Emerson
“Isn’t this a bit,” I look down at myself once more trying to come up with the right explanation, “over the top?” I never wear my hair down, but tonight it was flowing over my shoulders and back in long waves. The product Gianna added gave it a glossy look and managed to make it seem a little more red than usual.
“This is a must,” she adds as she steps up to my side and holds out a pair of strappy sandals. “Here, these will highlight your killer legs.”
I arch a brow and look between her and the hooker heels she’s holding.
“Stop being a dud, Em. They’re gonna look amazing.”
She was enjoying this little makeover far too much. Gianna had me in a tight little silver dress that if I bent over, either one of two things, or both, would happen. My ass would be hanging out, and I would most definitely be flashing some tits for sure. The dress was so low cut that in all honesty, I was terrified that a deep breath would trigger a wardrobe malfunction.
“Will you stop freaking out about your cleavage?” Gianna says with a laugh. “The main purpose for the tape is to ensure the safety of your girls. Look at yourself.” She grabs my shoulder and turns my body toward the full-length mirror. “You look gorgeous. You spend entirely too much time hiding behind your work and the person your father insists you be. Em, you’re young and beautiful. You deserve a night out, one where you can stop worrying about tomorrow and live for the now.”
I know she is right. Hell, I wish I had the courage she did.
“You’ve got an amazing body, one you need to stop hiding behind all those old lady clothes.” I smile because she always makes fun of my business suits. “You seriously need to let me dress you more often.”
“Yeah, could you imagine me walking into the office wearing something like this?”
“The men in the boardroom wouldn’t be able to stand up for at least fifteen minutes after you leave the room.” She wags her eyebrows suggestively and I shiver at the thought, pretending to gag at the visual. “I bet you’d get them to agree to just about anything you ask if you wore dresses like this.”
I laugh, but not at the comment she made. I can picture the look on my father’s face if I were to show up at work wearing even something half this provocative. That pinched up, displeased look he gets when things aren’t as fine-tuned as he desires them to be is almost like he’s sucked on a lemon far too long.
“Okay Toots,” Gianna says as she shimmies at my side and bumps her hip to mine. “We’ve gotta get going, or we’re gonna miss the show.”
* * *
We join Becca and Milly at a high table toward the front of the stage. They already have drinks waiting for the both of us. From the way they are both glossy-eyed and giddy, I have to assume they already have one heck of a head start.
The room is loaded with women all dressed to the nines and on the prowl. It’s humorous, really, to see how eager they are for the event to begin.
The four of us are completely lost in conversation when sounds of someone tapping a mic fills the room. Everyone grows instantly silent, and we all turn toward the stage as a middle-aged woman takes the floor.
“Good evening ladies and thank you all for coming.” Cheers and clapping ring out followed by a few racy whistles and calls, which make her laugh. “I see we have a room full of excited women and I know it’s not for me, but for what’s hidden behind this curtain.” The whistling grows louder mixed with a few comments about bringing on the candy because there were a lot of sweet teeth with cravings. Part of me feels sorry for the men who are about to be objectified to all this.
“We’ll get the show started in a few minutes, but first I want to go over a few simple rules.” When a couple of women groan outward in protest, I hang my head, knowing that this night is about to get a little rowdy. “Okay, ladies…” She gives a pointed stare, and silence settles over the room. “The men that have agreed to participate are all successful respected men and deserve our respect in turn. This is not a strip show, though from what I have witnessed backstage, some of the men have brought their A game.” She smiles again when another whistle or two rings out. “There will be no vulgarities or touching during the show. This is the only warning that will be given. This event is for charity, it is meant to be fun, and I’d appreciate if you all remember to keep it classy. Have fun, but don’t forget your manners, ladies.”
“Once we leave this event though, all rules are off,” Gianna whispers so that only the four of us can hear.
