Page 7

7

Jake

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Layla says with a shake of her head. “Hell, I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

Ethan snorts. “Right? Dude’s basically setting her up for financial ruin. Ruthless.”

“Damn right,” I say, clapping Ethan on the shoulder as I step between them. “And it’s going to be beautiful.”

I stretch my arms overhead, cracking my neck as I scan the festival grounds. The bachelor auction is about to kick off, and my plan’s going to make this day very interesting.

The Cedar Creek Ice Ranch Festival is in full swing—booths selling homemade pies, kids running around with face paint, and plenty of country music humming through the speakers.

But all that’s just background noise. My focus? The makeshift stage in the center of it all, where in about ten minutes, I’ll be auctioned off like a prize-winning bull.

I don’t mind playing along. It’s for charity, and hey, if someone wants to spend their hard-earned cash on a date with me, who am I to stop them? But this year? This year, I’m making sure Piper Reed really pays up.

Layla shakes her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So let me make sure I have the plan right—you’re paying me to outbid Piper until she has no choice but to drain her bank account?”

I grin. “You make it sound so sinister.”

“Because it is ,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “You’re straight-up robbing the girl.”

I feign innocence. “Robbing? No, no, this is charity . The youth hockey program gets more funding, and Piper gets the privilege of taking me out. Win-win.”

Layla gives me a look. “You do realize she might actually kill you when she finds out, right?”

I take a long sip of my beer, unfazed. “Piper’s been running her mouth for months, thinking she’s got me all figured out. It’s about time she learns what it’s like to be on the losing end.”

Ethan chuckles. “Or the winning end. Depends on how you look at it.”

Layla rolls her eyes but extends her palm. “Fine. But I want dinner out of this.”

I wink. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ll treat you both to a nice night on the town.”

Layla laughs. “I’m gonna enjoy this way too much.”

I clap my hands together. “That’s the spirit.”

Ethan shakes his head, laughing. “I almost feel bad for her.”

I don’t. Not even a little.

***

The crowd gathers as the emcee grabs the mic and starts warming everyone up. Each bachelor submitted a little self-bio for the emcee to read aloud. Some took it seriously. Others… not so much.

I’m standing in the crowd, off to the side near the ropes, beer in hand, scanning the scene while Ethan hangs back with the other guys waiting to go on. Layla’s in the front row now, pretending not to be involved yet—but she’s locked in.

First up: Kenny from the feed store, who comes out in a bolo tie and cargo shorts, waving like he’s just walked into a Vegas lounge. He struts the runway like a game show host at a dive bar—complete with exaggerated finger guns and a wink at the front row. And yes, he’s wearing a full Star Wars belt buckle and stormtrooper socks.

The announcer grabs the mic and clears his throat dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me read you tonight’s official bachelor bio: ‘Kenny Yates, 5’9, lover of goats, loyal to a fault, once made it to the finals of the Cedar Creek chili cook-off, and is willing to perform interpretive dance if bidding exceeds fifty bucks.’”

The crowd bursts into laughter. Kenny salutes.

“Let’s start the bidding at twenty dollars!”

“Thirty!” someone shouts.

“Forty-five!”

“Kenny, take your shirt off!” someone yells from the back.

He grins, spins once like he’s on a catwalk, then grabs the hem of his plaid shirt and does a slow, teasing strip—swinging it overhead in lazy circles like he’s done this before. He tosses it into the crowd. “That’s my church shirt,” he calls out. “I’m gonna need that back!”

The crowd roars.

Beneath the flannel, Kenny’s got a soft farmer’s tan, a little belly, and the proud grin of a man who knows he’s working it anyway.

“Okay, nope! Put it back on!” someone hollers—but it’s all in fun.

Two women in the back giggle.

“Wait—did the announcer say ‘lover of goats’?” one asks.

The other arches a brow. “I don’t want to guess what that means. But by the look of him, maybe it’s better I don’t.”

Final bid: sixty-five dollars. Not bad.

I nudge my brother Blaze. “Is that his mom?”

“Sure is,” he says, chuckling. “And that’s her fourth beer.”

