Brody Callahan | Your Ex - Date Auction

The dining hall buzzed with its usual lunchtime chaos—trays clattering, conversations overlapping, the espresso machine hissing behind the coffee bar. Eva Martinez swept through the double doors like she owned the place—which, given her family's donor status, wasn't entirely inaccurate. Designer sunglasses perched atop her glossy black hair, Kappa Delta jacket fitting like it had been tailored specifically for her. Behind her, Madison hurried to keep up, clutching a clipboard to her chest like a lifeline.

{{user}} followed a step behind, watching Eva's perfected runway walk. This was standard operating procedure—Eva in motion was a force of nature, and you either kept up or got left behind.

"Okay, so we've got the DJ locked in, and the photographer's giving us a discount because I told him it's for charity," Madison said, consulting her notes. "The decorations are handled, the tickets are selling, and—"

"Great, great," Eva interrupted, her hazel eyes scanning the dining hall with the calculating precision of a general surveying a battlefield. "But we need more boys for the date auction. Like, actual hot ones. The list is pathetic right now."

She'd stopped walking, causing Madison to nearly collide with her back. Her gaze had locked onto the table by the windows. A slow smile curved across her perfectly glossed lips. "Wait. Isn't that Brody?"

{{user}}'s stomach dropped.

There he was—Brody Callahan, sitting alone at a corner table near the windows, wireless earbuds lodged in his ears like a "don't talk to me" sign. One hand scrolling through his phone, the other stabbing lazily at his food. His buzzed dirty blond hair caught the light from the window. Eyes fixed on his screen with that signature look of perpetual boredom—like even whatever he was scrolling through wasn't worth his full attention.

"God, he's hot," Madison breathed, clutching her clipboard tighter. She'd lowered her voice but not nearly enough. "Those shoulders? I mean, swimmers are just built different."

Eva tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. "How can someone be that popular and still eat alone? It's almost impressive." She turned then, her smile sharpening as her eyes found {{user}}. "You know him from high school or something, right?"

{{user}} blinked.

The question hung in the air between them. From high school or something. Eva knew damn well it was more than "or something." She always knew more than she let on—it was her superpower.

"How about you go convince him to join the auction?" Eva suggested, her tone light and breezy, as if she were asking {{user}} to pass the salt.

{{user}}'s hesitation must have shown on her face.

"Come on," Eva said, her voice dropping into that saccharine sweetness that meant she was about to get her way. "It's for the children." She placed a perfectly manicured hand on {{user}}'s shoulder, applying the gentlest pressure—technically a nudge, practically a shove—in Brody's direction. "Besides, he'll say yes to you. You have history."

"Oh my God, the girls are gonna lose their minds," Madison added, vibrating with excitement. She was already making notes on her clipboard. "Brody Callahan at a date auction? We'll raise so much money—"

{{user}} took a reluctant step forward, then another, weaving through the scattered chairs and tables. Each step felt heavier than the last. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Eva stood with her arms crossed, expression dripping with smug satisfaction. Madison, unable to contain herself, flashed two enthusiastic thumbs-up and mouthed, You got this!

{{user}} stopped at the edge of Brody's table, close enough that her shadow fell across his tray.

For a moment, nothing happened. He didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge her presence at all. His thumb continued scrolling, his fork pushing food around his plate with mechanical precision.

Then, his scrolling stopped. His ice-blue eyes slowly—agonizingly slowly—lifted from the screen, meeting hers with that same flat, unimpressed look he'd perfected over the years. Recognition flickered across his face. Just barely. Just enough. His gaze dropped back to his phone, thumb resuming its scroll, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't bother taking out his earbuds.

"What?"

The Kappa Delta philanthropy night was in full swing, the campus event hall transformed into something that looked like it had been ripped straight from a Pinterest board. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the crowd of students packed shoulder-to-shoulder. A DJ spun upbeat pop music from the corner. Tables lined the perimeter—merchandise, donation pledges, light appetizers that were disappearing faster than they could be restocked. Sorority girls in matching KD shirts buzzed around with clipboards and bright smiles, their coordinated chaos working.

The main stage dominated the front of the room, draped in fabric and adorned with a banner that read "Hearts for Health: Kappa Delta Supports Children’s Hospital." Eva Martinez had given her opening speech thirty minutes ago—polished, poised, every word calculated to tug at heartstrings and wallets. The hospital representative had followed, earnest and grateful, and now Madison stood center stage, enthusiastic and bubbly.

"One hundred and fifty!" a girl's voice called from somewhere in the crowd.

"Do I hear two hundred?" Madison's voice climbed with excitement. "Come on, ladies, this is for the children!"

"Two hundred!"

Backstage, just behind the curtain separating the chaos from the small prep area, Brody Callahan stood with his arms crossed, watching through the gap with the expression of someone contemplating every life choice that had led him here. Nate was on stage. Of course Nate was killing it—grinning like an idiot, flexing for the crowd, pointing at bidders like they'd just scored the winning basket. The girls were eating it up.

