Raegan nearly jumps out of her skin but laughs it off. In fact, her laugh sounds a little forced. “Why would you say that?”
My stomach drops. “Where are the rest of the women, Rae?”
She closes her eyes, and I just know I’m going to want to punch something after hearing whatever it is she’s about to say.
“I couldn’t find anyone else to do it!” she blurts out, and I have to hush her with a wave of my hands. “No one would participate at such late notice,” she adds in a whisper.
“Except for me, apparently,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.
As she stands up, I take in her outfit. She’s wearing a wide legged, pink jumpsuit that looks comfy as hell with a white baby tee underneath. Her dark brown locks are pinned back on either side of her face with red bows. She looks adorable. I guess that’s an option when you’re not being auctioned off like a cow.
“Please tell me they are the ones who have to switch?” I beg, pointing to a group of men talking by the counter.
Raegan’s eyes go wide. “Of course. I wouldn’t make you do that. It’s humiliating.”
“What’s humiliating?” Jamie asks as he appears beside us.
“How fucking cute you two look together,” I say, lathering on my sickly-sweet sarcasm. “No one else stands a chance.”
I am happy for them, but as much as I’d love to have what they have, a mate bond feels way too intense. Jamie gives guarddog energy, staring down every man who walks by Raeganas if he’s barking at the postman. Not exactly a trait I look for in a partner.
Without meaning to, my eyes find Aidan in the crowd. He’s talking to a man with blondish-red hair and round glasses. As if feeling my gaze, he glances back at me. I avert my eyes quickly, returning to the conversation between Raegan and Jamie, but I can feel the focus of all the other men in the room.
I hate the attention. I try to run my fingers through my hair, but my hands are sweaty and stick to the strands, negating the effort. My excessive swallowing has my throat feeling dry, so as someone passes by with a tray of tiny flute glasses filled with something sparkly, I grab one for myself. I’m hoping alcohol will take the edge off my sudden nerves, but after taking a sip, I’m severely disappointed to discover it’s just a sparkly juice. I swallow it down reluctantly. “The mayor didn’t give you a budget for drinks?” I ask.
“Like I said,” Raegan groans, “short notice.”
Another five minutes passes, then Raegan rings an annoying bell to summon everyone’s attention. All the men gather around the tables and wait for whatever she has to say. By my count, there are ten in attendance. A lot of them look eager, but a few, including Aidan, look like they’re ready to call it a night before the event has even started.
Good.
Go home so I don’t have to waste another five minutes of my life talking to you.
Raegan takes her time explaining the rules while I slip awkwardly to the back of the group. When mentioning who the lucky lady of the evening is, they all turn their heads to take me in, and I shrink into myself like a coward.
The guy directly in front of me mutters quietly over his shoulder, “Seems wrong to put you on the spot like that.”
It’s the man I saw talking to Aidan.
“Eh,” I deflect, “I guess I signed up for it.”
He takes a step back so we’re side by side. “You ever done anything like this before?” he asks. I shake my head. “Neither have I. I was in line at the bank and Raegan pretty much threatened me if I didn’t come.”
I let out a snort, and it grabs her attention as she’s finishing her introduction. I give her an apologetic wave, but when she sees the man next to me, she smiles knowingly.
“Alright,” Raegan states loudly, clapping her hands together, “Let’s get this party started! Everyone take your seats!”
If this was a party, I would have stayed home.
Each of us do as we’re told. I take my seat at the first table by myself while the men gather at the others. Jamie passes around numbers, and they each pin them to their shirts. As luck would have it, the first number called belongs to the guy I’d been talking to. I smile as he walks over to my table and sits across from me. He politely extends his hand, and I shake it.
“I guess I should properly introduce myself,” he says in a self-deprecating tone. “I’m Grant.”
His hands are extremely calloused. They grate against my skin like sandpaper. Maybe he works outside a lot. Working on the farm certainly hasn’t leant anything to the state of my hands. My nails are always broken, and the scars from scratches and other accidents are quite prominent. I wonder if he’s noticed them.
“Nice to meet you, Grant,” I say, then release his hand. I fold mine in my lap for lack of a better option and wait for my first question.
“So, why’d you sign yourself up for such torture?” he starts.
