
Too easy.
