Page 95 of The Accidental Innkeeper

The crowd murmured. Cards rustled. Someone sighed.

“So,” said Helen brightly, “we’ll start the bidding at six hundred dollars for Handyman for a Day.”

Becca’s elbow dug into my side. “You have to bid.”

I finally found my voice. “I absolutely do not.” I wiped my mouth with my fingers, just in case I’d been drooling.

“That is your man.”

A startled laugh escaped me. “He is not my man.” Though a part of me did like the idea. I mean… there was that kiss…

“Six hundred!” a woman from the front row called out, the overly tanned one from yesterday, already leaning forward like she’d trained for this.

“Eight hundred!” another voice chimed in.

My pulse kicked up. Should I be bidding? No. Absolutely not. This was not me. I wasn’t one of those women who came here this weekend ready to fling money at a bachelor like he was a silent auction gift basket with a side of bumping uglies. I paid my bills on time. I recycled. I owned sensible shoes. I did not bid on men.

I glanced at Becca, who looked like she was one eyebrow raise away from doing it for me, and felt my resolve wobble. Because apparently all it took was one quiet, stupid man with broad shoulders and a stare that made my panties combust for my moral compass to start spinning.

“Sarah,” urged Becca, grinning. “You want him. It’s written all over your face.”

“So is last night’s wine,” I told her. My head still felt like it had been drop-kicked by garden gnomes.

Becca leaned closer. “I’m just saying. Look at those arms. That man could lift furniture with his pinky finger. Or people.”

On stage, Dust-guy smirked as someone in the front row said something to him I couldn’t hear. He dipped his head politely, like he wasn’t being openly objectified by two hundred people.

“I’m not bidding on a human being,” I told her while my traitorous mind screamed, Do it, do it, do it!

“Please,” said Becca. “He’s barely human. Have you seen that ass? That’s artisanal.”

I snorted. “You did not just call his butt artisanal.”

“Oh, I did,” she said proudly. “Handcrafted by the goddess. Don’t you want a piece of that ass?”

“Shut up.” I laughed. “You’re insane.” I looked back at Dust-guy. I couldn’t tell if he was actually enjoying himself or just putting on a show for the row of openly horny females.

“If you don’t bid,” Becca added sweetly, “you’re going to lose him.”

“I can’t lose him if I don’t already have him.” Shit. My hands were sweaty, and I rubbed them on my jeans.

Becca’s smile widened. “That’s quitter talk.”

“I’m not a quitter,” I started. “It’s just… no. No, no, no. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.” I pressed my lips together, as if that might stop my brain from free-falling. “This is a bad idea. Capital B. Capital I.”

It was a bad idea. Right? I couldn’t bid on a man I actually liked and force him into a fake date like he was a lawn chair at a charity raffle. That crossed several moral lines. Probably legal ones. Yet my brain kept circling back, helpfully reminding me that I’d once eaten gas-station sushi and survived. Clearly my decision-making history was not a strong argument here.

Even for me, this felt… ambitious.

“What are you waiting for?” Lola appeared behind us and dropped into a squat between the rows. “Do him.”

I stared at her. “Did you just say do him?”

Lola waved a hand. “You know what I mean. Why aren’t you bidding your fabulous tush off?”

I glanced to the side and caught Mark the sailor openly checking Lola out as she bent over. Of course he was. Men.

“Do you hate him?” asked Lola, studying my face like she was diagnosing a rash.