Chapter 6 #2
“Jose Carnale loves to dance, run you a bubble bath, and hear about your day.” Lily shoots the catcher an approving look. The strapping Bronx Bomber wiggles a brow. “My God, could this man be any more perfect?”
A determined Lucy Liu look-alike calls out, “He’s mine!”
Time proves she is, indeed, determined. She wins him for a high four figures.
Next up is the team’s shortstop, and the bidding war is fierce, with a smoldering man in a suit winning him, and all I can think is they’d make a smoking-hot couple. I hope their date turns into the real thing because I wouldn’t mind checking out some cute couple pics from those two.
Purely as a social media strategist, of course.
“And now, we have The Tree, also known as Adrian Martinez, the star closer for the New York Yankees. An avid feline fan, every night he’s in town, he goes home to his two cats, Puss and Boots.”
The woman in front of me squeaks. The woman next to her gasps.
Understandable. Those are adorable names for kitties.
“He loves to cook for you, play Scrabble, and indulge in candlelit dinners.”
Part of me wants to call bullshit. I mean, who really likes all that? But the marketer in me is impressed. Adrian—or his press person—has made himself seem like quite a prize.
And maybe he is.
“Who would like to start the bidding?” Lily asks the audience.
A leggy lady in front of me thrusts her hand in the air. “I have a bidder on the phone,” she says. When she drops the number, my jaw comes unhinged.
Damn.
That’s a lot of greenbacks.
Before Lily can even ask if anyone else wants to meet it, one of the cat-lovers in front of me tosses her hat in the ring with a higher bid.
They go back and forth for a few minutes until the gasper drops out, and the anonymous phone bidder wins.
Martinez was the last Yankee. It’s our turn now.
My stomach churns. Or maybe it flips. Hell, it might do both. I’m nervous and excited. Ready and worried.
Lily smiles, sweeps her arm out wide, and flashes a grin at the man in the tux who picked me up at my home earlier tonight.
“And we have Ransom North, star forward for this city’s NHL franchise,” she says as Ransom strides across the stage, a gorgeous smile gracing his handsome face.
That smile.
My God. It’s so magnetic. So inviting. So warm. All at the same time. His dimples are killing me, making me feel all gooey inside.
He scans the crowd and finds me. A twinkle seems to play across his hazel eyes.
My heart stutters.
Flippity-flop.
My cheeks flush.
Burn, baby, burn.
And my pulse? It freaking races.
Cheetah fast.
“I want to have your children, Ransom!”
I blink, jerking my gaze toward the source of the high-pitched warrior whoop—a freckled woman in a white dress coos at Ransom from the back row.
“How about we start by trying to win a dinner?” Lily asks diplomatically.
“Dinner then making babies.” The lady does a pump of her hips—impressive, given that she’s sitting down.
Okay, then.
Lily shakes her head. “Let’s remember to stay classy, everyone.
” She returns to her list. “Ransom North loves to play Ping-Pong with his friends, read fast-paced thrillers, volunteer with children who have hearing loss, and help with companion dogs. He also has quite a sweet tooth and says he can easily be bribed to do extra chores . . . with a chocolate milkshake.”
I laugh at the bio, the things I knew—Ping-Pong and kids—and also the thing I didn’t—his affinity for milkshakes.
“Who would like to start the bidding?”
I raise my hand and toss out my opening bid.
The woman in white raises me by a small amount.
We go back and forth, with others weighing in too.
As I up the bid once more, a tall figure weaves through the crowd. Is that . . .?
Oh, my stars.
It is.
Fitz.
And he’s not alone.
He’s flanked by Logan and Oliver. The three of them make their way toward the front row, with Fitz raising his hand.
“I’ll make an offer on North,” he booms, then outbids me by one thousand dollars.
Ransom’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head, giving his buddy a what’s up look.
My potential date’s eyes swing to me, and he nods at me with narrowed eyes.
I’m not positive what that nod means, but knowing him, I’m going to assume it means win at all costs.
I raise my hand, and with all the bravado I have—and that’s a lot—I up the bid.
Fitz laughs and does me better, going higher.
What the hell?
Do these guys not know me?
I’m not about to be outbid by Ransom’s friends.
He’s mine. Oh hell, is he ever mine.
Squaring my shoulders, I raise the stakes.
Fitz rolls his eyes, lifts a casual finger, and adds another thousand. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Martinez leaning against the wall, chuckling.
“We’ve got quite a bidding war going. I guess you both want to get milkshakes with Ransom, and it looks like”—Lily stops, peers into the audience, and does a double take when she sees who’s in on the action—“last year’s winner is in the lead. James Fitzgerald.”
Last year’s winner.
And those words click in my head.
They flash brightly.
Because I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.
I’m willing to bet Lily’s pause means she thinks so too.
I clear my throat and decide to go for it. Our friends are messing with me, but I know how to mess right back. “Excuse me, Lily, but are we sure that former entrants in the auction are allowed to bid on other entrants?”
“I’ll bid on him,” Oliver chimes in.
“Me too. He’s worth a couple bucks,” Logan puts in.
Lily flashes a professional grin. “He’s worth plenty, but since Fitzgerald began the bidding, he’s responsible for it.”
She steps into the wings, and I cannot suppress a smile as she confers with the organizer.
Ransom grins at me from his spot onstage.
Seconds later, Lily’s heels click across the hardwood, and she scans the crowd for the guys. “As much as we appreciate your bid, Mr. Fitzgerald, you are, in fact, disqualified.” She turns to the crowd. “Do we have any other bids for Ransom North?”
She waits, checking out the room.
I cross my fingers.
I hope he’s mine for so many reasons—first and foremost because he’s about to go for more moolah than the other guys.
And secondly because . . . I want to make him happy.
And this will make him happy.
“Going, going, gone. To the redhead in the second row.”
I double-pump my fists.
Ransom blows me a kiss.
Then Fitz smiles at me and winks at Martinez.
Martinez swings his gaze from Ransom to me, and his words from earlier echo in my mind, loud and crystal clear.
But did they ever really fade away?
Carnale laid a grand on the charity of your choice that your girlfriend won’t kiss you backstage if you win. I said she would. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.
That’s the question indeed. Will I?
When the auction ends, the guys are gone, Fitz, Logan, and Oliver having bid and run.
The winners, meanwhile, go to greet the players backstage. Ransom strides over to me, heat in his eyes. My stomach flutters, then it flips as he pins me with his gaze.
“So . . .”
Tingles race down my body at the way he’s staring at me.
Because that look in my friend’s eyes? It’s not coming from smack talk.
It’s desire I see.
It’s confirmation that the touches, the moments, the teasing weren’t one-sided.
That whatever’s been brewing between us is a two-way deal.
Want is written on his face, evident in his expression as Ransom cups my cheeks and whispers, “Would you like a thousand-dollar kiss?”
Do I ever.
“Yes.”
He brushes his lips to mine.
My breath hitches, and my world goes whoosh.