Page 6 of A Game of Ruck
All expenses paid.
No funny business.
Just fake dating.
A little light posing.
Maybe one shirtless beach walk.For the optics.
Easy.
What could go wrong?
Just as the auctioneer starts his pitch for Bachelor Number Five—Luca Warden—I feel my cheeks heat and my grip tighten on paddle 69.
This is it.
I’m doing it.
God help me, I’m about to buy a man.
I suck in a breath, raise my paddle like it’s a damn sword in battle, and pray to every deity known to mankind that he’s worth it.
That he’s better than a handbag.Or at least not a total douche canoe.
The auctioneer’s gavel slams down like a gunshot.
“Sold!To bidder number 69!”
Oh my God.
That’s me.
I’m number sixty-freaking-nine.
There’s a split second where my brain short-circuits and I seriously consider pretending I’m just holding the paddle for a friend.
Or faking a fainting spell.
Or literally setting myself on fire to avoid the walk of shame I’m about to endure.
But instead?
I straighten my spine, paste on what I hope is a “cool, rich heiress who buys men all the time” expression, and breathe through the fact that my armpits are now Niagara Falls.
And then he starts walking toward me.
Luca Freaking Warden.
Mr.Tall, Gold, and Gorgeous.
All sun-kissed hair, broad shoulders, and the kind of jawline that should come with a license to kill.
He’s not smiling.Of course he’s not.
Smiling would be too human.
He’s looking at me with this unreadable, slightly raised-eyebrow expression, like this is the strangest part of his day and not, you know, being sold off like a rugby-playing Ken doll to the highest bidder.
