Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,5

clubbing and getting drunk are about to come to an end.

I sort of don’t mind.

“I don’t know,” I finally answer Howard, leaning back in my chair and staring out the window at the passing city streets. My heart actually pangs, and I have a sudden realization.

I’m lonely.

“You’re not getting any younger,” Howard says, and I can tell he’s just giving me a hard time. I can hear the teasing tone in his voice, see the faint smile curling his lips. “You need to find some pretty little thing who worships you and eventually gives you a couple of pretty babies. Someone you actually want to spend time with, you know what I mean?”

“I do know what you mean,” I tell him sincerely.

Babies would be nice. A pretty little thing who worships me would be awfully nice too. Though I don’t want her to worship Mitchell Anderson, all-star defensive lineman for the Raiders.

I want her to like me for me. Good ol’ boring Mitch. The guy who wouldn’t mind kicking back on the couch on a Saturday night with his pretty little thing who worships him. Watch a movie on Netflix right before she sat on his face and he made her come with his tongue.

Hey. I’m definitely looking for a woman to love, but when it comes down to it, I’m still a fuckin’ horn dog.

Three

Eleanor

Sunday brunch consists of our usual crowd. Even though we were just together yesterday for Caroline’s bridal shower, we still can’t resist a champagne brunch on a beautiful weekend morning. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the tourists are quiet—they’ll be worse later in the afternoon—and I can hear the ocean waves crash against the beach just down the street. We’re sitting outside in the front patio of one of our favorite restaurants in downtown Carmel, most of us wearing sunglasses on or even a hat.

Meaning me. I’m the one in the hat. It’s large and it’s made out of straw and I probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. Besides, I ran out of dry shampoo and I keep forgetting to buy some, so it’s a hat day.

It’s also one of those rare bright sunny days, which doesn’t happen too often in Carmel during the summer. Most people imagine the California beaches as sunshiny and hot, palm trees waving with the warm breeze and bronze-skinned women clad in tiny bikinis as they sun themselves on the sand. And while that does exist…it’s not completely true. At least, not where we live. During the summer, it’s cold most days, and the fog rarely lifts. The average temperature is sixty degrees, and at night it’s downright chilly. We get our warm season in the fall. No fog, just sunny skies and temperatures in the seventies. It’s downright blissful.

I am not feeling so blissful at the moment, though. And neither is my friend and partner in crime from last night.

“I am so hungover,” Kelsey moans just before she takes a swig of her mimosa. I’m jealous of that mimosa. I arrived a little later than everyone else, so I’m still waiting for mine. “I need hash browns.”

I make a face. “Yuck, why?” That sounds terrible to my hungover self.

“Grease absorbs the liquor remnants in your system, duh.” Kelsey sends me a duh look as well, though I’m not offended. She’s extra grouchy in the morning, which is normal. Even if she isn’t hungover. We’re used to it.

“You two went out drinking last night?” Caroline asks brightly.

I wince at her overly loud voice, reaching for the mimosa that’s just been set in front of me by our server, thank God. “Maybe,” I answer after I take a sip.

“There’s no maybe about it,” Stella says with a knowing smirk on her face. “We saw you two.”

“Saw us how?” I ask warily, sending a death glare in Kelsey’s direction.

Her face is one of pure innocence as she gazes at me.

“On Kelsey’s Instagram stories,” Stella answers, making me rest my hand against my chest. I’ve told my friends time and again I don’t like it when they document our drunken moments. Talk about not putting your best foot forward. “You two look like you were having fun.”

Okay. I’m trusting Stella’s assessment. She’s brutally honest most of the time, so if I looked like a complete ass, she’d tell me.

But how did I not realize Kelsey was filming me last night, and posting on social media? Of course, this was the same woman who snapped photos of me at the