“So without further ado, let’s have the men of the evening join me on stage, so that you all may get your first peek.” The woman turns to the side and waves her hand outward just as a line of men begins to emerge from the side of the stage. There are men of all heights and builds, some blond, and some with darker hair. There are even a couple who have no hair at all. Each wears a number pinned to their shirt or the waistband of their pants. They all move toward the outer edge of the stage, forming a nice line so that they can all be seen.
It is interesting to see the looks upon each face. Some men are confident, and others plain out embarrassed.
“Oh my, yum,” I hear Gianna mumble, and I choose to ignore her as I continue down the line of men. Honestly, I came along more for her than myself and had no intention of bidding on any man. That was until I saw him…number seven.
I feel my heart rate pick up just a little as I allow my eyes to roam over him. He is so different from the men I’ve dated before. There is this rugged nature about him, almost dangerous even. He’s wearing worn jeans and a tight-fitting shirt that leaves little to the imagination—strong arms and a fit chest that leads down in a V-like fashion as his jeans hang low on his waist.
When I finally look higher, I notice the thickness of his neck and the perfect shape of his jaw and mouth. Suddenly, I felt like the temperature of the room has risen ten to fifteen degrees.
My god, this man is glorious.
Then my eyes meet his, and I realize I am not the only one observing. His head is tilted to the side as he watches me, ignoring everyone else in the room. Instantly I feel my body become completely alert and aroused by the way he continues to observe me.
“Number seven is mouthwatering,” I hear someone not too far away from our table say and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He heard it as well, and I get a territorial feeling I have no right to.
“See something you like, Em?”
I look away and by the expressions on each of my friends’ faces, I know my own says it all. “That man is…” I pause because I genuinely have no words to describe what I am feeling.
“Looks like Emerson will be battling it out for number seven,” Becca says with a laugh as she waves at something over my shoulder. Of course, I turn around and instantly wish I hadn’t. Mr. Seven had at that point grabbed the hem of his shirt and was showing off a very detailed set of abs that only manage to make my heart feel like it might beat right out of my chest.
“Oh, he’s trouble,” Becca says, and I look away quickly, but not before he offers me a knowing wink. “A big heaping amount of yummy trouble,” she adds and my cheeks heat.
“Stop allowing him to feed your interest,” I say in a hushed whisper.
“It’s not me he wants to feed, Em.” I hang my head as Becca’s words register in my mind.
“Okay ladies.” The woman on stage starts to speak again only I keep my back to them all. I need to pull it together. My god, what the hell am I, sixteen? “At this time, we’ll clear the stage and one by one each gentleman will come back and show each of you why they deserve your company for the evening.”
I take one slow deep breath after another.
“Remember, during the bidding, please be mindful of those trying to offer their bids. If the room grows too loud, we may miss the chance of raising more for our charity.” I finally turn back around and find I’m in the clear as all men have now stepped backstage. “When you arrived, you were each given a paddle with a number. This is what you use when you would like to bid. Just hold it high and place your bid.”
I reach out, grip my paddle, and turn it over. Really?
Giggles spill from each of my friends as they notice precisely what number I have. “It’s a sign,” Gianna states. “Seventy-seven…how else do you explain it?”
I don’t even attempt to say anything in return. The music starts to play and one by one the men enter the stage and do a little shuffle and shake before the bidding begins. I can feel myself growing tipsy by my third drink, and it feels nice to relax for a change. It is something I don’t do often enough.
“Welcome to the stage, Spencer.” I see Gianna swivel in her chair and immediately the three of us are forgotten as she grips her paddle tighter. “Spencer is twenty-nine years old and works for the Chicago PD. He is a family man, loyal and dedicated to keeping our city safe.”
Immediately Gianna’s arm shoots up when the woman asks if there is a starting bid. “One hundred fifty,” she shouts. The man seems pleased with the offer as he moves to the edge of the stage and begins moving his hips in a provocative motion.
“Two hundred,” someone else adds, and I don’t miss the determined look on Gianna’s face as she carefully watches the guy’s every move. I can almost visualize the things running through her mind; she just has that look in her eyes. She was not going to accept anything other than a win.
