“What?”
“If I was at a charity function and a night with you was up for bid, how much do you think it would go for?”
More than you’ve seen in your entire life…
I crossed my arms. “You know what? I’m going to pretend that this charity event has a low minimum for entry. So, the bidding for a date with me would probably start at a hundred thousand dollars.”
His eyes widened and he shook his head.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” I stood up and adjusted my apron. “See?”
“See what?” he pulled a checkbook from his breast pocket and wrote for a few seconds. He stood up and strolled over to me.
He tilted my chin with his fingertips and stared directly into my eyes.
“I’m not opposed to a cheap date every now and then Miss Ross,” he whispered as he pressed the check into my hand. “I’ll pick you up from here at closing. See you Saturday.”
What type of regular guy writes out a hundred thousand dollar check without breaking a sweat? What does he do for a living?
I must have looked at that check a million times. The sexy stranger guy actually had a name: “Ethan Reynolds.”
No one in my family had ever heard of him or seen him around, so they assumed he was another Wall Street guy who was here on vacation. They’d seen plenty of those types admiring our town’s lakes and grassy golf courses from time to time.
For days, I incessantly dreamt of me and him having an amazing night out on the town. I floated through my shifts at Sweet Seasons, envisioning the two of us laughing as we strolled through the downtown streets, kissing passionately at the end of the evening, having nonstop sex in my hotel suite. But on Friday, the day before our date, something in me snapped.
I didn’t want to date anyone else yet, no matter how sexy and charming he seemed. With the exception of Matt Sterling, all my recent experiences with men ended terribly.
Bradley Cooper, my former co-star, dumped me at the movies. At the movies!
We’d only been hanging out a few weeks when he said he wanted to take our relationship to the next level. He took me to the set of his newest film—introducing me to everyone as “someone special,” flew me to an amazing restaurant at a Floridian resort, and held me close on the private flight back to New York.
We spent the night in his apartment that evening—our first time having sex together, and the next day he said he wanted to take me on a simple date to the movies. He said he wanted to treat me to his own private box on the balcony level.
Right before the film started, he left to get us some popcorn.
Thirty minutes later, I wondered why he still hadn’t returned, but I figured he was busy signing autographs for fans who might’ve spotted him at the concession stand. Yet, as soon as the previews began to roll, I received a text from him: “Yeah…Sorry I couldn’t do this in person, but I don’t think me and you are going to work out…Good luck with your career :-) Tell me how the movie was later, okay?”
After him, there was a brief fling with Ashton Kutcher: He invited me out to dinner in Los Angeles, and we spent the night discussing our lives. He said he didn’t want to be intimate until we knew each other better, and I thought that meant he really cared and wanted to build something special with me.
We jetted across the country to secretly see each other for weeks, and after another night of talking on the phone, I decided to surprise him. I flew out to the set of his TV show and slipped inside his trailer, catching him in a make out session with another actress.
I crossed my arms and expected an explanation, an apology, a full-fledged “I was lonely and I’ll never do this again if you take me back” plea, but all I got was, “Isn’t it Tuesday? You and me only hang out on Thursday and Friday. You haven’t figured that out?”
And then there was Phillip Hartford—the older, supposedly more mature guy who splurged on me everywhere we went, professed his love after a mere month, and swore that I would be his wife one day.
I couldn’t bear another disappointment, especially from someone I didn’t know anything about. I needed to remember why I fled to Fayetteville in the first place, and I needed to continue working on myself.
I examined the check again and saw that he’d scrawled his phone number across the back. I dialed the number and waited a few seconds before calling.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Ethan Reynolds?”
“Yes. May I ask who this is?” his voice was so sexy it almost made me change my mind.
“This is Selena Ross. Are you busy?”
“Not at all. How are you doing today Selena? Are you alright?”
Stop thinking about his voice and focus!