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One
Maggie
Theanticipationofputtingmyself onstage in front of everyone for the silent auction Roxy talked me and Izzy into has been terrifying. Luckily, as I walk toward the auctioneer without my glasses, I can’t see the audience. That helps ease my nerves.
If the auction wasn’t for such a good cause, there’s no way I’d be able to stand in front of this many people to basically sell myself.
I probably shouldn’t think of it as selling. The winner only gets four hours of my time for things like help with holiday prep or cleaning…Rent myself?Not much better.
The auctioneer opens the bidding at a hundred dollars and it escalates rapidly. My fear of no one wanting to bid on me is quickly put to rest.
The bidders are announced by number, and a few—thirteen, seventeen, and twenty-four continue when the others drop out. Based on the direction Jefferson, our auctioneer, is pointing and the slight turn as he addresses each bidder, they’re spread out around the room, too far away for me to make out any details. They’re intermingled in the mass of indistinguishable people.
With the bids approaching the four-thousand-dollar mark, we should easily be able to raise the twenty-thousand needed for the fire department’s new gear since I’m one of six people who agreed to participate in this crazy auction. Maybe the fire department can get even more new gear than planned.
A tiny voice inside of me says I should ask the auctioneer to remind the bidders that I’m only offering four hours of my time. I’ve read plenty of romance novels about virgin auctions, and even though I would qualify, Peach Bottom Valley doesn’t hold those.
A chuckle bubbles through me. Roxy and Izzy would also be candidates, and we chose skimpy Santa’s helper dresses to…look enticing. My stomach knots. Have we made a serious mistake?
I walk to Jefferson and put a finger to my lips to get him to stop. He cracks a joke about needing to take a breath and leans down. I cup my hand beside my mouth and whisper, “Could you please remind the bidders that this is for four hours of general help, nothing more.”
He furrows his brow. “I’m guessing your brothers understand that.”
“My what?” Efforts to stay quiet falter. Thankfully Jefferson doesn’t have the microphone near my mouth.
“Your brothers. They’re the three bidders. Aren’t you watching?”
“I took my glasses off. I had no idea. How humiliating.”
His expression shifts to concern. “It’s a fundraiser. Let them have a dick-measuring contest over who can donate the most money.”
Tingles roll through my body at the mention of dicks and my stepbrothers. They’re gorgeous—my stepbrothers, not their dicks. Well, I haven’t seen their dicks, so I don’t actually know. In my fantasies, those are gorgeous too, though.
Pulling myself back from familiar fantasyland, since I’m on stage in front of friends and family, I remind myself that I’m not the heroine of a romance novel, and this won’t end well. My step-brothers are way older and were always annoyed by me. They probably want to torment me for four hours.
Humiliation returns. “Could you just like…speed this up so I can be put out of my misery?”
“This is going great. It’s awesome that your family is so generous.”
“Please, it’s embarrassing being bought by my brothers.”
He nods. “I have an idea.”
“Thanks.” As I offer him a weak smile, I turn to the audience and put on a big one.It’s awesome that my family is so generous.Right.
As the bidding creeps over the six-thousand mark, I question if Jefferson’s idea was simply to resume the bidding. Well played.
All I have to do is suck it up and let the bidding keep happening. I pull up the memory of the little boy who sat on Santa’s lap and asked the big guy to bring his dad safer fire-fighting clothes. It happened when I was working a shift with Roxy, Izzy, and Jade at the Santa photo booth. That’s what prompted Roxy to organize this big fundraiser.
We’re helping keep fire fighters safe.
Jefferson continues rambling and pointing so I do my part and let it happen.
This was never about dating, so I push aside the silly disappointment that I’m not being bought by a billionaire. If I want to date more, I have to do it by other means than selling myself. When will I find a guy who can handle my big brain? That’s not exactly what I’d like a guy to be handling but it seems to be the stumbling block for most males.
The room falls silent. Did I miss a winner being announced? I glance at Jefferson, who’s blurry since I’ve wandered to the far side of the stage.
“You three are giving my vocal cords a workout. You gotta give a guy a break, I’m just a volunteer auctioneer.”
