Win a Date with a Navy Seal (The Curvy Girls’ Bachelor Auction #23)

Chapter 1

ONE

KATHRYN

“Do you think they have one in uniform? Or maybe lots and lots of denim?”

Elizabeth looks at me like I’ve just asked if the men come with optional accessories. “Are we looking at the same auction book?”

“Obviously.” I hold up my copy to prove it matches hers, flipping it open with a dramatic flourish. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because it’s insane.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t see how.”

“You’re talking about men. Like, human men. Who are going to take you out for the night.” She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to share something deeply profound. “And your biggest concern is their outfits?”

“Yeah.”

She scoffs. Loudly. A couple of women sitting in front of us turn around, and I offer them a polite smile that says please ignore my sister, she was raised by wolves.

“We are looking at men for very different reasons,” she says.

“It’s a good thing too. Otherwise, we’d fight like crazy.”

“We already fight like crazy.”

She’s not wrong.

Because that’s what sisters do.

Of course, because we’re sisters, I can’t immediately agree with her. What would be the fun in that?

We might be grown-ass women now, with jobs and responsibilities and matching throw pillows we pretend we didn’t spend too much money on, but it doesn’t mean we can’t revert back into our teenage dynamics at the drop of a hat.

Just ask our mom.

“She says, knowing full well she’s about to bid on at least three of these men,” I mutter.

Elizabeth gasps like I’ve deeply offended her. “Excuse you. I am being very strategic tonight.”

“Strategic,” I repeat flatly. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Yes. I am supporting a good cause.”

“You’re supporting a good jawline.”

“That too.”

I grin, because she’s not even trying to deny it.

To be fair, neither am I.

The ballroom is packed—round tables draped in white linens, soft golden lighting, the low hum of conversation mixing with the occasional burst of laughter. There’s a stage set up at the front, a long runway extending into the crowd like we’re about to watch a very niche fashion show.

Which, I guess… we kind of are.

Only instead of models, it’s men.

Men we can win for one evening.

For charity.

Which is the only reason I’m here. Obviously.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Elizabeth says, flipping through her booklet. “You hate dating.”

“I don’t hate dating,” I say automatically.

She raises a brow.

I sigh. “Okay. I strongly dislike dating.”

“Because—?”

“Because,” I cut in, already knowing where this is going, “it’s a waste of time.”

“Or—”

“Or,” I continue, louder now, “because the last three guys you went out with—”

“Five,” she corrects.

“—ghosted me,” I finish, ignoring her. “Yes. I’m aware.”

Elizabeth softens, her teasing fading just a little. “Kat…”

“It’s fine.” I wave her off, even though it’s not entirely fine. “This is different. This is structured. Controlled. There’s a start time. An end time. No weird ‘text me when you get home’ expectations followed by radio silence.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in a charity auction date.”

“I’m putting faith in the fact that I’d be paying for it,” I say. “It’s harder to ghost someone when there’s a paper trail.”

She snorts. “You’d be surprised.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying, men are creative when it comes to disappointing us.”

I scoff. “Thank you. That’s exactly the energy I needed tonight.”

“You’re welcome.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling.

Because despite everything—despite the ghosting, the awkward first dates, the “let’s do this again sometime” lies—I don’t actually hate the idea of tonight.

There’s something… fun about it.

Low stakes. No pressure. A built-in ending.

And if I happen to win someone attractive?

Well. That’s just a bonus.

“Okay,” Elizabeth says, tapping her booklet. “Who are you eyeing?”

I lean over, scanning the pages.

Rancher.

Detective.

Tech CEO with a suspiciously perfect smile.

“Hmm,” I muse. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You literally came here to bid on a man.”

“I came here to support a good cause.”

“By bidding on a man.”

I open my mouth to argue—and then the lights dim slightly.

A ripple moves through the room as attention shifts to the stage.

“Well,” Elizabeth says, sitting up straighter. “Showtime.”

A woman steps up to the mic—polished, poised, the kind of presence that makes you immediately want to donate money.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice carrying easily through the room. “Thank you so much for joining us tonight…”

The crowd quiets, the energy shifting from casual chatter to anticipation.

I settle back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, booklet still open in my lap.

This is it.

One date. No expectations. No disappointment.

Just… fun.

The first few bachelors go by in a blur—cheers, laughter, numbers being called out, paddles going up.

Elizabeth bids on one.

I nudge her. “Interesting.”

She grins. “Very.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m still only half paying attention.

