“Ah,” he says with a slight frown, and I realize that sounded awful.
“I mean, I would have volunteered even if my classroom was all set. I’m not doing itjustfor my students. The entire district is behind with technology.”
“Oh, you’re a teacher,” he chuckles, glancing down at my left hand. “Color me relieved.”
“Mr. Acevedo, I’m sorry, but wereallyneed you to join the other bachelors.”
The woman’s voice sounds panicky. Matt finally acknowledges her with a nod, but before walking away, he leans down and speaks low in my ear. “You should bid on me, Chelsea. I wouldn’t mind one bit.”
And then he straightens up and gives me a wink before heading off with the nervous woman. I watch him go, my borrowed heels frozen to the tacky carpet. He moves through the crowd with so much confidence, smiling and shaking hands.
“Damn! That man has an ass like a peach,” a strangely deep voice rasps right in my ear. I jump and let out a shriek, smacking Olive, who snuck up behind me like a foul-mouthed ninja. She cackles and ducks with surprisingly sharp reflexes. “I’m just saying you could do a lot worse. Oh… yuck. Speaking of worse, creepy gym coach, three o’clock.”
Sure enough, Franks is headed our direction, pulling his belt up over his stomach and licking his lips. “Oh, jeez,” I mutter. Not now. I swear, the man cannot take a hint.
“Better run for it,” Olive warns, pushing me toward the bathrooms. I’m not sure how long I can hide in the stalls, but it beats dealing with him.
3
MATT
Waiting backstage to be auctioned off to the horniest women in Sonoma is the literal last place I want to be on a Friday night. The cop in uniform gets called up and saunters onto the stage, spinning a pair of handcuffs around his pointer finger like a stripper. I don’t know the intricacies of an officer’s uniform well enough to make an informed decision, but I’m reasonably sure the Sonoma County deputies don’t wear rip-away shirts on duty.
“Jesus, that’s a lot of chest hair,” I mutter.
“Hey, don’t knock it. Some chicks are into a bear.” The man sitting next to me is dressed as a lumberjack, suspenders and all.
“Did I miss a memo? Were we supposed to come in costume?” I ask Paul Bunyan.
“Nah, the other guys that volunteer at the fire department thought it would be funny. And let’s be honest, it’ll bring in more money for the schools, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I chuckle. “What’s up with the dude in the fox ears?” I jerk my chin toward a guy on the other side of the waiting area.
“Oh, Roger? He was in last place for fantasy football last season.” Paul snorts as Roger straightens his fuzzy orange ears and readjusts his tail. “The loser had to come as a furry. You in a league? We have an extra spot opening up…”
“I already have one,” I lie. No way in hell I’m going to risk wearing a furry costume in public. Or behind closed doors.
“Mr. Acevedo, you’re up next.” The hawkish woman in black hasn’t ventured far since steering me backstage. She’s probably worried I’ll pull a disappearing act after I made it so hard for her to get me in line. Paul Bunyan salutes me with a plastic axe as I stand and make my way toward the edge of the stage.
The auctioneer is taking bids like a pro, calling numbers and driving up the price for the Hot Cop. I can hear women in the audience screaming and clapping as he uses his shirt like crotch floss and humps the air to “Bad Boys.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. In the entire history of music, there had to have been something,anything,that would have been more original. “Wait, was I supposed to pick a song?” I ask my handler.
“Yes,” she sighs, flipping through her clipboard. “Your assistant sent in your request… hang on, it’s here somewhere…”
“SOLD! To the bachelorette party at the back for $968 dollars. You can pick your bachelor up at the checkout counter at the back of the room. Enjoy ladies!”
A chorus of rowdy ‘woo’s rises from the audience as the cop runs down the steps pumping his fist. The auctioneer switches gears, reading out a bio that could only have been written by James.
“Up next, we have a homegrown Sonoma County native! Matthew Acevedo is a tech developer and marketing specialist who revolutionized the wine industry. This Sonoma High graduate is now a wine country titan. Don’t let the suit fool you. We have it on good authority this bad boy raised hell back in his day. Just ask his English teacher, Ms. Marsh!”
There’s a chorus of laughter and hoots from the audience. Ms. Marsh? I’d completely forgotten about that mean old bat. How is she even still alive? She had to have been at least 85 when I graduated.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Give a warm round of applause to the bad boy of Sonoma High, Matthew Acevedo!” Right on cue, the handler shoves me out onto the stage. I’m washed in blinding white light and for just a second, I think maybe I’ve died of embarrassment. Fast-paced guitar twangs out over the speakers as my eyes adjust, and I’m faced with a sea of cheering women. Well, mostly women. There’s a familiar face in the front row.
“Walkin’ or workin’, Papi!” James, my assistant—former assistant—calls out, his hands cupped around his mouth. Ivan is clapping next to him, laughing so hard that tears stream down his cheeks.
“This is the thanks I get for letting you leave early?” I call back, sparking a round of laughter.