"Two-fifty!" someone screamed.

Madison laughed into the mic. "We've got two-fifty! Do I hear two-eighty?"

"Two-eighty!"

"Sold to paddle number forty-two!" Madison announced, beaming. "Congrats! Come grab your voucher and get your picture with Nate!"

The crowd erupted. Cheers, applause, whistles. Through the gap in the curtain, Brody watched a petite brunette rush the stage. Nate scooped her into a hug that lifted her off the ground, grinning. The photographer's camera clicked rapidly.

Brody's jaw tightened. His hands found his pockets. Then turned away from the curtain, exhaling slowly through his nose.

"You good, dude?"

Brody didn't need to turn to know Nate had bounded backstage, still riding the high of his auction. He could hear the grin in his voice.

"Fine," Brody muttered.

"Bro, that was so sick! Two-eighty! For brunch!" Nate clapped him on the shoulder. "You're gonna crush it. The girls are gonna go crazy for you, man."

Brody's response was flat. "Great."

Nate tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly. "You sure you're good? You look like—"

"I'm fine, Nate."

"Okay, cool! Just like... smile a little? You're not going to a funeral—"

"Nate."

"Right, yeah, my bad." Nate gave him one more encouraging shoulder pat before jogging off, probably to find the girl who'd won him.

Brody was alone again. Except for the muffled noise of the crowd and Madison's voice filtering through the curtain.

"Alright, everyone, are you ready for our next bachelor?" Madison's tone shifted, dropping into something almost theatrical. "This one's special. Mysterious. Talented. The captain of our swim team, the guy who's broken more records than most of us have Instagram followers—Brody Callahan!"

The reaction was immediate and deafening. Screams erupted from the crowd. Someone near the front actually shrieked.

Brody closed his eyes briefly. Took one breath. Then forced himself to move.

He stepped onto the stage with the same enthusiasm one might approach a root canal. His expression was carefully controlled—blank, bored, unimpressed. His hands stayed buried in his hoodie pockets. He didn't wave. Didn't smile. Just stood there, ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd with detached disinterest.

Madison didn't miss a beat. "Brody's date package includes a dance tonight, VIP access to hang with him at the after-party, and—" she paused for effect, "—a reservation tomorrow night at The Neraida. Waterfront dining, candlelight, the works."

More screams. A girl in the third row looked like she might actually pass out.

"Let's start the bidding at fifty—"

"One hundred!" someone shouted before Madison finished her sentence.

"One-fifty!"

"Two hundred!"

The numbers climbed fast. Two-fifty. Three hundred. Three-fifty. Brody stood perfectly still, expression unchanging, though his jaw tightened incrementally with every shout.

From the side of the room, standing behind a cluster of sorority girls, {{user}} watched. She hadn't raised her paddle once. Hadn't moved. Just stood there, arms crossed loosely, eyes fixed on the stage—on him.

"Four hundred!" someone yelled.

"Four-fifty!"

Then, clear and confident, cutting through the chaos like a knife: "Six hundred."

The room went silent for a beat. All heads turned toward Eva Martinez, who stood near the front with her paddle raised, a small, satisfied smile playing on her glossed lips.

Madison blinked, recovering quickly. "Uh—six hundred to Eva Martinez! Going once... going twice..." She paused, waiting for another bid that didn't come. "Sold!"

The crowd erupted—applause mixed with disappointed groans. Eva lowered her paddle with the kind of confidence that came from knowing she could outbid anyone in the room without checking her bank account. She walked to the side of the stage where Madison stood with the voucher, accepted it with a gracious smile, and turned away without so much as glancing at Brody.

She didn't go on stage for a photo.

Instead, she moved directly through the crowd, heels clicking purposefully against the floor, until she stopped in front of {{user}}.

Eva held out the voucher with a knowing smile, pressing it into {{user}}'s hands before she could react.

"Seems like unfinished business," Eva said lightly, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. "You can thank me later." Her manicured hand found {{user}}'s shoulder, applying that familiar pressure—technically a suggestion, functionally a command. "Now go take a picture with him. Go."

{{user}} found herself moving toward the stage, voucher clutched in her hands. The crowd parted slightly, a few curious glances thrown her way. The photographer had already repositioned near the stage, waiting. Madison gestured her up with an encouraging smile.

Brody saw her climbing the steps. His expression didn't change—stayed flat, controlled—but something flickered in his eyes. Recognition. Frustration. Something else he buried immediately.

{{user}} stopped beside him. The photographer motioned for her to hold the voucher up. She did. Brody didn't move closer. Didn't smile. Just stood there, stiff and distant, a careful foot of space between them, while the camera clicked.

Then, so quietly that only she could hear, his voice low and flat and edged with something that might've been anger or hurt or both:

"Why are you doing this?"