“Four hundred,” Gianna says, and I cover my mouth as I look back toward the other woman who is now standing with one hand resting on the table and the other holding her paddle out before her. She is wearing the dirtiest look on her face and it’s aimed directly at my best friend. “Four twenty-five,” she adds, her nostrils flaring as she places her hands on her hips. The whole thing seems so ridiculous.
Everyone watches this unfold as we look between Gianna, the other woman and the man on the stage. I haven’t seen him look away from Gia once. He only continues to move his hips as he slowly starts to lift his shirt up higher and higher until he has it over his head.
“Five hundred,” Gianna says without looking away from him. His smile grows wider. We all wait in silence for the other woman to add more. She stares up at the man on the stage, almost like she was waiting for him to notice her, only he doesn’t.
“Five hundred going once, going twice,” another pause, and, “paddle number seventy-six is the winner of gentleman number five.”
The two of them share a heated stare that makes even me feel a little overheated. It is smoldering and lustful, hotter than hell.
He exits the stage but not before blowing a seductive kiss in Gianna’s direction. I hear the other woman growl and when I see her, the glare she is aiming toward Gia is one I’m sure is meant to kill her instantly. It was so comical. “I don’t think you need to go to the bathroom alone,” I say leaning in close. “That woman may off you the first chance she gets. Possibly drown you in the toilet even.”
“No one told her that she couldn’t continue to bid,” Gianna shrugs. “She made the choice to stop all on her own.” She had a point for sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that the woman wants to throttle her.
Throughout the next guy, Gianna manages to ignore the woman who still shoots some of the evilest looks I have ever witnessed in my life. My friend was completely unaffected by her. Instead, she laughs and orders a round of shots to celebrate her boy toy, or so she calls him.
Our moment is interrupted by the sounds of loud cheering which are so deafening that Becca places her hands over her ears and looks up at the stage. That’s when it happens…every single ounce of control I have flies right out the window without even the slightest amount of care.
Number seven.
Holy hell, the man was handsome before, a work of fucking art, but now…Jesus my knees are shaking. The way he moves, that sexy slow moving thrust of his hips, the swivel of his waist, it’s enough to drive a woman wild. But he has to add this slow, tantalizing rub down over his body, from his now bared chest to his defined hips that dip below the waistband of his jeans. Oh my holy heavens, those little dips on each side should be illegal.
It was insane the way my tongue ran along my lower lip, like I could imagine tasting him. It’s like the highest of highs.
Dollar amounts are being hollered out all around me, but all I can see is the unbelievable way his body moves. I feel like I am trapped in the sexiest dream, and I can’t shake my mind free of it. Let me correct myself—I didn’t want to shake my mind free of it. It is far too intriguing. I wanted to get lost in it, drown in it.
“Em, I hate to interrupt.” Gianna nudges my shoulder. “But these ladies are going crazy, and if you don’t start bidding, number seven is gonna be spending the evening with someone other than you.”
I look around the room to see one paddle after another going up. “Six hundred,” a girl shouts from the back. “Six twenty-five," an older woman screams and her friends cheer her on.
“Seven hundred fifty dollars,” I say though I feel like it’s someone else shouting the words. I have never in my life felt such an out of body experience. I stare ahead at the man, and suddenly his attention is on me. My head is spinning and my heart is racing as he begins moving toward my side of the stage.
“Eight hundred,” someone from the back of the room yells.
“Go big, Em,” Gia whispers near my ear, taunting me. “You deserve this. And besides, it's for charity.”
I smile, unable to hold back the excitement rushing through me and with one deep breath, I go for it. I give to a charity I believe in, and I get an excellent turnaround for it.
“One thousand five hundred dollars.” I hold my paddle high and see the wide grin that spreads over the guys face.
“Going once, going twice…” a pause allowing anyone to add in one last bid. On the inside I’m screaming Come on already. “We have a winner at fifteen hundred dollars to the lovely lady in the silver dress holding paddle number seventy-seven.
“That man has one helluva a gleam in his eyes,” Becca adds with a laugh, and I realize just what I’ve done.