Until—

“And next,” the announcer says, her tone shifting just slightly, like she knows what’s coming, “we have a very special addition to tonight’s lineup…”

Something in her voice makes me look up.

Really look.

“He’s recently relocated to Las Vegas, bringing with him years of elite military experience…”

Oh.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth murmurs beside me, already leaning forward.

I don’t move. I can’t.

“Please welcome—Douglas.”

And then he steps onto the stage. Everything else fades away.

He’s not in uniform, though his job description suggests he has one hanging at home in his closet.

Tonight, he’s gone another route. Dark jeans and a fitted black button-down, sleeves rolled up to his forearms like he’s trying to downplay the fact that he looks like that.

Tall.

Broad.

There’s a stillness to him. A grounded, steady presence that makes the men before him feel… boyish.

And when he lifts his gaze—

It lands right on me.

I suck in a breath.

“That’s the one,” Elizabeth whispers.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I tear my eyes away, looking down at my booklet like it suddenly holds the secrets of the universe.

My heart is beating way too fast. This is ridiculous.

It’s just a man. A man I don’t even know.

A man who will, at most, take me out for a few hours and then go back to his life.

“Bidding will start at five hundred dollars.”

Paddles go up immediately.

Voices call out numbers.

It climbs quickly. Too quickly.

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t go this high.

“It’s now or never,” Elizabeth says under her breath.

“I’m thinking—”

My fingers tighten around my paddle.

He’s still looking out into the crowd. My belly does a backflip.

“Do it,” Elizabeth whispers.

My paddle is in the air before I fully register the decision.

Elizabeth makes a strangled noise beside me. “Oh my God.”

The auctioneer points. “One thousand—do I hear eleven?”

I should stop. This is already more than I planned to spend.

This is already—

“Eleven!” Someone else jumps in.

Relief and disappointment twist together in my chest.

“Do I hear twelve?”

I exhale and argue with myself.

You don’t need this.

You don’t need him.

You—

My paddle lifts again.

“Twelve.”

Elizabeth grabs my arm. “Kathryn.”

“It’s for charity,” I hiss.

“You said that already.”

“It’s a good charity.”

The numbers climb again.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

My heart is pounding now, adrenaline mixing with recklessness.

“Two thousand!”

The room falls silent.

The auctioneer smiles. “Do I hear twenty-one-hundred?”

No one speaks. My pulse roars in my ears.

“Going once…”

Oh my God.

“Going twice…”

What am I doing?

“Sold.”

The gavel comes down.

“Congratulations to—”

I barely hear my number being called. Because suddenly, this isn’t theoretical anymore. This isn’t just a fun night out.

This is real.

I just won a date with a Navy SEAL.

And across the room, Douglas’s gaze finds mine again.

This time, I’m filled with a sense of something else.

Something warmer. Something that feels a little too much like hope and promise.

I’m in trouble. And I like it.

Let the record show: I am not impulsive.

I am a planner. A list-maker. A woman who has a color-coded calendar and a notes app full of reminders like drink water and stop texting men who don’t text back.

And yet—“I think I just spent two-thousand dollars on a man,” I whisper.

Elizabeth snorts. “Correction: you invested in a charitable experience.”

“Hi.” The word drops into the space beside us, low and warm, and my entire body goes still.

Elizabeth’s eyes go wide.

Slowly—so slowly—I turn my head.

And there he is.

Up close, he’s somehow even more—I don’t even have a word for it.

Tall, obviously. I noticed that before. But now I can see the details—the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his shirt pulls across his chest when he shifts, the subtle roughness to his jaw like he shaved this morning but didn’t really care about getting it perfect.

And his eyes. My. God.

“Hi,” I manage, which feels like a miracle considering my brain has temporarily left the building.

“I’m Douglas.” He holds out his hand.

I stare at it for half a second too long before taking it. His grip is warm, firm, grounding in a way that makes something in my chest settle and spike at the same time.

“I’m Kathryn. “This is my sister, Elizabeth,” I say, gesturing vaguely.

“Hi,” Elizabeth says, suddenly very composed. “Big fan.”

I choke on nothing.

Douglas’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Of the auction? Or—”

“Of men who show up looking like that,” she says waving her hand around him.

“Elizabeth,” I hiss.

“What?” She shrugs. “I’m supporting your investment.”

I bury my face in my hands for half a second. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, and when I look back up, he’s definitely smiling now. “She’s funny”

Oh.

“So.” He shifts his attention back to me. “Want to get out of here?”

I blink.