Page 4 of Dad Bods and Blizzards

Our fleece-lined flannel shirts and jeans are big hits too. We’ll stand out from the men who drive these other cars, but being seen is important. We’ll bid. We’ll maintain our façade.

Then my heart stops. It’s as if God himself parts the people in the room to allow my gaze to land on Naomi. She’s talking to the owner and the women who are going to be bid on. Is she going to participate?

Griz’s hand wraps around my arm, yanking me backward. Shit! I stepped toward her. What was I thinking?

That’s the easiest question on the test. We have to win her. “Get your hand off me, Griz,” I growl.

I lose sight of her as someone leads her away. My attention moves to a banner that reads,Christmas Cherry Auction.

Cherry.I almost lose my mind. She’s selling her virginity? Fuck!

How the hell do I come up with enough money to make sure I win?

Three

Naomi

My sweats are just a little wet and dirty from climbing down the oak tree, but my spirit is bruised and fragile after finding out my dad wants to sell me. I make it halfway to the club before I pull into the Walmart parking lot for an existential crisis.

Snippets of conversations I’ve overheard my father having click into place. He’s been talking to someone about a large loan. He’s ranted about needing time. He’s cut more and more conversations short when I walk into a room.

I let my blissful ignorance protect me.

And while I’d love to continue freaking out in the parking lot, if the roads get any worse, I’ll be stuck. I grab my keys and study the saying on the keychain I chose today—the wild day I planned on waitressing at the auction without telling my father.

Well-behaved women rarely make history.It’s one of my favorite sayings, although I haven’t stood much of a chance to make history yet.

I suck it up and brave the worsening road conditions to get to the club.

But despite the fact that luck may be a lady, that lady isn’t me. Shortly before I arrive at the club, the women who were supposed to be auctioned ran into car trouble and canceled. While I was wiping tears on the sleeve of my oversized hoodie, new virgins were chosen from the waitressing pool… making history.

Everyone knows how the Christmas Cherry Auctions end—the guys get the girl and happily ever afters ensue. Money troubles… gone. The only reason giving up this evening’s tips would be worthwhile.

Maybe not the only reason. It’s also the perfect opportunity for me to have sex in a controlled environment—where I’m guaranteed to have an excellent first experience and take away any value my father has decided my sexual history—or lack thereof—holds.

Removing my elegant aubergine waitressing dress from the rack, I fight back jealousy. I’d rather it be one of the sexy red and white virgin dresses. But it’s not about the dress.

I’m jealous of the lucky women getting on stage tonight, choosing to sell their virginity to the highest bidder in exchange for being promised a lot of orgasms.

They are in control while I flounder.

I cut myself a smidge of slack. Their fathers aren’t locking them in their bedrooms as part of a business deal. And maybe he’s not selling me for sex, but I can’t imagine what other value he thinks I have.

I make a silent vow to channel the energy of these bold women and make the most of my circumstances to take control of my life… make history. Someday. But tonight, I’ll make a ton of money in tips.

Hanging my dress beside one of the pristine white vanities with lots of lights around the mirror, I commit myself to making the most of my circumstances.

By the time I’ve fancied myself up, it’s time to get straight to work being the most vibrant, enchanting waitress I can. No shame in patting an ego to loosen the wallet.

AtKeep Yer Belly Full, my goal is to upgrade ones into tens. With this crowd, I hope to change tens into hundreds.

But a conversation thewaitresses turned virgin auctioneesare having catches my attention. Jasmine is opening a line of bikini barista coffee shops. I’ve heard tips are outstanding in those—and that could be daily instead of annual.

No better time to honor my vow and make the most of my circumstances. I approach Jasmine. “Can I ask you about the bikini barista thing?”

All of the women turn, making me the center of their attention. I don’t think they mean to do it, but they intimidate me. I pick at the lace neckline of my dress.

“Yeah, I’m opening a line of coffee shops. Need a job?” Jasmine asks.

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