Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Don’t get me wrong, I certainly haven’t been saving my virginity for my one true love. I’m not sitting at home waiting for Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet. But at the very least, I’d like to be wildly attracted to the man. I want to be unable to contain myself when he’s around. I want to want him so badly that I can’t wait to rip his clothes off. I want that level of chemistry.
Still, one date isn’t enough to assess the full scope of chemistry. At least that’s what Peyton always insists. According to my best friend, a date introduces you to the potential, the spark. And if the spark is there, however small it may be, you need to give it a chance, kindle it to discover how hot the fire can burn. The spark was there with Aaron, I can’t deny that, so I suppose it’s time to see if it develops into an inferno.
“Here’s the spa package!” I exclaim, spotting it at the next table.
I practically bulldoze my grandmother over to grab a bid card and a green golf pencil from the basket. I wish I could see what other people have already bid, but the format of this auction is asinine. It’s a silent, secret auction. The bids go into the box, someone flips through them to find the highest number, and that’s the winner.
“This isn’t rocket science,” Joy says, grinning at my indecision.
“The next available appointment at this spa is next July. July, Joy! They’re booking a year in advance. This is my one shot. My one opportunity.”
“You have issues.”
While she taps her foot with impatience, I mentally calculate what I think the package is worth, then double it. Then I cross out that amount and triple it instead.
“Pray for me,” I declare. I slip the card into the box.
“I need new friends,” Joy tells Grandma.
“Laaaadies and gentleeeemen,” a male voice booms from the stage at the front of the room. “If we could have your attention over here!”
The noisy ballroom quiets, but only slightly. Most of the formal-wear-clad crowd continues whatever they were doing and ignores our hosts. The gala has two emcees this year—a former running back for the Panthers whose name I didn’t catch, and a news anchor from the local network whose name I also didn’t catch. Joy and I have just been calling them Big and Blonde, because he’s big and she’s blonde.
“The silent auction is now closed,” Big announces. “Our wonderful staff will start tallying the bids, and winners will be announced after the bachelor auction. Until then—eat, drink, and be merry!”
Blond teeters up beside him on dangerously high heels to shout into the microphone. “Let’s get our gala on!” As her shrill voice reverberates through the cavernous ballroom, I don’t miss the way Grandma winces.
“Are you all right?” I ask, touching her arm.
“A bit tired,” she admits. “And, if I’m being frank, I don’t think my eardrums will survive listening to that woman for another hour.”
“Do you want to leave?”
After a beat, she nods. “I think so, yes. Are you all right taking a car service home?”
“Yeah, that’s no problem. But are you sure? It’s only eight o’clock.”
Grandma gives that prim smile of hers, the one that always holds a trace of mischief. “I made my appearance, dear. Nobody will notice if I slip away.”
“I’ll walk you out, then.” I glance at Joy. “Meet you back at the table.”
“’Night, Mrs. Tanner,” Joy says, leaning down to kiss my grandmother’s cheek.
“Good night, dear.”
After I’ve seen Grandma off, I return to the ballroom, weaving my way through tables. The centerpieces this year are massive—fancy crystal monstrosities with tall feathers and sprigs of baby’s breath. I think they’re supposed to look like swans. Or horses. It’s really a toss-up. The riser extending out from the stage is meant to serve as the runway for the bachelor auction, and as I pass it I smother a laugh. Poor Tate. I haven’t spotted him yet tonight, so I assume he’s cowering in a corner somewhere.
Or he’s chatting with Joy, which is what I find when I reach the table Grandma sponsored.
He’s wearing a dark gray suit, the wool jacket stretching deliciously across his broad shoulders. He has a white dress shirt underneath, no tie, top two buttons undone. With his handsome face clean-shaven and his golden hair styled, he looks like one of those preppy boys he likes to call clones.
“Someone busted out the hair products,” I tease.
“Damn right.” Those blue eyes sweep over my dress. “That’s a great color on you.”
“Thanks,” Joy says. “I picked it out.”
I snort. “Yes. Joy deserves all credit. You ready for your big moment?” I ask Tate.
He nods briskly. “I’ve covered all my bases. Lined up a plan A and a plan B.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Which one am I?”