BUY A BOYFRIEND

  PIPER RAYNE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2024 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover Design: Regina Wamba

  1st Line Editor: Joy Editing

  2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: My Brother’s Editor

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  ABOUT BUY A BOYFRIEND

  It wasn’t my expectation to fall into bed with the woman who won me at the bachelor auction.

  I was only doing my grandma a favor, not looking for more than a shared dinner with the winner. Then again, I wasn’t expecting someone as hot as Isla to be my date.

  She makes it clear that she’s down for a night in the sheets but bolts, leaving me holding my junk—literally. Which I figure, in the end, is all fine and good because love burned me before, and I have no plans to repeat that soul-crushing heartbreak.

  I took a much-needed vacation from the handyman business I own with my brothers, Rent A Husband, only to return to find out they’d hired Isla, making me her boss.

  And now I have to see her every day, and it’s getting harder to pretend I’m not still drawn to her. But I burned that bridge the night she was briefly in my bed, and any lust she had for me has turned to hatred.

  Which is for the best because she has a new boyfriend, which is all the motivation I need to stay away from her. Until it’s not.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Also by Piper Rayne

  Deep Thoughts

  About Piper & Rayne

  ONE

  TRAVIS

  Music pumps from the other side of the curtain. Women whistle and scream catcalls every time someone brushes against the curtain, assuming the bachelor auction is beginning.

  How the hell did I get here?

  The answer walks toward me in the form of a sweet senior citizen with eyes that sparkle and shine.

  “Hi, Grams.”

  “Sweetie, you look so handsome.” She sets her hand covered with age spots on my forearm and squeezes. “I should have taken you to buy a new shirt.”

  I glance down at the flannel shirt I’m wearing. My favorite shirt. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  She hems and sighs. “Nothing. It’s a lovely shirt. A little old and worn, but…” She grins up at me, and I swallow the growl that wants to erupt from just being here. “You look great.”

  My grandparents had a big hand in raising my two brothers and me. Because my parents worked so much in order to support the family, Grams and Gramps would pick us up and take us to their house after school to get started on our homework and feed us dinner.

  Grams and Gramps are the only people I’d do this for. When Grams asked me to be a part of this bachelor auction, I couldn’t say no. I tried, several times, but she was insistent. Even though I’ve been dreading this day for months, I can’t disappoint her after she’s been there for me so many times. Strutting on stage and having a bunch of strangers ogle me isn’t really in my comfort zone.

  “Thanks again for agreeing to do this. All of us at the center are appreciative.”

  The money raised tonight will go toward a new lawn bowling field at the seniors’ center my grandparents belong to.

  I give her a wan smile. “Of course. But you told them to use my middle name when they introduce me, right?”

  When I agreed, that was my only request. I don’t want anyone to track me down on social media sites. Not that I use them that often, but I’ve heard horror stories of stalkers. While my brother Josh would probably bask in the attention, women chasing me around isn’t my thing.

  She pats my cheek. “All taken care of. Well, I’d better find somewhere to sit out there. Sounds like it’s filling up.”

  Awesome. More spectators to witness my humiliation.

  “I’ll see you after.”

  She steps away and walks along the curtain until she pushes through the slit. The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles but quickly shifts to a collective groan when they realize it’s my grams and not an eligible bachelor.

  I rub my clammy palm over my short beard and sigh. I can’t believe I’m about to go out alone on that stage and let women bid on me. Most guys would probably love the idea of a roomful of women jeering at them and bidding up the price for the chance to spend a few hours with them. But I’m not a guy who likes attention, nor am I looking for a date, let alone a girlfriend. What went down a couple of years ago cured me of wanting any part of the dating world.

  Another senior milling around approaches me, giving me the once-over through the thick lenses of her glasses. She’s about half my height with silver hair. “You’re cute, but we need to up the ante.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “Sorry?”

  Her hands go to my shirt, and she untucks the flannel from my pants.

  I stiffen as if she’s a predator, and if I make any sudden movement, my life will be over. “What are you doing?”

  She raises her hands to the top button of my shirt. “Beatrice said you’d never go shirtless, but we gotta give the ladies a little taste of what they want.”

  Beatrice, my grams, apparently knows this woman whose arthritic fingers are struggling to undo the buttons of my shirt.

  “Mind giving me a hand? Arthritis is a bitch.”

  For the first time, I really take in what’s going on back here. Most of the other schmucks who got roped into being bachelors aren’t wearing shirts. Some are in jeans, some in suit pants… is that guy wearing a Speedo?

