Selling Scarlett (Love Inc 1)

“Got them packed in like sardines, no?” Juniper is pressed against me, a vision in a skin-tight white pant suit and red pumps, her dark hair pulled into an elegant pony tail. Swimming through a sea of shoulders and elbows on my other side is Loveless, wearing a flouncy peach dress that whirls around her gorgeous legs.

“It’s like this every year,” Loveless tells me as we battle our way through the crowd. “Priscilla Heat knows how to throw a party.”

I nearly choke on my gum. “Priscilla Heat?”

“The one and only.” She says it casually, but when she glances at my face, I must have that swallowed-a-bug look. “I sense a story here,” she murmurs.

“There’s no story.”

“Sure there’s not.”

“Story?” Juniper pipes in.

“No.” I shake my head, making my loosely curling pigtails tickle my bare shoulders. “There’s no story, I swear. I’ve just heard of her. Kind of surprised she’s doing something for charity.”

“Ooh, there is so a story here. One that perhaps will tell us more about who Scarlett really is.” Juniper smiles slyly, like she’s already dredged the rotten truth out of me.

“I’m not saying a thing.” I mime zipping my lips and follow Loveless, who’s flattened her body against a cement wall and is trying to make her way through the gate that leads to our seats. Finally we make it from the outer walkway and concessions area into the arena.

Loveless stops, eliciting several irritated shouts from the stalled crowd behind Juniper and me, and holds up her ticket. “Looks like we’re that way,” she says, pointing at the bleachers below our walkway.

She takes one of my hands and Juniper grabs my other one, and behind Jupiter, Hannah, and on we go. I glance down at my bright red daisy dukes and loose, silk strapless top—it’s white and sparkly—and I pray I don’t stick out like a sore thumb. Already I’ve noticed that the biggest difference between these gorgeous women and myself is my lack of muscle tone. Yeah, I’ve lost weight, but you can see my flab and cellulite if you look closely; they, on the other hand, are built like big-boobed gymnasts.

When we finally make it to our seats, I’m stunned by our proximity to the fighting platform. It looks bigger than anything I’ve seen on TV: a bouncy-looking blue platform about one third the size of a basketball court, surrounded by red ropes that are attached to four yellow square posts at each corner.

A sunken, moat-like space surrounds the platform. It’s packed with men in tight pants and women in bikinis, milling around a few feet lower than the lowest row of spectator seats. I notice a lot of fake tans and faker boobs and even what I think is fake hair. I wonder how many of these people are porn stars and feel kind of embarrassed that I have no idea. I’ve never watched a porno.

As I sink into my plastic bucket seat, I’m listening to Juniper and Loveless with only half an ear. So when I hear the name “Hunter” I actually whirl around toward Loveless. She’s got her head craned toward Juniper, who’s reading the program and speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd.

“He’ll be fighting someone named Lockwood,” Juniper is saying. “There are five fights. Theirs is fourth.”

Loveless is nodding when I realize my mouth is hanging open. I shut it and turn back toward the ring, but it’s too late. Juniper reaches around Loveless and grabs my elbow, shrieking, “You are holding out on me!”

I frown, trying my best to give her a ‘what the hell’ look, but Loveless turns to Juniper. “Do you think she knows him?”

“I’d bet on it.”

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” I say loudly. A guy with taped fists and tiny black shorts is leaning up and waving to the crowd on the other side of the arena, so the noise level is at max.

Loveless gently grabs my chin and makes me meet her eyes. “Hunter West. You know him? Don’t you lie to me, woman.”

“I’m not,” I say, but I can feel my stupid eye brows arching like they do sometimes when I lie. I look down at my knees, then Loveless shrieks and I put my head down in my hands.

“Scarlett! You sneaky little bitch!”

“I’m not sneaky,” I wail. “There’s not a story here!”

“Oh, I’m quite sure she’s lying,” Juniper confirms.

A blonde, gray-eyed girl leans around her, wiggling her eyebrows. “What are we talking about?” she asks in a Southern accent.

“Oh, nothing,” Juniper says.

“Later,” Loveless says in my ear. She gives me a pointed look, one that says I should be sorry for lying, and I shake my head a little guiltily.

A minute later, music I think I recognize from Rocky starts playing over the intercom, and everyone’s attention is shifted to the platform, where two guys are now stretching. I try to feign interest, but all I can think about is Hunter. I wonder how much space there is between my chair and the ring. Twenty yards? Fifteen? Could he see me from the fight?