Page 12 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Chapter 3

PRESENT DAY

The bid came from the back, and with the lights and so many hands up in the crowd, I can’t get a good look at who just dropped a boatload on my dancing skills.

“Sold!”

The auctioneer in the green tank top signals the DJ to switch songs, and I glance at Theresa, her jaw open in deep shock. I’m unsure what to think of that expression. Does she not think I’m worth four grand, or is she just as shocked as everyone else in the room?

I pull my zipper up only to be booed at, so I smirk and shrug at the crowd before hopping off the stage. Bachelor number twenty quickly takes my place.

My instructions were to head to the back rooms to change, but I’m trying to get through a very handsy crowd to Theresa because I have no clue where the back rooms are. Girls keep touching me, and I love every second of it. I guess those living room sit-ups are doing something. I better keep that shit up.

“Excuse me,” I say as I weave through the crowd. A girl with crazy long pink hair not-so-subtly crushes her breasts into my chest and blinks up at me like,Whoops!Then her left eye suddenly loses its lashes.

“Whoops,” I say through a laugh, plucking the fake things from where they landed on my shoulder. “Might want to go fix that.”

Instead of being cool and confident like she wassecondsago, she covers her eye and bolts away from me, calling me a jackass on the way. She forgets her eyelashes, and I sure as hell don’t want them, so I find the nearest trash can.

“Hey, bachelor nineteen,” a voice hisses at me, and I find the auctioneer covering her mike and tilting her head. “You’re supposed to be back there.”

I follow her line of sight and give her a wave of thanks. As high as I am on the rare attention I get from the opposite sex, I’d like to put on a shirt.

After one more sweep of the room for Theresa and not finding her anywhere, I shrug and hide in the back. A couple of the guys are talking to each other—well, to be more accurate, they’regloatingover their bids. If I was a more outspoken person I’d probably gloat too, but I keep it to myself as I towel off all the oil, deodorize, and yank a white T-shirt over my head and a button-down over that. I’m rolling the sleeves up when bachelor number twenty walks in and does his signature hip thrust.

“Thirty-eight hundred, bitches.” He points at me. “What’d I tell ya? Great spot in the lineup.”

He gets pelted by nineteen sweaty and oily towels from every direction. I laugh and shove my wallet in my pocket.

“Anyone see any butterfaces out there?” a guy with a man bun asks. “Butterface” is a well-known euphemism for a girl who has a great body but a face that leaves something to be desired.But-her-face. I haven’t heard the term since I was in high school.

“I think my winner’s one, but I’m okay with it,” bachelor number seventeen says. “Better than who won Harris over there.” He puffs up his cheeks and makes circles with his arms around his middle, suppressing a gutful of laughter. A guy with a wicked back tattoo—I’m assuming it’s Harris—looks over his shoulder and tells him to go screw himself.

Successful, handsome bachelors in their late twenties. I get it now.

“What about you?” the guy on my right asks. “Catch a peek at your winner?”

I shake my head.

“Damn,” he says, pulling a fresh shirt over his head. “I was wondering who just wasted four grand.”

I grin and casually scratch my eyebrow with my middle finger.

“It was probably Rian. I heard she was in the crowd tonight,” bachelor number twenty, the twerker, says.

I tilt an eyebrow at him. “The street artist?”

He nods. “Yep, that one.”

“Well, business must be good if it was,” says bachelor number seventeen.

“Chump change for someone like her.” Bachelor number twenty smirks. “So yeah, probably Rian.”

The door screeches open and my stomach dips. Theresa’s been the one directing us where to go and what to do, so I expect to see her, but instead it’s our green-tank-top-wearing auctioneer.

“Hey, guys. All the winners are at the bar and they have your number. They pretty much have all the say over what they want to do with you until midnight tonight. If you haven’t already by then, you owe them a kiss.”

The guy with the man bun whistles and the rest of us laugh, a few much louder than others. I blame early drinks.

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