Please be here. And please don’t be put off by this.I whisper the words internally like a mantra. My only hope for escaping this auction in one piece. But honestly, she means far more to me than that … though I can’t yet express what that might be. It’s why I desperately need to see her again …alone. So, I can try to figure it?—
My heart jolts like a lasso snap.There she is.
Our eyes meet for one long, searing moment. I think they meet, that is, because the lights disorient me. I can’t imagine what she’s seeing from her vantage point.
A mixture of relief and apprehension fills me. On the one hand, I hope against all hope she’ll somehow bid on and win me. On the other hand, I can’t think of anything worse than her watching me get objectified like this.
She’s the one who looked at me and saw a man, not a TV rerun. And now she’s watching me get sold off like a prize bull.
As Dallas wails on and on about my TV career and celebrity status, my eyes find Catalina again, locking for certain this time. She presses her gorgeous, juicy lips firmly together in a frown, eyes flickering to groups of women surrounding her who jeer and wail with anticipation. She breaks the stare, looking down and scrunching her face.
God, I wish I could get closer, see her expression more clearly, and try to sort out what the lovely, nerdy girl is thinking. All I know is this night would turn around in a heartbeat if Icould just get my big, rough hands around her waist for one devastating kiss.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to get started?” Dallas hollers.
A deafening roar floods the gymnasium. The lady in the red shirt screams above the din, sloppy, inebriated, and spilling her drink.
I cover my ears reflexively, unable to hold back any longer.
“Get those paddles ready, girls. Bidding starts at one hundred doll?—”
“One fifty!” an auction attendant calls from the audience, and my heart drops. I try to remind myself that I’m doing this for a good cause, but self-preservation weighs heavily on me. I wonder what exactly these ladies will expect from me on our date?
“Two hundred … to the woman in the red shi?—”
“Three hundred,” another attendant calls from the opposite side of the room. “To number sixty-nine.”
Number sixty-nine. Of course. As if the universe didn’t already think this was a joke.
So much for a quiet, simple life in a small town. I shield my eyes, squinting into the distance for my lifeline. But the spotlight blinds me.
How did I ever let myself get in this situation?
That thought loops through my mind on repeat as I stand there like a piece of fucking meat.
The numbers climb in a dizzying blur—five hundred, seven-fifty, eight-fifty—each one another nail in my coffin.
Red shirt. Blonde hair. Fur coat. Diamond earrings. Sixty-nine.
Nothing sounds familiar. I can only wager that none of the bidders are Catalina. Besides, there’s no way she would bidon me at this high a bankroll. I can only imagine the pained expressions I’m making at this point.
Straining, my eyes find her again, among the seething crowd, eyes wide and bewildered, paddle clutched in her hand.Raise it. Pick me. But she hesitates, shaking her head in the frenzy.
Dammit.
For a split second, I swear she wants to. Her knuckles tighten, her shoulders tense like she’s fighting herself. My chest aches with the urge to shout her name, to tell her just to do it, take a chance on me. But then her chin tips down, and the paddle dips lower, and I feel the loss like a punch to the ribs.
She vanishes in the crowd.I’m out of fucking luck.The woman’s probably so horrified she’s making her escape. I wouldn’t blame her. Unfortunately, my night’s just beginning …
“Nine hundred.”
At least, I’m not hearing from sixty-nine anymore …
“Nine fifty from sixty-nine.”
Lord, help me.
I can’t see a thing. I should’ve worn sunglasses on this stage.
