Wait.
My mouth goes dry. Is this girl a stripper?
I’ve got teammates who could answer that question with a lot more authority than me. I’ve never been interested in paying for a woman’s company. But I’m not naive.
“What kind of job?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“I’m being auctioned off.”
My head swivels towards her. “You’re being what now?”
“Oh dear.” Her voice is solemn. “I’ve scandalized you.”
A giggle escapes her, bright and a little wicked, and I realize she’s fucking with me. Heat climbs up my neck.
“No, seriously, though,” I say. “What’s the deal?”
“I am being auctioned,” she says breezily. “It’s for charity. All very above-board. No need to get your boxers in a twist.”
“I’m more of a boxer-briefs guy,” I mutter automatically.
She laughs a little again. “I could totally see that.” There’s a teasing smile in her voice that draws my gaze to her once again.
It turns out it’s very difficult to keep my eyes off her.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I’m a volunteer at the animal shelter and there’s a charity benefit tonight. One of the things you can bid on is a date with an eligible volunteer. All of us single ladies and guys who volunteered to do it thought it would be cute to dress up as a different animal. Since I already had the Elle Woods Legally Blonde costume, a bunny seemed like an easy fit.”
I frown. “What’s an Elle Woods Legally Blonde?”
“The movie, Legally Blonde? The moment where ElleWoods, aka Reese Witherspoon, walks into a very uptight law school party dressed like this?”
“Never seen it.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t surprise me.” She pats my hand briefly. The flash of sparkly pink against my tanned, scarred, calloused skin is almost comical. “I suspect your cinema education leaves much to be desired, cowboy.”
“I know movies,” I protest. “The classics, at least.The Godfather. Fistful of Dollars. Fight Club.”
“My version of the classics is a little different. How aboutLove Actually? 10 Things I Hate About You? Titanic?”
“Don’t need to seeTitanic. I already know the ending.”
Her eyes narrow. “Was that a joke?”
I shift uncomfortably in the seat that’s way too tiny for someone my size. “I guess so.”
“It was a terrible one,” she whispers. And then she laughs. “I love it. Handsome men should tell bad jokes exclusively. It humanizes them.”
Her cheeks go pink the moment it’s out. She looks away, and I can see her replaying what she just said, clearly a little embarrassed by the slip, but I’m only getting more and more charmed but the minute. Gorgeous, sense of humor, volunteers at the animal shelter? Everything she tells me has me wanting to learn more.
I open my mouth to try and ask an interesting question, but instead what comes out is a gruff, “So what happens after someone wins the auction for a date with you?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure, exactly. Maybe coffee? A dinner? Hopefully an hour of pleasant conversation and then we’re on our separate ways.”
“So it’s not like a real date?”
“I mean.” She tilts her head. “It’s a date.”
“But not a…” I stop. What am I even trying to ask? “Neither of you are expecting anything from it?”