  Oh, hell no.

  “I’d really rather keep my shirt on.” I move my hand to one of the two buttons she’s managed to undo and fasten it back, but she swats my hand.

  “That’s what I just said. You can keep it on, but it needs to hang open. Tease ’em a bit.” She winks and steps away. “Now undo the rest of those buttons.”

  Despite being a petite old lady, there’s steel in her voice, similar to Grams when my brothers and I would wrestle instead of cleaning the dishes. So I decide to go with what she wants rather than fighting her. I don’t want to disappoint Grams and be the one bachelor no one bids on. She’d never let me hear the end of it.

  Once all the buttons are undone, her smile reveals her perfectly straight white dentures, and she nods in satisfaction and a little smugness. “Perfect. I’ll send Muriel over with the oil.”

  “Oil?”

  My mouth drops open as I watch her walk over to another little old lady who’s clearly still dying her hair black. After the woman who was just here says something to her, the black-haired lady looks at me with a grin and heads my way. I have to force myself to stand in place when I see the bottle of oil in her hand.

  “Hey, handsome. I’m here to oil you up.” She looks so excited, you’d think she just won me at the auction, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I can do it myself, or not at all, preferably.

  So instead of bolting, I grin and bear it while she runs her hands over my chest until I’m “good and shiny” as she says.

  She steps back to assess her work. “That should do it.”

  “Great.” I give her a curt nod.

  I feel like a greased-up pig ready to be put on the spit.

  Thank God neither of my brothers are here. I’d never hear the end of it.

  Soon after, the ladies backstage get us into the order they want us in, and I find myself near the back of the pack. I have no idea whether that’s a good or bad thing. Perhaps we’ve been put in some kind of order based on what they think we’ll fetch. I don’t really care. I just want this over as quickly as possible.

  I haven’t given too much thought to who I might have to go on a date with since I’ve been too preoccupied by dreading the bachelor auction itself. Now that I’m here though, I wonder—who will I be spending a dinner with?

  The community center fills with cheers as the auction begins, and I picture the women on the other side of the curtain wildly waving their paddles, standing to their feet, competitiveness gleaming in their eyes.

  The closer and closer I get to the front of the line, man after man getting pulled onto the stage, the more my throat closes up.

  Way too quickly, I’m next in line to be bid on. Dread coats me as I hear my name over the microphone. The senior citizen manning the curtai
n pulls it apart by the split, revealing a room full of women on the other side.

  “Go work the crowd, hot stuff,” she says and slaps me on the ass, propelling me forward.

  I blink several times and stand unmoving under the heat of the lights, disbelieving that I’m actually putting myself out there for some random woman to buy me. A set of hands pushes me from behind.

  When I look at the crowd, I expect to find a bunch of young women. There are a scattering of them, but the majority of the women with paddles in their hands are older than my grams.

  Jesus. I’m auctioning away my pride to a bunch of geriatrics.

  TWO

  ISLA

  “Grandma, are you sure you want to be here?” I glance around at all the little old ladies wildly waving their paddles as the host for the night steps on the stage.

  When my grandma invited me to a charity auction, as she referred to it, I didn’t realize it was actually a bachelor auction. Had I known, I probably would’ve made an excuse that I couldn’t go. Although the scene in front of me is one I’ve never pictured.

  These old ladies do not mess around. One of them elbowed me in the ribs when she thought I was going to take a seat in the front row that’s apparently reserved for the people on the senior center’s fundraising committee. I assured her she didn’t have to worry, I was only going to grab a water. But I haven’t gotten that dirty of a look since high school, and that’s saying something.

  Looking around the room, these senior citizens are acting more like bachelorettes at a Magic Mike show than women who spend the majority of their time in the knitting club.

  “Of course I want to be here, dear. It’s fun. Besides, I have to support the seniors’ center.” She pats my hand and returns her attention to the stage. God forbid she miss one of the bachelors.

  My grandpa passed away about a decade ago, and my grandma loved him with her whole heart. She’s thrived since moving to the senior center, but this whole bidding on a man to take her on a date isn’t really something I ever thought I’d see her doing.

  I didn’t bother grabbing a paddle since I’m not going to bid on anyone. I really hope my grandma is only trying to show support and not about to actually bid. We can toss some money in the bucket outside to support. But she looks really overzealous and excited for the bachelors.

  After the host, a petite woman named Agnes, introduces herself and reminds us why we’re all here tonight, she places her mouth to the microphone. A little too close at first, but I might be the only one whose ear is pierced since no one else flinches. “Ladies, please welcome Jefferson to the stage.”

