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She grabs the flyer out of my hand. "How do we go about entering you in this contest?"
"We don't," I say, horrified at the thought. Is she kidding me? I may be crazy, but I'm not completely out of my mind. Dating Weston Davies in my fantasies is way safer than trying to win a date with him in reality. Besides, guys who look like him do not date girls who look like me.
He's a literal candidate for People'sSexiest Man Alive. I'm five foot five and chubby, with wild blonde curls that never cooperate and more ass than anyone should legally be allowed to have. My body doesn't bother me at all, but I'm a realist. Weston is out of my league. Most men are out of my league since I would actually have to date to be in a league.
Addison notices my horrified expression and collapses into a fit of giggles. "You're going to have to go on a date eventually, Laney. Why not with the man of your dreams?"
"It's a Valentine's Day date," I say, snatching the flyer back from her and tossing it into a trash barrel as we pass. "I may be crazy, but I'm definitely not Go-on-a-Valentine's-Date-with-Weston-Davies-crazy. Public humiliation may like me, but I donotlike it back."
"What do you have against Valentine's Day?" Addison asks, popping her hands on her hips to glare at me. She's a hopeless romantic who thinks Valentine's Day, as cheesy as it maybe, should be strictly observed. She's probably never been the subject of public ridicule either.
"Sixth grade," I mutter. "All the girls in my class got roses from their secret admirers. I got my period."
"Ouch," Addison says.
"My nickname for the rest of the year was My Bloody Valentine."
"No," she whispers.
"Yes."
"That is so mean!"
"Right?" Sixth graders are savages. Getting your period for the first time is traumatic enough. Having Sal Anderson point it out to the entire class is so much worse. I was humiliated and I've disliked Valentine's Day ever since.
"That's really awful, Laney," Addy says before a familiar glint enters her eyes. "But it's time for you to get back in the saddle."
"Valentine's Day doesn't come with a saddle, unless this is a wholeSave a Horse, Ride a Cowboything. In that case, I reserve the right to change my mind."
What? Cowboys are hot, especially in romance novels and Hallmark movies. Hello, Dean Cain.
"You're entering this contest."
"No way," I say, planting my feet and refusing to budge.
"Yes, way."
"No."
"Laney!" she cries, throwing her hands up. "It's for charity. Think about all the good St. Jude's can do with the money from this contest."
Oh, she's good.
I glance up at the billboard advertising the contest and then at the line of women waiting to enter the contest and then at Addison. Even if I enter, the odds of me actually winning this thing are slim to none….
"I'll make you a deal," I say before I can talk myself out of it.
"What deal?" She's instantly suspicious, her eyes narrowed on me.
"I'll prostitute myself for charity and enter ifyouagree to talk to Clayton next time you see him."
She blanches, panic in her gaze. Just when I think she's going to say no, saving us both a whole lot of anxiety, she squares her shoulders.
"Deal. If you enter the contest, I'll talk to Clayton next time he comes in."
Well, crap.
That did not go as planned.
