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“For this? No. But let’s go, anyway.”
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Chapter 8
JUNE
Walking down that dark hall again, my palms are so sweaty I’m convinced they’ll drip on stage and my humiliation will be complete. Doesn’t matter that it’s cool in the hall. My nerves don’t understand the temperature. While my palms are pouring, my mouth is dry. I haven’t been this anxious since taking the bar.
Cesar smiles. “Last chance to turn back, Six.”
It takes everything in me not to take him up on the offer. But I’m facing twenty-eight years of utter drudgery before retirement versus starting a real life of following my dreams, all in exchange for one night of work. The tired feeling I’d begun my night with vanished the moment I chose to do this. The very idea has invigorated me and given me hope. How could I possibly turn my back on it now? “I’m not turning back.”
“I’ll pull back the curtain and you will step out there. Strut the stage like you own it, because when you’re out there, you do. All eyes are on you, and they are grateful for the opportunity to see you. Each of the men in the audience is fascinated by you. Every one of them wants you. All you have to do is show them they are right to want you.”
I nod once, trying to let his words soak in.
“When the?—"
Footsteps come from behind us, and soon Camille’s face comes into view. She beams at me. “I’m so glad you’re doing this. You’ll have the best time.”
Cesar snarks, “Wonderful timing as always, Five.”
“Thank you, Cesar,” she says, flirting.
He rolls his eyes and smiles. “As I was saying, when it’s over, you’ll come right back here. We will be watching.”
“Why didn’t Cam—Five come right back here after?” Callie asks.
“Because this path is for first timers,” he explains. “I always like to check in before they go off with their bidder.”
She notes, “Oh. That’s nice of you.”
“Six, ready?”
I gulp and nod with all the confidence I don’t have. “Yes.”
He smiles, then pulls back the curtain with himself and the others behind it.
My feet feel like lead. But I do my best to glide out here. What did he say again? They’re fascinated. They’re here for me … something. I never got a pep talk in a locker room before, but that’s what I pictured when he said all of that stuff, and now, I’m in the bright lights on a stage in front of an unknown number of men all ogling me, and I’ve forgotten everything.
Camille whisper-shouts, “Strut!”
Right. So, I do an imitation of her walk, and I might as well be a baby duck for all the grace I have. A sweaty baby duck, for that matter. God, is my dress clinging to me?
The auctioneer says, “We begin our bidding at the customary fifty.”
Shit, we start at fifty? Even if I don’t make Camille’s money, fifty would be enough to take a good chunk out of my loans.
“Timber, seventy-five.”
I got one of Camille’s bidders? So much for Callie’s theory about us not having any crossover.
“Roswell, one twenty-five.”
Interesting name and a good jump.
But then, there’s a lull, and I’m instantly humiliated. Should I strut harder? Really put myself out there? God, I feel like an idiot, parading myself back and forth on the stage. Camille looked glamorous doing it. I’m not Camille.
