“Who’s ready to bid on a baller?” Kaylani asked with the intonation of a game show host.
Soren groaned. “Lord, here we go.”
“I don’t want to hear either of y’all complaining,” Matty said, pointing toward Soren and me. “You have somebody you love to go home to tonight, no matter what.”
“Dude, you sound just like Clarke. Her accent comes out twice as thick when she’s pissed.”
Matty was right for the second time tonight because I was indeed going home with the person I loved. I was head over heels in love with Nessa Gibbs, and I didn’t care who knew . . . so long as she did first.
Neither of us had used those three not-so-little words just yet, but as far as I was concerned, there was no rush. We were taking things atourpace, nobody else’s. It was no skin off my back if she needed a little more time to wrap her head around the fact that she was it for me. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“First up, Cy Young nominee and your starting pitcher. Give it up for Jared Pink.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Time to shine, boys.”
Tonight’s event was for charity, for hungry kids. If making an ass of myself was going to put food into the mouths of children, then that was what I was going to do.
Ginuwine’s “Pony” came on over the speakers, eliciting a cheer from the crowd of mostly women, though Brock Heller had been lurking by the bar last I’d checked. For the next three-and-a-half minutes, I stripped, gyrated, and twerked across the stage in ways that would give Channing Tatum a run for his money. At least, that was what Nessa had told me when I’d rehearsed my “routine” for her the night prior until she’d broken down in a squealing fit of laughter.
People from around the room shouted their bids, including Nessa, who was spending money she didn’t have. She didn’t need to buy my attention; she already had it. Her gaze never wavered from mine throughout my dance. In the end, though, it was Myron and Miles who cast the winning bid of twelve hundred dollars.
When Kaylani finally banged her gavel, I gathered my discarded shirt and blazer off the stage and quickly redressed.
“Top that, fuckers,” I spat over my shoulder at my teammates. I could only hope that at least one person—preferably Brock—had caught it on camera when all six of them flipped me the bird.
It didn’t take me long to find Myron and Miles, my dates for the rest of the evening.
“Evening, gentleman,” I said, swinging my blazer over my shoulder. “Thank you for your contribution.”
“Oh, please,” Miles said. “The pleasure is all ours. Right, Ronny?”
Myron smiled, appeasing his husband. “Right, cookie.”
They were a cute couple. We had spoken a few times before, mostly about Miles’s lavender plants, so I was looking forward to their company for dinner.
“Do you mind if I say hello to my girl?”
“Make it quick,” Miles teased. “You’re ours for the rest of the night.”
Damn, if he was forty years younger.
“Two minutes, I promise.”
I darted across the room and swept Nessa up into a needy kiss. She barely missed a beat, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck, holding on while I plundered her mouth.
There was no disguising the hunger in her eyes when I pulled away. Dinner didn’t start for another thirty minutes—that left plenty of time to sneak away for a nibble of our own, so long as my dinner dates allowed it.
“Mm,” she said, licking her lips. “You took my advice on the raspberry lip balm, I see.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So long as you keep those lips to yourself.” Her hands slipped down to cup my ass, making me jump. Nessa loved my ass, and she wasn’t shy about showing it. “I’m serious. Tell Miles and Myron that you’re off-limits.”
“Damn, angel.”
“What?”
“I kind of like it when you’re all possessive.”
