Clapping and lady shouts bounced off the concrete walls. Another guy bit the dust. The turnout was more than I’d ever imagined. The building was used for everything from basketball to swimming to seniors’ programs, plus designed to handle all kinds of town events, but a bachelor auction was a first. There had to be a hundred women out there, and the estrogen levels were through the roof.
About fifteen guys had been wrangled into trading dates for a charitable donation. We knew a few personally from growing up together or around town, but others must have been pulled from around the county.
Based on the bids the first three guys had been “sold” for, it showed how eager some women were to help the kid’s program. Or to find a date.
Thatcher came over, slapped me on the shoulder. “Have your balls dropped out of your throat yet?”
He grinned, and I glared.
Huck grinned. “Dude, you’ve got it bad.”
I did. I’d spent the past two days thinking about the gorgeous redhead who’d shot me down.
“I need to know what I did. What I said to set her off,” I said to them. Again.
“You need to steer clear of crazy,” Huck told me.
“You want to date her?” Thatcher replied, eyeing me.
“I have no idea what I want to do with the woman,” I replied. Date? I had no fucking clue. Maybe I hit my head when she took me to the floor because why the fuck would I want to track down a woman who very clearly wanted nothing to do with me? Who hated my guts.
Was she a challenge? Was she insane? Was I?
My answer only made Huck laugh, which was the first time since we’d walked into the community center. “Only you’d want to claim a woman who had bigger balls that you.”
Claim? The idea didn’t sit too badly. But I still had to find her. I had to know. She was hot to anger which only made me wonder if she got hot fast for other reasons.
The last thing I wanted was to make her upset. I winced, hoping whenever I saw her again, I could set things straight. A smarter man would just steer clear, so that made me as dumb as a box of rocks.
“Gonna be tough to make this right if you take another woman out on a date,” Thatcher said, tipping his head toward the stage.
I glared at him. “Whoever buys me isn’t getting anything more from me than coffee. With Kelsey, I want to...” I stopped talking because I had no idea what I wanted to do with her. Well, I did, but why?
“Whatever you do, wear a cup,” Huck joked, and Thatcher tossed his head back and laughed, even slapped his thigh.
She was so fucking pretty. Petite with curves that went on for miles. She wasn’t flashy like Delilah and Tracy had been in their designer duds and fake eyelashes as they’d watched their girls play. Kelsey’s simple outfit had only accentuated her pale skin, those full lips. The swell of her small but perky tits. The streak of paint on her shirt had shown she didn’t mind getting dirty, and the way she’d talked gently to the diva-in-training Tamara said she was a fucking rock star with kids.
Within five minutes, I’d figured out I wanted her. I needed to get her from no fucking way to yes, fuck me please. From kneeing me in the balls to cupping them in her palm while she sucked my dick.
Here I was backstage, ready to be some woman’s date for a charity, and I was losing my shit. For a preschool teacher.
I ran a hand over my face, watched as another guy had his turn.
Shit. I didn’t want a random date. I wanted Kelsey.
I ran a hand over my hair, which, per Alice’s instructions, was neatly combed.
“Manning, you’re up next,” Rev. Abernathy called, then stuck his balding head around the curtain. “Oh great, all three of you are here. Which one of you wants to go first?”
Huck, Thatcher and I glanced at each other. Huck tapped his nose, then Thatcher in our usual game of “nose goes”, where whoever touches last must do the task. In this case, auctioned to a noisy and rowdy group of women. I sighed, resigning myself to what was about to happen. “That would be me.”
The minister disappeared.
“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered then followed the man of the Lord out onto the stage.
KELSEY
I’d waited for the call from Irene to tell me I’d been fired. After I left the preschool the other day, I’d gone to the laundromat to wash the small pile of clothes I’d had in the trunk of my car. While I’d lost my shit. Then I’d gone to the community center, where I’d cried my eyes out in the shower in the ladies’ locker room at what I’d done. Then onto the grocery store to buy a few frozen dinners. When I’d unlocked the backdoor of the preschool with my key so I could heat up my meal in the microwave and get some sleep, I’d almost cried in relief. Not that Irene would have had the locks changed, but I’d been irrational in my fear of Sawyer Manning wanting me gone. Of having me fired.
I wouldn’t have blamed him. My behavior had been worse than Tamara’s.
Sawyer must not have done anything because it had been two days since I’d kneed his junk, and I hadn’t heard a peep. Sarah Jane hadn’t said a word and when I’d worked with Irene this morning she had only asked me with her usual concern about how I was doing with getting my deposit money together. It was as if the confrontation had never happened. Of course, Claire hadn’t attended either day since, so I hadn’t had a run-in again. There was always next week, which still had me freaking out.
When Sarah Jane invited me to the bachelor auction—what she’d said was the event of the summer—I’d met up with her and Irene in the auditorium. It was then I finally realized that to everyone else besides me and Sawyer Manning, nothing had happened.
There had to be a hundred women here, all seated at round tables, laughing and clapping, hooting and hollering as one man after another was auctioned off.
I didn’t have a dime to my name, so I had no intention of buying myself a date. Irene was married, so she was here just for the fun as well. Sarah Jane was my age and single, offering a play-by-play commentary on every guy and every woman who bid on them. She’d grown up here and knew every bit of juicy gossip. Because of that, she’d said she probably wasn’t going to bid on a guy although she was going to keep her options open just in case.
I was thankful for their friendship. Irene’s kindness in my predicament.
The minister—an odd choice for an MC for a bachelor auction—announced the latest guy. He came out on stage with a big, but nervous smile.
“Owen Zerwig. I went to school with his sister,” Sarah Jane said. The room was so loud that she didn’t need to talk quietly. In fact, she had to speak up for me to hear.
He had sandy blond hair and was a good looking guy. Sturdy work boots, pressed Wranglers and a plaid shirt. He had a full head of hair and from what the minister was saying, owned a home and was gainfully employed.
A catch.
“He’s a good man,” Irene added, tipping her chin toward Owen. “Handsome, too. Why don’t you put a bid in?” she asked Sarah Jane.
She shook her head, her cute chin length bob swinging around her cheeks. “I’ve seen his penis.”
My mouth fell open as she answered that as if she was asking me to pass the salt. Irene’s eyes bugged out.