Page 17 of Offensive Plays
“No, you're right. You definitely can't date one of my teammates. We need you and your cheers. And if it didn't work out—I’d have to find a way to get rid of them and that would suck. Don’t ever put me in that situation.”
I laugh a little too loud. “You'd pick me over a teammate? Aww." I place a hand on my chest and give him puppy dog eyes.
"Shut up," he mutters.
Rina continues, "So without any further adieu, let's meet our players for tonight's auction!"
Cheers erupt around the room, followed by whistles and women waving their napkins in the air.
"Wow, excited crowd, " I remark.
"First on tonight's roster, we have Trevor Sincaid," she continues as Sincaid appears from behind the curtain and swaggers onto the stage in a three-piece suit, his curly hair barely controlled. I've only ever seen him as the youngster of the group. But somehow, between the three champagne glasses I just inhaled and the handsome swagger of a man in a suit, I admit—these boys sure do clean up nicely.
"Trevor is the Heatwave's rookie defenseman. He's twenty-two and has quite the date planned, ladies. He enjoys sunset horseback rides through the beachfront sands of Mustang Island off the Texas coast. Our Cali-born star always finds his way back to the water, and on his date, he wants to take you on a ride you won't soon forget. So pack a bathing suit and sundress," Rina recites from the card in her hand.
The whistles continue with one woman shouting, "Will he be shirtless?"
The women whistle all around me, and I can't help but laugh as I flag down another waiter for another glass of champagne.
I'm not here to participate. I'm just here to give my donation and drunkenly gawk at the very excited bidders in the crowd.
"That'll be up to our player," Rina laughs, giving Trevor a glance as he shrugs and purses his lips in consideration.
He reaches for the mic and says in a low voice, "I guess that depends on how high the bid is."
The women whoop and holler all around the room, as the waiter drops off another glass. I give him a grateful smile, and he gives me a wary side glance.
"We'll start the bidding at $500. Do we have $500?" Rina begins from the stage.
A woman who could be my grandmother raises her paddle excitedly.
"Five hundred. Do I hear six? Six hundred?" Another excited paddle waves in the crowd.
Paddles go up all around me, and I snort again. Kesley kicks me lightly under the table.
"Sorry, this is just so funny to me."
"It's for the kids," Kesley whispers to me.
Zane reaches behind him and produces his wallet, pulling out another hundred-dollar bill. "I say Hicks."
"If the rookie is getting this much attention, then I can't imagine what they'd do to get their hands on our playboy."
Ryker looks at the money on the table. "Seriously?"
"Well, who do you think will get the highest bid?" I ask Ryker.
"You first," he eggs me on.
I look at the pictures of all the men on the rotating slides near the stage. They're all handsome in their own right. They used the team photos Izzy shot just before the playoffs, all fierce and looking their best.
Landry is the obvious choice. Hicks is cute. He has that silly charm. A picture of Michael Ferguson flashes across the screen next. His bright blue eyes catch my attention. And the simple, boy next door smile of his is warm. I wonder what a guy like Fergie would offer for a date?
The good boy. He probably wants to serenade you with a hymn and give you a tour of his daddy's mega-church.
I scoff, mostly to myself, remembering the way his brother used to avoid that place like the plague. I grew up living next door to the Ferguson boys. Both have changed so much since our childhood.
Just as the thought passes, my brother's voice tears me back to the present, "Hey, isn't that Jonah Ferguson?"