Page 3 of Playboy’s Purgatory

Just based on the sheer numbers as I look out from the side of the stage, there are too many people out there. I have to close my eyes to stop myself from running away. The breathing exercises I’ve researched, on a wing and a prayer, come back to me.

I wish they helped more, but a little is better than nothing.

“You look like you’re about to puke,” a rough voice comes from next to me and I almost jump out of my fucking skin.

I don’t need to look to know who it is. I keep my eyes on Vanessa, the smile on my face feeling more brittle the longer he stands next to me. He smells like ink and danger with an undertone of smoke I should hate but don’t.

“Just make sure you don’t puke on me,” he sneers the words and the image of me doing the exact opposite and covering him Exorcism-style from head-to-toe flashes in my mind.

“If I could projectile vomit on command, it would be a superpower which would only be useful in this exact moment,” my words are deadpan.

But I mean every single one.

He makes a strangled sound that could almost be a laugh. Almost.

When I hazard a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, he’s looking at me with something like amusement in his brown eyes. They always remind me of melted chocolate. His mouth, however, is like one of those gag jellybeans that are all gross flavors. It’s why we don’t talk much and I prefer to avoid him as much as possible.

“Last, but not least, Playboy,” comes from the speakers and I startle slightly.

The strange thing is that I don’t feel the need to run away from the crowd anymore. Not as strongly at least. Maybe those breathing exercises kicked in.

Uh huh. Maybe.

Playboy struts onto the stage, his arms are up in the air while soaking up every single cheer from the crowd. He’s the exact opposite of me.

While I want to run, he walks out there like he’s already won and everyone else needs to catch up.

I huff and roll my eyes before crossing my arms. He’s so fucking cocky. Now, I’m considering the whole puking thing all over again. He’d deserve it.

He glances back at me, a smirk curling his lips, and winks.

Fucking winks.

It makes me want to claw his eyes out.

His beautiful, chocolate brown eyes.

The fucking asshole.

I try to force my gaze away, but then the contest begins and I can’t look away from him.

Every single cake being devoured on stage is one I made with my own hands; a simple round cake with light frosting. Playboy inhales it.

A minute and twenty seconds has never been so long or so slow in my life. The entire time my jaw is on the floor, and I barely stop myself from cheering along with the crowd. When he licks his fingers clean of the last bit of frosting, I finally manage to look away. If my cheeks heat from the whistles coming from the crowd, I ignore it.

Playboy is playing it up as the announcer gets the crowd cheering even louder for him. His voice booms as he says, “How about a round of applause for Lara Champman, owner of Bunz Out, for sponsoring tonight’s event.”

He motions for me to join them out on stage, and I straighten my spine and step out. Not because I want to. But because my daughter is watching.

She knows how much I hate things like this. I hope she learns this lesson well—sometimes you have to do things you hate, and it’s okay to not like it.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I look like a newly born fawn right now. I give a small wave and people cheer. It does nothing to help me feel better about the situation.

“That’s my mama,” Vanessa shouts. I find her easily in the crowd and feel my face relax slightly and the smile on my face loses some of the horror and terror I was trying to mask.

“Come on, get together for a picture with the winner,” the announcer sounds gleeful, as if the suggestion is seismic. I have to force myself not to glare at the man while my body goes rigid at the thought.

Before I can make some sort of excuse and run the other way with my tail tucked between my legs, Playboy is standing next to me. He throws his arm around my shoulders while pumping his fist and waving at the crowd with the other.