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“Six!”
“Seven!”
“Eight!”
The fuck?
Who the fuck is bidding for me?
Or, more importantly, who is bidding against Lottie?
When the count reaches ten thousand, I start feeling a little lightheaded.
I know Lottie said she had my back and all, but I don’t want her to spend a dime on me. But on the other hand, I also don’t want to go on a date with a woman that isn’t Lottie.
“Twenty thousand dollars!” Lottie yells. I can tell by her tone she’s ticked off by her competition.
The other woman must sense it, too, since she remains silent, refusing to outbid her.
“Twenty thousand dollars going once… going twice… sold to the lovely lady in the back in the Marilyn Monroe dress!”
I can’t get off the stage fast enough the minute the deal is made. Still, to my chagrin, when I return to the ballroom, I’m unable to find Lottie since the celebrating crowd has now moved to the dance floor.
It takes me a full twenty minutes to find her at the bar.
“There he is!” Lottie hiccups with an empty flute of champagne in her hands. “The prince of the ball!”
“Lottie? Are you drunk?” I ask in astonishment.
“Little bit.” She giggles, pressing her index finger and thumb together.
I’ve been so up in my head all night that I didn’t even notice how many flutes of champagne she drank. And on a mostly empty stomach, too, since the fancy food floating around has been lacking—caviar and tiny ass hors d’oeuvres do not make a meal.
“Want me to take you home?”
“No. I’m having fun. Aren’t you having fun?” She bats her long eyelashes at me.
“I always have fun with you. You know that.”
“There you go again… being charming… and sweet… and handsome.” She sighs before slapping my forearm hard. “Ooh! Let’s dance!”
“Dance? Are you sure you’re okay to dance? I mean, wouldn’t you rather I look for some real food so you can eat instead?”
“I’m fiiiiiine!” she says a bit belligerently. “Come on, Nate. Dance with me. Please?”
Like I could ever say no to her?
“Sure. Why the fuck not?” I relent with a shrug.
Lottie pulls me onto the dance floor and wraps her arms around my neck while I just stand there frozen, not knowing what to do.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, and when I continue to hesitate to place my hands on her hips, she does it for me. “There. Isn’t this better?” She sighs, resting her head on my chest.
Better for her, maybe.
For me, not so much.
We start swaying back and forth until we find our own rhythm, and slowly but surely, the crowd around us starts to fade from my vision until all I see is her.
