“Okay, on it.”
I sighed, pushing off the wall where I had been leaning and daydreaming and walking off toward the entrance.
It was hard to believe that the auction was happening already. It felt like it had only been a day or two since Jules had first asked me about it. As I moved through the cavernous auction space with tables lined up neatly throughout the space, I was impressed all over again by her ability to pull something like this off.
Jules may have been a little daffy, but she sure as hell could throw a charity event.
Quickly, I found the paintings she referenced and helped set them up at the designated table. The space was full of people bustling around, putting out flowers and objects, stuff like handmade scarves and signed first editions of famous books. I couldn’t remember what specific charity she had chosen, but I was sure that it was about to receive an enormous donation.
I wandered through the space, looking over the stuff. There were old baseball cards, signed instruments, gift cards to expensive restaurants, and more. Suddenly, I stopped in front of one table and gawked.
In the center was a huge picture of Lincoln without his shirt on, tattoos covering his torso. His handsome face was chiseled and pulled up into his classic shit-eating grin. I blinked, remembering that exact body wrapped around mine, sweating as he worked me.
Laid out around the picture was signed memorabilia. There was a basket full of his clothing line, Based, and a signed parachute bag. There was a signed helmet and the kneepads he wore when he broke the world record. But what caught my attention most was a simple ticket displayed proudly on a pedestal above everything else. The little sign next to it read, “Win a date with Lincoln ‘Based’ Carter himself!”
“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself as I inspected it.
Apparently, Jules had somehow managed to get Lincoln to agree to go out on a date with whoever won that ticket. It was one night only, for a few hours at a nice restaurant, and clearly it was meant for his female fans. I shook my head, completely bewildered, as strange conflicting emotions bubbled up to the surface.
What the hell was Jules thinking? And why did I even care?
“Aubrie, need you at table forty,” Jules cut in through my earpiece.
“Okay, got it.”
I tore myself away from Lincoln’s display, jaw clenched. I knew that the “date” wasn’t really a date, that it was just a fun charity thing for one of Lincoln’s fans. I knew it didn’t mean anything, especially considering it was his mom setting it all up. She wouldn’t exactly pimp him out.
Would she?
I shook my head. I was going absolutely insane.
Over at table forty, there was an older couple setting up expensive-looking canes, clearly for the elderly in the crowd. I helped them unpack and array them out along their space.
In the back of my mind, though, I kept thinking about that picture of Lincoln, and how it didn’t do him justice. It completely paled in comparison to the real thing. I absolutely shouldn’t know that, but I did, and I couldn’t stop dwelling on that fact.
I knew it was going to be a weird night. Between Lincoln actually showing up and trying to keep my distance from him, it was going to be bad enough. But the whole date thing really threw a wrench in my plans.
Still, it was for a good cause. Probably, whatever it was. And the night definitely couldn’t get any worse.
I watched from my seat near the stage as people slowly filled the banquet hall and began to mill about through the table displays. It was a silent auction, which meant that each person wrote their number down on a piece of paper next to the object being bid on, and the highest offer won.
Which was fortunate, because I didn’t think I could sit through a real auction. I was antsy enough and itching to get up and move, and being stuck in my chair for hours would have been hell.
I stood, stretching my legs, and sighed. There was an open bar and a nice buffet over against one wall, and I made my way toward it.
There was nothing better for anxiety than fried food and alcohol. That may not be true for all people, or really anybody ever, but I sure as hell loved chicken fingers, and I wanted a glass of wine.
As I honed in on my delicious meal, Jules appeared out of nowhere, cutting me off.
She looked fantastic, if overdressed, in a floor-length gown and her hair pinned up in a fancy swirl. She pulled it off, though, and made everyone else look like they weren’t trying hard enough. Honestly, I knew it probably took her twenty minutes at most to look like that, which was completely frustrating. She had a glow about her, especially since she was in her element.
And running social events was her element. She was like a whale, and parties were her ocean. She was a schmoozing whale.