Who I had assumed was TJ’s pops, Patrick, stood on the stage with his gray hair, suspenders, and back a little curved with age, looking completely out of place when compared with every other man who had been up for grabs—or bids, whatever—that night. He smiled, satisfied enough with just being there. With just having one bidder, which happened to be me. And that was bad, bad, bad. Because I was here to bid on Aaron. Not for a man that, according to Angela’s introduction, was a widower who was looking for a second chance not in love, but in living life.
Jesus, I’d take him on a date if I had to. I hadn’t been able to stand there and do nothing when a man who reminded me so much of my passed abuelo for some damn reason, a man I knew was TJ’s pops, waited for someone, for anybody, to bid on him. This was a fundraiser, for Christ’s sake. Weren’t people supposed to be donating their money?
That was what I had done. Only perhaps I had technically bid with money that wasn’t mine.
I grimaced.
Don’t look at Aaron, Lina. Don’t.
I’d pay for the donation with my own funds. The most pressing issue was, could I bid for two bachelors?
Shit. I really hoped so.
Angela continued pitching the sweet man on the stage. “Mr. James has an affinity for candlelit dinners, and he is a believer of fulfilling his own destiny.”
Patrick’s head nodded. No hands were visible.
Mierda, mierda, mierda.
I couldn’t look at Aaron. Not even when I could feel both his eyes boring holes in my profile. I’d bet he was fuming. But I’d apologize later. I’d … explain.
“He is a sailing aficionado, an activity he picked up ever since his grandson bought him a beautiful sailboat. One that he intends on putting to good use on his date.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I tracked down around five women who were in the mood for a sailing date placing their bids.
Relief filled me so instantly that I felt about ten pounds lighter.
My gaze searched for Aaron then. And it didn’t take me any time to find him. My eyes seemed to know exactly where he was standing.
My breath caught for a second.
Stupid, stupid tuxedo.
I had been so wrapped up in what was happening that he, looking all imposing and striking on top of that stage, caught me completely off guard.
The auction for Patrick continued in the background, my eyes making their way to Aaron’s. They were narrowed. Probably assessing what the hell that had been. Other than that, he looked … fine. Neutrally stoic. Just like he usually did. Except for the distracting tux that hung off his body like a glove.
Finding a little comfort in the fact that Aaron didn’t seem to be completely furious, I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed, I’m sorry, okay?
Aaron’s eyes narrowed further, and then his head shook lightly. You’re not, I watched his lips enunciate.
I huffed. I am, I mouthed back.
I was very, very sorry, and he—
He shook his head again, disbelief in his eyes. You’re not.
Aggravated by the words Aaron had mouthed—twice—even though he had every right to and I had sort of anticipated it, I threw both my hands up with irritation.
Jesus, this man—
“Nineteen hundred for the lady in midnight blue.” Angela’s voice reached my ears.
Wait, what? No.
I flinched, then dropped my hands to my sides, and stuck them there. Looking at Angela for confirmation of what I had done, even if this time accidentally, I found her pointing in my direction.
Shit.
Returning my gaze to Aaron, I watched him roll his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.
Grimacing, I sent him a tight smile that I hoped communicated how really sorry I was and hoped Patrick had another one of those boats. Because I needed somebody else to bid on the old widower man.
Angela announced the next sum, not obtaining an immediate answer.
The guilt returned, together with a pinch of embarrassment. Which pushed me to pin Aaron with a serious look as I mouthed again, Sorry, very slowly and methodically. Making sure he understood the sentiment behind it.
Aaron’s eyes held mine, one of those deadpan expressions in place.
I swear.I made my lips form the silent words in a very exaggerated manner. Then, I curled my lips into a sad face, keeping the rest of my body still—just so I wouldn’t accidentally bid on any more bachelors. I am really sorry, I mouthed like a total idiot.
And I was. Sorry, that was. Although a bit of an idiot too.
A few heads turned and sent me a fair share of weird glances, but I didn’t let that deter me, and I kept my lips bent down. Telling Aaron with my eyes that I was sorry. Although, if you asked me, it was on him for bringing me of all people to do something that I was clearly not qualified for.
The sight must have been truly something because before I knew what was happening, Aaron’s shoulders shook a couple of times, his stance broke, and one of his hands went to the back of his neck as his head dipped. I couldn’t see his face, so I had no clue of what was going on. All money was on him bursting in frustration and anger and turning into the Hulk. And just when I was about to really start worrying, he lifted back that raven-haired head of his and revealed something I would never have bet on.
The biggest, widest, and handsomest smile was splitting his expression. Wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Transforming him into a man my eyes couldn’t take in fast enough. A man I had never seen before. One who was beginning to make it really, really hard for me to hate.
My own face lit up at the sight. I felt my cheeks tense with my answering grin—one just as big, just as wide, just as unexpected.
And then Aaron started laughing. His head tilted back, and his shoulders shook with laughter. And he was doing it on a stage, in front of all these people and in front of me, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Neither did I, apparently. Because in that moment, the only thing I could focus on, think of, care about was Aaron’s unexpected and glorious smile and laughter. So much that my fingers itched to pull out my phone and snap a photo so I had proof that this had happened. So I could revisit the moment—in which Aaron Blackford, someone who had the power to irritate me with nothing but a word, had fucking lit up the place with a smile he had kept locked up from me ever since I met him—whenever I wanted.
And how messed up was that? Or furthermore, how messed up was it that I didn’t even care about it being messed up in the first place?
Before I could recover from it—the effect of something as mundane as a smile, but that was so rare in the man my eyes couldn’t stop looking at—he was striding toward the center of the stage.
Angela’s voice left the speakers. “Lovely. I’m sure Patrick and his lucky bidder, the lady with the blue fan, will enjoy whatever he has prepared.”
Too caught up in my fake date who knew how to really smile, I hadn’t noticed someone bidding for Patrick.
“And last but not least, we have Aaron Blackford. Ladies, gentlemen, let’s start at fifteen hundred and remember—” Angela’s eyes widened, and then she chuckled. “Oh, I guess I don’t need to remind you to please place your bids on our last bachelor tonight if you want to contribute to the cause.”
Looking around, I found the reason why. More than ten different people had their arms already in the air.
“I love seeing your involvement,” Angela continued with a knowing smirk. “Fifteen hundred for the lady in red.”
Turning, I located this involved with the cause lady in red. She was in the first row of people, and she looked about twenty years older than me, give or take. And while I didn’t want to be judgmental or superficial, only by looking at her, I could imagine how generous her donation would be.
My gaze shot back to the stage, clashing against Aaron’s. That grin had been wiped off, his features now hard and empty. I felt a pang of disappointment I had no time to inspect.
I had one job tonight, and I was failing at it. For the second time.
Readying myself, I released a breath. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by something as wonderfully shocking yet pointless as Aaron’s ability to smile or laugh.
“Seventeen hundred?” Angela announced, and I gestured with my hand to place my bid. Too late. “For the lady in red.”