Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,55

I further explain, like I can’t help myself. Which I can’t.

“Sounds really hot.”

“Okay, fine, it is really hot.” I start giggling. So does Kelsey. She grabs my abandoned drink that’s still sitting on the counter and hands it to me, and I take a big slurp, essentially draining it.

Not like I need liquid courage or anything. I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing.

And I’m about to do Mitch.

All night long.

Eventually, we take it back to the suite, and I can literally feel Mitch’s presence, even though I can’t see him. I don’t even know if he’s actually here, but I swear I can feel his energy. Reaching out to me. Wrapping around me. Sending shivers over my skin and arousal pulsing between my legs.

I’m sure it doesn’t help matters that there are literally penises everywhere. Stella whips out bendy straws with little plastic penises at the end and we’re all sipping out of mini bottles of champagne—Candice had those special ordered—our lips wrapped around miniature dicks.

Makes me think of Mitch and his not-so-miniature dick.

Caroline is crying-laughing over the idea of having one penis for the rest of her life, demanding that we all take photos of her standing underneath that particular banner. No one pays attention to my “wifey for lifey” balloons, though I’m not insulted. Everyone’s got penis on the brain, especially now that we’re playing ring toss on the pecker, or whatever the hell it’s called.

“Too many dicks,” Candice calls out at one point, making all of us pause in shock. Candice is not one to talk about dicks. She’s rather prim and proper. More prim and proper than me. Currently those two words can’t describe me whatsoever, but you know what I mean.

“There can never be too many dicks,” Stella responds, a smug smile curling her lips. “Come on, this is fun!”

“And there’s more where this all came from,” Sarah adds, both of them bursting into laughter.

Clearly, we’ve all had a little too much to drink.

I grab my phone out of my bar purse and send a quick text to Mitch. Are you here?

He responds quickly. In bed and waiting for your pretty ass.

He sends a photo of himself sitting in my bed, bare chested and delicious.

Oh…oh man. I need to get up there.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings—yes, our suite has a freaking doorbell—and Stella rushes to answer it. Two men are standing in the doorway, both of them broad shouldered and tall, clad in obviously phony fire department uniforms complete with red suspenders and mirrored sunglasses.

“Is Caroline Abbott here?” one of the men asks, his voice crisp and authoritative, like he’s not going to take any shit.

I send Mitch a quick text. Give me a few minutes. The strippers just got here.

Okay. That’s a text I never thought I’d send.

“She’s right over here, sir,” Stella says, standing to the side as the men enter the suite. Their expressions are like stone, and it’s hard to get a read on them since they have those stupid glasses on, but they’re not bad-looking. Stella and Sarah must’ve paid good money to get these two.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down to see another text from Mitch.

You want to hang out with some strippers or do you want some of this?

The next photo he sends is a close-up of the tent his erection makes beneath the white sheet.

I literally start to sweat. I would much rather be with him than these two strippers. No one will notice I’m gone, right?

“Oh my gosh, Stella. Did you hire these guys?” Caroline is squealing. I thought she might be upset, but clearly she doesn’t mind. Or she’s too drunk to care.

“Ma’am, we’re from the Las Vegas Fire Department and we’re here because someone reported a fire in the penthouse. No one hired us for anything,” one of the strippers says while managing to keep a straight face.

Caroline giggles. “Oops, sorry, Mr. Firefighter. My bad.”

“You can call me captain,” he says, making Caroline giggle even more.

Deciding I can definitely skip this part, I start typing a response to Mitch. I’ll be upstairs in two minutes.

He responds fast. Make it one. I’m dying to get my mouth back on you.

My knees go weak when I read his response. I am dying for his mouth to be on me too.

“Little lady, we’ll have to confiscate your phone.” The stripper yanks my phone out of my hands, holding it above his head when I try to reach for it.

“Give it