pounded his gavel to close bidding, the cost of a night with Peyton had climbed to nearly three thousand dollars. That was going to be hard to follow.
Zach was next up on the auction block. When “Pony” blared through the speakers and he sauntered out on stage, I realized I was truly screwed. Mosely wasn’t playing to the crowd—this was part of the deal. And I was going to look like a complete idiot walking out there to silence.
The only thing keeping me from freaking out was the way Zach’s body moved through the front of the crowd. He’d stripped down to nothing other than his white undershirt, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he’d oiled himself up for effect. The man was the very definition of sex.
I was going to kill Clint when I saw him. He’d explicitly said all I had to do was show up and look good, leaving the details to him. As though he knew I’d been thinking of creative ways to end my friend’s life, Clint appeared in front of me, using his new husband as a human shield. “Leave out a few details, Davies?”
“Don’t kill him,” Kevin warned me, although there was a hint of fear laced with amusement in his plea. “I’m rubbing off on him and sometimes he acts without thinking about the consequences.”
Oh, there were going to be consequences. Yeah, I hadn’t been thrilled about this from the beginning, but now it was turning into a royal clusterfuck. I had no music, which I didn’t want anyway, and no clue what Clint dreamed up as my perfect date. Because that was the whole premise of this silly auction; the illusion of getting to accompany a minor celebrity on their dream date. Fuck. My. Life.
“You need to loosen up,” Clint said from behind Kevin. “And you’ll thank me for this. Someday.”
“Doubtful,” I grumbled, though he probably didn’t hear me over the cheers of Zach’s price tag climbing higher and higher.
“You will,” he reiterated. Okay, so he had heard me. “We’ll talk later about why this isn’t such a bad thing. But right now, you need to get into costume.”
My mouth gaped open like a fish when he held up an oversized white shirt. When I noticed the black sunglasses stuffed into the pocket of the shirt, realization slapped me in the face. “No way. If you think there’s any chance in hell I’m parading out there in my underwear, you need a psych eval.”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun,” Clint argued.
“Maybe for you. I’m thinking I won’t be nearly as amused.” Given the choice between doing my best Tom Cruise impression and looking like a loser for walking out there rather than performing, I’d take the latter. No one needed to see me in little more than my underwear.
“It’s for the kids,” Clint pleaded. “If you back out, think of the money they won’t get. Do you really want to be responsible for someone not getting the help they need because you were too much of a chicken to have fun for once in your stuffed-up life?”
That was low. He’d managed to lay on a guilt trip, dare me, and insult me all in one quick retort. The smirk on his face as he waved the shirt in his outstretched hand said he knew he’d won.
“You owe me,” I complained as I snatched the shirt away from him. I had no clue who was on stage now or how close we were to my complete humiliation, but I’d do it. Not for Clint, but because he was right when he implied I’d never forgive myself if I walked away now. The teens who needed Secured Hope would probably give anything for their biggest problem to be a little playful humiliation for a good cause.
That didn’t mean Clint was off the hook. “You won’t know when, you won’t know how, but I will get you back for this.”
Clint helped me into the shirt, as if I couldn’t dress myself, and I swatted his hand away when he reached for the button on my slacks. My dick wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, but no way was I going to hang out in the waiting area in my skivvies.
The emcee called out my name and I was mortified how little excitement there was for my date. I supposed the relative silence was because no one up here knew me. At least, I hoped that was the reason, because my fragile