Chapter 6
Molly
It will be my turn to get auctioned any second now. I spin in front of the mirror, making sure nothing is out of place. A vague memory of someone nagging me about my looks plays through my mind but it’s gone without much more than a flicker.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, am I pretty enough for this… auction? Ball!?
Other than the faint nag in my memory, I’m ready. And just in time. The emcee calls me to the stage.
The bright lights warm me, and the Christmas Cherry Auction feels like I'm living someone else's life. Someone else's dress—that part's true. Someone else's dream.
Is Jolene's adventurous nature a good fit for me?
The heat from the stage lighting coupled with the adrenaline rush as bids escalate, gives me a sense of familiarity—not like I've been in a virgin auction before—it seems like something I've experienced running, maybe even winning, a race. Except my muscles aren't spent and I'm not sweaty.
Thank goodness for the latter. With Laz's insistence that I hurry in, I didn't have time to rush home for a shower. My snack run turned into a night that will change my life.
Following with the history of the Christmas Cherry Auction, I've decided to let fate take its course. Without warning that I'd be in the auction, I didn't have time to get on birth control. Maybe that was fortuitous.
Holding Jolene's kid felt really good. It brought a maternal instinct to the surface and I'm running with it as long as the winners agree.
Smiling and waving at each table of bidders, a dark thought washes through my mind about moments that change your life forever. At least this time I'm in control.
Five hundred thousand. Six.
Any worry I had about telling people I have amnesia is gone. I have Laz's protection behind me now. And knowing that I won't be creating any more awkward pauses in response to simple questions lets me breathe easier—which is more than I can say for this dress.
It fits surprisingly well, but in the rush to get me ready, Jolene might have cinched the corset-style back a little too tightly. Won't be a problem for much longer.
A chuckle breaks free, unleashing my excitement with it. I'm going to have sex tonight. Good sex. No, great sex with an orgasm that can release three months of stress.
More smiles and waves as I let my gaze linger on each table.
No more looking back, wondering why no one came looking for me. A roomful of bidders want me.
The amnesia wiped my memory but the rest of me is strong—now that I'm embracing the new me. Who knows, maybe I'm new and improved. Based on the dollar amounts these men are bidding, my lifestyle's getting an upgrade.
I strut across the stage, hips swaying, chin lifted, owning the spotlight.
The men in the audience look eager to win me. It feels good to be wanted even if this could be deemed as superficial. They know the stakes. They know the magic.
The two men at the next table broke from the attire most men chose. They went with t-shirts instead of suits or at least button-up shirts.
I chuckle. I guess it takes all types. The guy from the reindeer ranch was in a flannel shirt. He bid on Jolene and I remembered him as the guy from the reindeer ranch.
As my gaze lingers on the t-shirt guys, something seems familiar about them. My smile widens. It's so nice to have a memory. I'll never take that for granted again.
They're the guys from the grocery store parking lot.
Their stares hit differently, deeper. It's amazing how little it takes to feel like I have a major connection to someone.
Flirting a little longer than I did with the other tables, I enjoy the way my heart pounds harder, my legs feel as weak as if I've just run for hours, and my sex… what is happening down there? My less-than-spectacular panties are drenched. Why is my body having such a strong reaction to these men?
The auctioneer booms, "Sold! Thank you to everyone for a record-setting night for charity!"
It's over?
People rise from their seats and the emcee takes my arm. "Congratulations!"
I'm pretty sure he says more but I'm so overcome with the feeling that this is meant to be that I can't listen to his small talk.
I hold back the urge to leap offstage—too risky. The doctors said I can't afford another bump to the head.
A staff member ushers me through velvet curtains to the payment room.
The two men stare as I enter, their eyes wide. The slightly thicker guy's jaw clenches. The leaner one with the five o'clock shadow runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
Guess I need to break the ice. "Are we ready to make this official?"
The scruffy one steps closer, voice low. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"
I arch a brow. "I knew the rules when I took the stage."
The thicker one steps close and takes my hand. "With your memory loss... you don't worry about what you might've forgotten? Or when your memory will come back?"
Heat flares in my cheeks, but I lock eyes with him. "Are you scared that I'll remember a lover?"
He laughs, a rough bark. "What if you wake up tomorrow, everything clicks, and you ditch us?"
"Then give me a reason to never look back."
My heart races. Please don't let them be the type to treat me like I'm fragile. I got enough of that at the hospital and the woman's shelter. It was part of why I had to move on.
Thick boy's hand brushes my cheek. "We can start slow. You tell us what you want."
"Everything." I stretch upward, part my lips, and wait for him to lean down. "Make the fantasies I don’t even know I have come true."