“Are you going to buy a date?” I ask, giving her a knowing look. My bestie doesn’t date. Much like me, she doesn’t have the time or inclination. Or the capacity to trust. That’s probably the biggest part of the ‘No Dating’ equation.
“God, no. Are you?” Olive wiggles her eyebrows as I shake my head emphatically. “Come on. Just think about it, Chelsea,” she pleads, clasping her hands under her chin as she lets me steer her backwards. “You could end that dry spell with a man who has zero self-respect. I mean, just look at the haunches on that one,” she sighs dramatically.
“While I love that you refer to my virgin state as a dry spell, that’ll be a hard no for me. I get that fundraising is a necessary evil, but I’m not getting within ten feet of these guys.” I shake my head and take the gold mask back.
“Because they have money?” Olive laughs. “What’s the opposite of elitist? Because that’s what you are.”
“Egalitarian?” I offer.
“That’s the one,” Olive laughs. “And anti-snooty, which I’m totally on board with, by the way.”
“I know. That’s why I love you so much,” I say, popping a mini tart in my mouth and moaning. “But please, for the love of god, don’t let the bachelors overhear you talking about them like they’re cattle. I heard they had to pull some major strings to get some of them through the door.”
Thank Christ they assigned me to decorations. Talking to men isn’t exactly my strong suit. If I’d been the one recruiting bachelors, I’m pretty sure Mr. Franks, the paunchy gym teacher, is just about the only person I could have talked into it, and that’s only because he has a thing for me. I shudder and glance around to make sure he’s not nearby. The last thing I need right now is to be on the receiving end of his halitosis-scented leering.
Luckily, he is busy sucking up to the Superintendent at the far end of the room. I tug at the hemline of my dress, wishing I’d borrowed something a little less… brave. The little black number is a far cry from my daily uniform. Sitting cross-legged on the reading rug with my students requires a lot more fabric than this, but for just one night I didn’t want to look like a first grade teacher. I just wanted to fit in and not feel like the dowdy wallflower.
One of the bachelors in a suit leans back, peering around another auctionee, and winks at me, blasting me with a mega-watt smile that had to have been carefully crafted by a professional. No human being has natural teeth that white or straight. Only a lot of money and a specialist with questionable taste could create that kind of smile.
“Mission accomplished, I guess,” I mutter to myself, tugging at the dress for the umpteenth time. All the tugging accomplishes is pulling it lower in the front. I duck my head and turn away from the man-corral and the uncanny valley effect of those teeth. I only make it a couple of steps before a hulking mass comes stomping through a side door and slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. The world around me tilts. At least that’s how it feels, but that doesn’t explain why desserts don’t fly off the buffet. Chairs don’t topple sideways, and masks and Mardi Gras beads are still firmly anchored to the tables.
Nope, the world is fine. I seem to be the only one knocked off balance, but limbs of solid muscle heave me upright. A hand the size of a freaking dinner plate remains at my back, steadying me. I can feel the stares of the other volunteers, but all I can see are the irises of the linebacker who nearly tackled me to the ground. Dark, chocolatey brown centers flame with streaks of emerald and gold. His eyes catch the light and pull me in. He’s almost… hypnotic. I know I’m staring but god help me, I can’t look away.
A throat clears from behind me. “Mr. Acevedo, you made it. We were starting to worry.” The woman’s voice sounds relieved, but little creases form at the edges of those captivating eyes. The wall of man releases me, but otherwise doesn’t move away. Nope. He stands nearly toe to toe with me while his eyes wander down my body. It’s like I can feel them; feel the path they take over my skin. Something hot and unfamiliar swirls inside of me.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t see you.” His voice rolls over me like warm honey, smooth and deep. My brain can’t catch up. I’m just standing here like an idiot, trying to make my mouth work.Apologize, girl! Jesus, say something! Anything! No. Not anything. Say something charming and intelligent!
“Sorry, I am too.”Oh, well done you.“I mean, I’m sorry too,” I laugh awkwardly and immediately wish I could take back everything I’ve done since crashing into him. “I wasn’t really looking where I was going.”
“Mr. Acevedo, we really need you with the other bachelors.” A woman in a black dress steps around me and tries to guide him toward the man corral, but he ignores her. His nose scrunches, almost imperceptibly, but I catch it.
“I’m Matt,” he says, holding out a hand between us. We’re so close that I can almost feel the heat from his body. Slowly, I place my hand in his and shake it. His hand envelopes mine in warmth and little crackles ofsomethingradiate up my wrist, making my heart flutter.
Oh. No. Oh, no-no-no-no…I think. That’s not good. Sure, itfeelsgood, but that’s dangerous as all hell.
“Chelsea,” I reply shakily.
“Are you bidding tonight?” he asks me, eyes roam over my face.
“Oh, god no.” I shake my head hard enough to make my hair swing.
“Why not?” he asks, lips pulling to the side in an uneven and absolutely heart-stopping smile.
“Because…” I gesture over my shoulder with my free hand. “I’m just here to help.” That’s part of the truth… the rest of it, which I won’t say because I have manners, is that I wouldn’t be caught dead with one of these rich bastards.
All I see when I look at an expensive suit is what the greedy upper echelons of society did to my family. When I was fourteen, my parents lost their life savings, their house, and even their retirement fund to a crooked investment scam. My mom died of cancer two years later, after a painful battle without any decent health care, and my dad sank into a grief-fueled depression.
The year I turned eighteen, my father overdosed, and the man who ruined my parent’s life—my life—died peacefully in his sleep. I learned early on that life can be deeply unfair, but that just motivated me to offset some of the ugly. Being a teacher was the best way I could think to do that, but along with the responsibility of molding young minds comes an absolutely pitiful paycheck. So, moral and personal objections aside, even if I wanted to bid on this man, it’s not like I could afford to. Not unless they’ll take rice and beans as payment. Between my student loans and my meager teacher’s salary, I’m lucky I can afford the dollar-store mascara on my eyelashes.
He looks over my shoulder and runs a hand through his dark hair. “You bake? In that dress?”
I frown at him, wondering where that question came from. It’s only then that I remember I’m standing in front of the dessert table.
“Me? No, I can barely make ramen. They just needed volunteers from each of the elementary schools to help.”
“And you volunteered?”
“Of course. My kids need new laptops too.” I shrug a shoulder.