Page 8 of Zero Pucks Given
“Okay, then treat it like a job,” Sharon argued. “A few hours of your time in exchange for a big paycheck. They’re giving you ten grand for this, right?”
“Right.”
“There you go! Think of this as a shift at the concession stand. Except instead of getting paid minimum wage plus tips, you’re getting…” There was a pause as she did some mental math. “You’re getting paid, like, fivegrandper hour!”
“You make a compelling point,” I admitted, stepping out of the closet. “What do we think of this?”
She frowned at my outfit. “That top does nothing for you. And those jeans are too baggy.”
I returned to the closet and began changing into another outfit. “I guess I can fake smile for one night.”
“What are you going to do with the money?” Sharon asked.
“Pay off my car loan,” I replied without hesitation.
In the bedroom, Sharon groaned. “That’s not a fun answer.”
“It’s a responsible answer. My car payment is my second biggest bill. If that’s out of the way, all I have to worry about are rent and utilities.”
“When do they pay you?”
“Within forty-eight hours of the event ending,” I replied. “I signed a contract for the whole thing.”
“Nothing says sexy first date likepaperwork,” she muttered.
“Exactly. Now you’re understanding why I’m soblehabout the whole thing.”
“It’s still a date with Grayson Freaking Steele. That you’re getting paid to go on. There are approximately tentrillionwomen in this city who would kill to switch places with you.”
“I think you’re overestimating how many people live in San Antonio.”
“I’m a TikTok chef, not a mathematician.”
I walked out of the closet and gestured down at myself. “What about this?”
Sharon groaned. “You look like you’re going on a date under duress.”
“Perfect. That’s the look I’m going for.”
“Oh come on!” Sharon jumped up from the bed. “Wear somethingfun. They’re sending a photographer to document the whole thing, right? Don’t you want to look good? These photos might be in, like, tabloids and stuff!”
I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to get this over with and collect my money.
But I didn’t get a lot of chances to dress nicely these days. Especially at a fancy restaurant. Most of my dates started with casual coffee.
Sharon pulled a dress off the rack. “Wearthis. With those black boots. Show off those legs, girl!”
I sighed. “Fine. You wore me down.”
An hour later, a suited valet held the door open for me so I could climb into the back of a black SUV. The seats were leather and it smelled like a brand new car.
“I bet you’re excited,” he said from the front seat while driving me to the restaurant.
“So excited,” I replied sarcastically.
“My daughters entered the contest,” he went on. “They’re both married, and one of them has three kids, but that didn’t stop them. A date with Grayson Steel?” He chuckled. “That’s like a guy winning a date with Taylor Swift or Sabrina Carpenter.”
That was an extreme exaggeration—Grayson Steele wasn’t anywhere close to being as famous as those two pop stars. But I said nothing, because I didn’t want to continue the conversation. Talking about thedate was even less fun than going on the date itself.
