When she licks her thumb to smooth back my hair, I brush her hand aside. “I need to see Jesse.”
“You can see him later,” she hisses. “There isn’t time.”
Before I can protest, she tugs me up on stage, leaves me next to the podium, and steps up to the mic.
“Ladies,” she says, into the microphone. “We’ll start off this evening with a surprise bachelor who doesn’t appear in your program book.”
“Surprise bachelor?” I frown. “What the?—”
“And this bachelor is a real gem. Born and raised in small town on two-percent milk and kindness, Josh here has made a name for himself in Las Vegas as a world-famous poker player.”
A spotlight pops on, and every eye in the room turns on me. I shrug my shoulders. What the hell is going on? Head spinning from chugging that champagne and coming to grips with my near-miss, I try to make sense of it all.
I dart my gaze around the room. Linen-covered table cloths. Silverware clinking against china. A sign that reads, “Welcome to the Bachelor Auction.”
Bachelor Auction.
Oh, fuck.
“As you can see,” Jane continues, “this tall drink of water isn’t hard on the eyes, either. I’d think any one of you would be glad to spend a night with him. Shall we start the bidding at five-hundred?”
TWO
TINA
“Going, going gone,” the woman at the microphone exclaims. “And the winner is, the lady in green. Please come claim your date.”
I did it. I can’t believe I just did that.
Not only did I impulsively buy a last-minute ticket to a charity bachelor auction—of all things—but I bid on one of the bachelors and won a date with him.
A professional gambler at that. He’s about as far away from the blue-blooded Ivy League-types I’ve typically dated in the past.
I don’t know what got into me. Actually, I know exactly what got into me. Two shots of tequila and a seemingly bottomless glass of champagne.
Plus, the MC wasn’t wrong.
The man on stage is incredibly easy on the eyes. What with his chiseled jaw accentuated by a smattering of smartly cropped whiskers, broad shoulders perfectly displayed by a fitted suit,and an easy swagger to his carriage. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s been pretending to be completely caught off guard and surprised by every person bidding on him. As if he had no idea this would be going on.
I squeeze my thighs together. God, I love a man with humility.
Rising from the table, I accept the polite congratulations of the women around me and head toward the table off to the side of the stage to make my payment and collect my winnings.
As I approach the table, credit card in hand, I get an even better look at the man being ushered toward me.
He’s even taller up close, with a frame that leans more toward solid than lanky. Though he apparently makes his living playing cards, he looks like he could easily carry a damsel in distress out of a tower or throw a football into the end zone if called to serve.
And his eyes… His eyes are like rich pools of milk chocolate with a depth and shine that carry the promise of both intensity and mischief. Like he’s the kind of man you can spend hours talking philosophy with before impulsively ziplining through the city.
They’re the kind of eyes that can stir your soul and twist your insides.
But, also, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve won a few hours of his time. Not a lifetime. I need to get a grip.
Mr. Professional Gambler watches me as I process payment. I can feel the heat from his stare. I wonder what his first impressions are of me. Does he see me as a generous benefactress supporting a worthy cause? Or does he see me as a desperate woman looking for a night out with any man?
In truth, I was just looking for something to do tonight after checking into my room. The concierge suggested I check out theauction. Everything after that is a consequence of impulse and alcohol.