Next comes Mark, one of the ranch hands. The guy’s tall, tan, and clearly dressed to impress—tight jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat tipped low. As he takes the stage, he drops to the floor and does a few slow, exaggerated pushups like a male stripper who’s watched Magic Mike one too many times.

The announcer chuckles into the mic. “Mark Davis—six foot two, barrel racer in the off-season, drives a Ford F-350, and wants the lucky winner to know he gives incredible shoulder massages and always brings flowers on the second date. Bonus: once carried a calf two miles in a snowstorm. Shirtless.”

The crowd goes wild. Women scream. Someone throws a napkin.

Mark tips his hat and flexes for the crowd. “Evening, ladies.”

“Two hundred!” someone yells.

“Two twenty-five!”

“Two fifty!”

He ends up going for three hundred flat. Guy milks the crowd like a pro. Final bid? Town librarian, Miss Mary, who shouts from row two, “I’ll take him, and I’ll take the flowers too!”

Then the emcee grabs the mic again. “And now… the silent, brooding dreamboat himself—ladies, get ready for Blake Ice!”

My brother Blake steps onto the stage with all the expression of a man being forced into a hostage video. Button-down rolled to the elbows, hair slightly mussed, and the kind of bone structure that makes half the town need to fan themselves.

The emcee reads Blake’s bio with a smirk: “Blake Ice—twenty seven, NHL defenseman, prefers woodworking to small talk, can fix anything with a motor or a wrench, and once built a cabin solo with no blueprint. Not big on words, but if you’re freezing, he’s the one who’ll give you his jacket and light a fire from scratch. Still has the best slapshot in the league.”

Two women in the front row lean toward each other, eyes on Blake.

“Isn’t that the eldest Ice brother?” one of them whispers. She’s blonde, tight dress, heels meant for hunting husbands.

“No, the eldest is Sean. He’s over there with his pregnant wife Aubrey and their little son Luke.”

“Ohhh, okay. Then technically Blake’s the eldest Ice who’s single.”

“Technically, it’s their dad, Jack.”

The blonde fans herself. “Hot fox. But isn’t he like fifty, fifty plus?”

“Yeah, and rumor is Annie next door has him locked down even though he has no clue.”

“Well, no offense to the dilf squad, but I’ll stick to the younger ones.”

“Fine by me. But I’m claiming Blake.”

The second woman laughs. “I’m holding out for Jake. He’s hotter.”

“Please. Blake’s NHL. He’s material.”

“Jake’s hot, but he’s got a kid.”

“True. Curly red hair. Cute as a button.”

They both sigh.

“He’s still fine though.”

“Too bad he knows it.”

Next to me, my brother Blaze grins. “Should I bid on my extra handsome twin?”

I snort. “Please don’t.”

He bumps my shoulder, identical to Blake except for the mischievous gleam in his eye. “There’s no rule that says I can’t. Winner gets one favor from the bachelor, right? I could make him wax my truck.”

“Or iron your boxers,” I mutter.

“Might as well make the most of it.” Blaze starts weaving toward the front.

The bidding starts low, then skyrockets. Blaze calls out, “Eighty!”

Blake actually blinks at that, then narrows his eyes at the sound of Blaze’s voice.

“One-fifty!” someone yells.

Then comes a sultry voice that makes the crowd turn: “Two hundred and seventy-five.”

Ethel Chambers. Forty, fabulous, and Cedar Creek’s most eligible cougar. Boutique owner, Sunday school teacher, notorious flirt.

Blaze hollers, “She’s always had a crush on him! I’m bowing out. He’s all yours, Ethel.”

Savannah leans over from the audience and shouts, “My twin's better looking!”

Blaze shoots her a wink. “Damn right.”

Final bid for Blake? Two hundred and seventy-five.

He nods politely at Ethel as he exits, probably already planning how to escape that date.

I’m still chuckling when Ethan appears at my side.

“You’re up next.”

“Great.”

He glances at me, lowering his voice. “You ready?”

I nod, then glance toward the stage as the emcee raises the mic again. “And now—ladies and gentlemen—it’s time. The one, the only… Jake Ice!”

I hand off my beer, crack my neck one more time, and step forward.

Let’s go play with Piper.