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One
Cindy
Grippingtheauctionprogramwith both hands, I take deep breaths as I re-read the order. I was supposed to be second out of three. But with a last-minute addition, we have a fourth, Wendy. Offering a forced smile at her as Aurora quickly helps her with makeup and body glitter, I tamp down my anxiety over the change.
Why would Wendy run away from her own wedding? So many plans scattered to the wind. Not just the ceremony and reception, but the entire rest of her life. And out of all of the places she could run to, why an auction at a sex club?
Surely she didn’t show up here wanting to donate four hours of her time doing holiday prep for the winner. Which means…she must need to clinch destroying her wedding by selling her virginity.
Butterflies migrate through my stomach at the thought of making such a rash decision.
Give me a plan and I’ll carry it out, but I’m not your girl when it’s time to pivot.
The emcee announces that Bianca’s been sold and the crowd gets extra loud. Not just cheering, but demands that I can’t quite make out. In a giant blur, Aurora’s rockstar brothers insist that she go next because they have a concert to get back to.
I’m being asked to carry Bianca’s bag to her since she’s being carried to the parking lot. This can’t be happening. All I can do is take orders. If I’d been able to think, I would have grabbed my stuff and left when I took her bag outside.
A wilder version of me could have jumped on the back of one of the motorcycles that pulled in and told the beefy rider to cart me away.
I should have left, but somehow I’ve made my way back to the prep area beside the stage.
I could still leave. I could grab my phone, open the rideshare app, and have a car here to take me home in minutes…if I could move.
But I can’t. I’m totally caught in my head.
Another change of plans starts palpitations in my heart. The motorcycle gang that arrived when I carried Bianca’s bag out is here for Wendy…her stepbrothers are in it.
Can the world spiral out of control any faster? She’s frantic that her brothers are here. I’m fretting over the fact that mine aren’t.
My stomach has that weird feeling like it can’t quite find where it belongs in my body. My legs aren’t convinced they can hold me up much longer. And humiliation might be the most likely result this evening when I’m the only one whose stepbrothers don’t show up.
I’m also the only one of us who’s admitted she has a thing for her stepbrothers. That was two years ago, but my friends all know. Ever since then, I’ve tried to hide behind the fact that every female would like to take a spin on my brothers’ Zambonis.
Meanwhile, Aurora’s brothers are making quick work of winning her.
I refocus on my goal for the evening: have sex with one or more men who will get it right. And with full diligence, I’ve done my homework, reading about sex and positions. I don’t need a relationship. In fact, a relationship with a group of guys sounds complicated.
Especially with my stepbrothers.
They travel with their hockey team. I prefer my routine. I can’t get lost in the whimsy of a taboo relationship. I just need one night.
Aurora makes her way backstage to grab her stuff and eliminates any chance I can think someone didn’t notice all of the stepbrothers. She asks, “Any chance yours are showing up?”
“If I could only be so lucky.” I wouldn’t be the only woman farming herself out to a stranger.
“So if your brothers showed up and bought you, that would make you happy?” Wendy looks at me expectantly.
“You know who they are, don’t you?”
Her nervousness eases. “The Tri-anything hockey gods.”
I wish their nickname didn’t make my lady bits tingle. My shrug almost appears casual. “If they bought me, they’d probably just take me home to Mom and Dad and tell them I got loose and went to an auction at a sex club.”
She laughs, but my anxiety level rises. My Friday evening shift at Santa’s photo booth in the mall calls to me. Why did I deviate from my schedule? I rub my thumb over the dandelion tattoo on the inside of my forearm. It’s not enough to calm my nerves.
Too many unknowns. When it’s not the holiday season, jigsaw puzzles are my Friday evening routine. There is one right answer for each piece, and when you find all of the right answers, you create a beautiful picture. My fingers itch to run around the edge of the innies and outies of a piece while scanning the table, looking for the exact right placement.
Wendy grabs an empty cup. “You don’t look so good. Are you going to throw up?”