  The crowd erupts in a cacophony of whistles as a man I’d guess is probably in his midthirties steps out onto the stage wearing a pair of board shorts. He’s reed-thin, and the shorts just hang off his hips. Someone should have dressed him.

  “Jefferson is grandson to our Hattie and is an ophthalmologist in town. He’s thirty-six and enjoys reading sci-fi thrillers, walking his three Pomeranians, and role-playing.”

  The room ahhs and ohhs. I choke down the bile rising up my throat. Why would he put that in the bio?

  “Not that kind, girls. Get your mind out of the gutter. LARP—” She puts her hand over the microphone and asks Jefferson what it stands for again. He tells her, and she nods. “Which I’m told stands for live-action roleplay. We’ll start the bidding at fifty dollars. This is your chance to spend an evening with this stud, ladies.”

  Bids ring out through the room, and women wave their paddles wildly in front of one another while Agnes looks at the crowd with wide eyes. Eventually, she starts pointing at people, although the entire process is chaotic.

  This series of events repeats itself for the next eight bachelors. I have to hold back a giggle every time one of these elderly ladies wins, because they look so excited at the prospect of spending an evening with one of these guys. It’s actually quite cute.

  None of the men who have stepped on the stage have intrigued me. They’re okay-looking, and all of them are gainfully employed—not a given in today’s dating pool—but no one really wows me.

  Not that I’d consider bidding on any of them even if I had a paddle. I’d like to think that I don’t have to pay a man to go out with me, though recent history might prove me wrong. It’s been months since I’ve even been on a date.

  Grandma pats my leg. “Are you having fun, dear?”

  I squeeze her hand. The honest answer would be no, but I’d never tell her that. “Of course.”

  She smiles and nods before leaning back in her chair.

  “Ladies, I hope you didn’t blow your whole budget yet because this next one is quite the looker,” Agnes says and winks.

  I inwardly roll my eyes because she’s said some rendition of that line for every bachelor. So far, none of them have been that impressive.

  “Edward, or Eddie, is Beatrice’s grandson. He’s thirty-one years old and has magic hands.”

  The crowd hoots and hollers.

  “He makes furniture.”

  A collective “aw” rings out from the audience.

  “One might say that he can handle his wood.”

  I break into laughter along with everyone else while Agnes turns her attention to the curtain.

  It’s odd that this Eddie hasn’t come out on stage yet. So far tonight, every other bachelor has come out from behind the curtain while Agnes is introducing them. Just as I’m wondering if Eddie had stage fright, the curtain splits and Eddie stumbles out on stage. He glances behind him, searching for the culprit, who I think pushed a very reluctant Eddie onto the stage.

  And then everything around me fades away—the noise of the crowd, my grandma beside me, Agnes’s jokes. All of it. Because Eddie is…

  Exceptional.

  He has dark-brown hair that matches his eyes and a short beard. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned and hangs open, giving a perfect view of his muscled chest, his defined abs, and a treasure trail of dark hair that leads below the belt on his jeans.

  If you looked up the word man in the dictionary, Eddie’s picture would be there because this is a guy who knows how to do things. Things like build a deck or gut a fish. He’s the kind of guy who would gladly kill a dark, hairy spider for you or go investigate a strange noise in the middle of the night. This man would never consider paying someone else to cut his lawn because he’d take pride in doing it himself.

  It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable with all the attention he’s getting. His brown eyes are wide, and unlike the other men who were happy to strut around the stage, he remains in one place, staring at the crowd, face red with embarrassment.

  I’m so distracted by this beautiful man, it takes me a minute to realize that my grandma has her paddle up in the air.

  I whip my head in her direction. “Grandma, what are you doing?”

  She ignores me, raising her paddle higher, scrutinizing another woman on the other side of the room. “That Ruth, I swear,” she mumbles.

  “Grandma?” I ask, leaning in closer.

  She keeps her sole focus on Agnes saying the bids. She sticks her paddle straight up and shouts, “Seven hundred dollars.”

  The crowd gasps, me included, because that’s the highest bid thus far tonight.

  “Grandma!”

  Again, she ignores me as if she’s not wearing her hearing aids.

  “Does anyone want to bid more than seven hundred dollars?” Agnes asks, her gaze sweeping the room.

  No one else raises their paddle, though Ruth has murder in her eyes.

  “All right, going once… going twice… and sold to Dorothy for seven hundred dollars.”