Part I
Curve Ball
By Aidy Award
About… Curve Ball
How did I get talked into these things?
Nice Jewish girls do not go to beefcake Christmas auctions.
My declaration would hold a lot more oomph if my best friend wasn't leading me through the VIP members entrance of Eden’s favorite club on our way to their annual Christmas Eve charity ball and auction, the Jingle Balls Ball. But no way I was bidding on anyone. Not even if the money was going to a good cause.
Unless of course my crush, the barista at the Mean Bean who I'd been flirting with for the past few weeks, randomly showed up. Yeah, right. Like that would happen. He was way too sweet and... why did I suddenly smell coffee?
1
Naked Nuts
Oy vey. How did I get talked into these things?
“Eden. Please don’t make me do this. Nice Jewish girls do not go to beefcake Christmas auctions.” I whispered that last part.
My complaint would hold a lot more oomph if Eden and I weren’t making our way through the VIP members door of her favorite exclusive club…on our way to their annual Christmas Eve charity ball and auction. She was the member and had been trying to drag me here for longer than I cared to admit. Ever since she’d found her Shakespeare-quoting smoking-hot cowboy, Sawyer.
I wasn’t jealous at all.
Except when I was awake.
Or asleep.
“Sure they do. If they haven’t had a date in a millennium and read more spanky romance books than anyone else I know.”
I held up my refute-the-point finger. “Just because I sell the heck out of your naughty romance manuscripts doesn’t mean I want to—”
Eden’s crossed her arms and raised a knowing eyebrow at me. That was usually my move whenever she tried to tell me she needed another extension on her current book. Her career had exploded last year after she’d switched to writing contemporary erotic romances and we were both reaping the benefits.
I’d been lucky Eden kept me on as her agent. She had no idea how that had saved me. When my mother’s death had threatened to drag me deep into depression, I found solace and escape in fiction. Eden kept pumping her stories out and I got to read them before anyone else.
Then I hustled my tuchus off selling her foreign, audio, and print rights so the rest of the rabid romance readers of the world could enjoy them too. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably be a cat lady living in a cardboard box in an alley.
“Fine. I might be mildly curious what the real club is like compared to the one in your books. But I am not bidding on anyone.” I wouldn't know what to do with them if I won anyway. Super awkward was an understatement when it came to me and sex. I just had the hardest time believing any guy would be attracted to my size twenty-something butt.
For some reason I could buy that Sawyer was into Eden and she and I were about the same size and age. She was beautiful. I was the girl with the good personality.
Eden wasn't into a single one of my many excuses. I wished I could be more like her. “We just signed a million-dollar print deal. I think you can splurge and buy yourself something nice. Like a night with a naughty Santa who will know exactly how to spin your dreidel.”
“Eden,” I squealed. Mostly because she was right. The only thing taking me for a spin was my vibrator.
“What? You know I’m right.” She paused at a coat room where a hypnotizingly hot man who wore nothing but some bright red fur-trimmed boxers and a Santa hat helped her slip out of her trench. I shouldn’t stare, but no wonder Eden spent so much time here. If the rest of the men here were even half as good looking as the doorman, I’d be drooling all over the whole night.
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself knowing that the short skirt and cleavage revealing dress she’d lent me – aka made me wear – exposed way more skin than a guy like this would want to see. I had a muffin top for goodness sake. Hot guys made fun of women like me, not lusted after them.
I was going home.
“Now give Dominic your coat and let’s go get you a Christmas present.” She clapped her hands and dragged my faux furry jacket off of me.
Damn. I didn’t even protest. I did work for her, after all. She handed the coat over to him and he returned with our numbers. Except these weren't some small slip of paper, they were the size of ping-pong paddles.
“Here are your numbers for the auction, when you want to bid, just hold your marker up and our auctioneer will take note.” Dominic handed us each the paddle. “Ooh, lucky you. Sixty-nine. Best number in the house.”
“This is going to change your life.” Eden spread her arms wide and then gave me and my paddle a shove into the main room decorated in thousands of twinkle lights.
I didn’t want my life to change. I was perfectly happy working ninety hours a week and sleeping, reading, or Netflix binging the remaining seventy-eight.
A social life was over-rated.
So was a sex life.
“If you say so.” At least the hundred-dollar ticket was for a good cause. I thought it was damn smart and savvy of the testicular cancer charity to bring their cause attention in a place where people didn't have hang ups that kept them from talking about balls.
Eden led me into the main part of the club and boy did my eyes go wide.
The room was deliciously decorated like a naughty French boudoir winter wonderland with flocked evergreen garland, sumptuous fabrics and crystal chandeliers. There was even a social media photo booth station with signs for people to pose with that read #JingleBallsBall #checkyoursnowballs and #jingleyourballs. That wasn’t what had my jaw hanging open like a cartoon character.
It was all the beautiful people.
Actually. It was how relaxed and confident these women of all shapes and sizes acted.
Very few of those bodies were perfect. There were lumps and bumps, pasty skin and cellulite. Men with pot bellies, and women with love handles laughed and flirted like they were at a regular ole bar.
This was not what I expected at all.
Where were all the flawless people? The ones I imagined had hooked up in a place like this.
Eden grabbed my arm and yanked me away from my gawking. “Chelsea, I’d like you to meet Danica Chamonix, one of the owners of the club.”
Oh. Here was said beautiful, flawless person. I pulled my mouth shut and took the perfectly manicured hand of the gorgeous woman who had hers outstretched to me.
“Hello, Chelsea. I’m so glad you could make it tonight. Thank you so much for coming out to support our Jingle Balls Ball.”
“Oh, yes. Sure. Of course.” I blabbered because not only was the woman standing in front of me one of the most beautiful women in my opinion, it was the belief of most of the adult world. Danica was the plus-sized model who’d recently been featured in a travel article in L’eau magazine. The one that had made the internet explode.
She was curvy and the pictures in that article had shown the whole damn world that a woman bigger than a size six, hell bigger than a size sixteen, could be sexy and fuckable.
“I do hope you’ll open your pocketbook tonight to help save the nuts.” She gave me a sparkling smile that would have every man in here opening their wallets. Most of the women too. She was magnetic.