Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,38

rarely in the room anyway, and even if you are, it’s used for only a few things.

Two of them being sleeping and fucking.

“It is so impressive,” she says with a vigorous nod. “Plus there’s this giant pool table. And the view is like…oh my God.” She rests her hand against her chest, her gaze meeting mine. “You want to see it?”

Well damn. I didn’t expect that invitation tonight. “Yeah. Sure.” I keep my voice cool. Nonchalant. Like no big deal.

But deep down inside, excitement fills me. Hopefully none of her friends are currently in the suite. It’ll just be me and Eleanor.

Alone.

Eleven

Eleanor

We ride up in the elevator standing next to each other in silence. There’s soft music playing from invisible speakers and the walls are mirrored. Even the ceiling. All I can see is myself and Mitch, and I stare unabashedly at his face, which is currently averted, his gaze aimed downward.

It’s a good face. Strong boned. Sharp cheekbones. A few scars here and there, and I can only assume they’re from past football injuries. Granite-hard jaw and chin counterbalanced by that sensuous mouth. Light brown hair that’s a little shaggy. Golden-brown eyes that are friendly and always sparkling when he watches me

And he watches me a lot. As if he likes what he sees. As if he finds me amusing. And not in a bad way. In a good way.

I feel beautiful under his steady gaze. Interesting. Not awkward at all, and I’ve been awkward AF tonight with Mitch, as per usual. I shouldn’t have had those drinks at dinner. And I definitely didn’t need that blue hawaiian at the bar. Whatever they put in there, it sure packed a punch.

Feeling a little woozy, I curl my arm around Mitch’s to anchor myself, smiling up at him when he glances down at me. Did I mention how tall he is? I’m no shrimp, but he towers over me. He makes me feel small and delicate, when I am so not. I’m a sturdy girl. I always have been, and when I blossomed at the age of eleven, there was no stopping it. I had the biggest boobs in the sixth grade. Probably straight through middle school, which I hated at the time. I was so self-conscious.

Eventually, I embraced myself. I have hips and thighs and boobs. There is no mistaking that I’m a woman.

Standing next to Mitch makes me feel like a delicate little flower.

We finally come to a stop at the top floor, and when the doors slide open, we exit the elevator together, our arms still entwined. I lead him to the penthouse suite’s massive double doors, coming to a stop so I can dig the keycard out of my tiny bar-hopping purse. My mom gave it to me a few years ago for Christmas, specifically calling it a bar-hopping purse, and at first, I’d been offended. Like what, she thought I was going out to bars and drinking too much every weekend?

Within a couple of uses, I appreciated the purse. It’s black and tiny and goes with everything. It’s big enough for my phone, a few bucks and my ID and credit card, plus a lipstick. Oh, and when needed, a keycard.

I take said keycard and wave it in front of the super-fancy technological lockscreen, and hear the lock spring open. With a flourish I throw open both doors, smiling over my shoulder at Mitch. “Here we go!”

We enter the giant suite, our footsteps echoing against the marble floor. It’s empty, I can tell, and I’m relieved. I don’t want to deal with my friends.

Not yet.

I can feel the cool breeze from the air conditioning blowing throughout the room, and I shiver. The curtains are pulled back—why, I don’t know—revealing the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and the glittering city stretched out before us.

“What a view,” Mitch says as he approaches the window, stopping right in the center and resting his hands on his hips as he stares out at the cityscape. “Impressive.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I walk over to where he’s standing, stopping right next to him.

He glances over at me, appreciation warming his eyes. “Yeah. Sure is.”

Oh. I think he might be talking about me.

This guy. I’ve been feeling nervous all night. Expectant. Hyperaware of everything about him. His scent. His presence. His warmth. His size. I wonder what he tastes like. I wonder what he looks like naked. I wonder what sounds he makes when he’s having sex. I wonder about his dick size.

Yes. I just