Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,62

no music playing from downstairs to keep time with. There is no sound coming from downstairs at all. I bet everyone’s in bed.

Meaning we probably need to keep quiet.

Having sex like this, moving in perfect sync with Mitch, I realize nope. I can’t keep quiet. Moans leave me when he hits a particular spot. And he keeps hitting that spot, so I’m moaning pretty much nonstop. He’s grunting. The bed, while it’s not squeaking or anything, is making noise. Like you can tell someone is having sex.

I really hope no one can hear us.

I also sort of don’t care if they can.

Eighteen

Eleanor

Ever see that scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally when the characters finally have sex and she’s smiling like a loon, looking completely blissed out? I know I’m throwing it way back (#80smoviesforever), but I remember watching it with my mom, and thinking how happy Sally looked after finally doing it. And while I was twelve and really had no concrete information regarding sex, I do know having the memory of thinking, I want to look that happy someday.

Well, folks, the moment is here. I woke up smiling like a crazed loon when I found Mitch still in my bed. He’s lying on his stomach, his arms above his head as he clutches the pillow beneath him. We kicked the duvet onto the floor at one point last night, so only the sheet was covering us. And the sheet is currently draped over his butt, with his legs sticking out, one knee bent.

Feeling like a deviant, I reach out and gently bat the sheet away so he’s fully exposed. I drink him in, still grinning like a fool, remembering all the delicious, wicked, naughty, wonderful things we did last night.

I should be tired. Did I even get actual sleep?

Probably not.

But I’m not tired at all. I’m excited. Ready to bounce off the walls.

“You’re starin’,” he mutters into the pillow.

I don’t even care that I got caught. “You have the perfect body.”

He lifts his head, his sleepy gaze meeting mine. “So do you.”

Aww. You know what’s nice? When he says those things, I one hundred percent believe him.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask.

“When I actually slept, sure.” He turns to look at me, his lips curling. No doubt he’s thinking about all the things we did too. And how we didn’t sleep much at all.

It hits me then that I’m flying out later this afternoon.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” I say, my mouth forming a little pout.

“Then don’t.” He rolls over so he’s lying on his back, and folds his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging. He’s the epitome of a carefree man right now, and I sort of want to jump him. “Stay another night.”

I contemplate his suggestion. I don’t have to work tomorrow. I could stay. Shoot, I don’t have a client scheduled until ten on Tuesday, so I could arrive home late tomorrow night if the flight schedules allow it…

“We could get a room at another hotel,” he suggests.

“Why can’t we stay at your place?” I ask.

He grimaces. “It’s nothing but boxes. The only usable things are the couch and the bed.”

“That’s all we need, right?” I am grinning but…

He is not.

Huh.

“Let’s do a hotel. It’ll be more comfortable.”

I’m about to protest when my phone dings with a text. I reach over and grab it to see it’s our group chat.

And holy hell, there are a lot of missed messages.

Kelsey: E, where did you go?

Candice: Why is no one asking where I went?

Kelsey: Because we all saw you run up to the room. Chicken. *insert chicken emoji here*

An hour later.

Stella: Eleanor is with her man. How do I know this, you might ask?

Caroline: How?

Stella: I CAN HEAR HER MOANING! HIM TOO!

Uh oh. I knew they’d hear us.

The conversation goes on for a while, everyone complaining about how loud Mitch and I are while we’re having sex. It’s mortifying.

I’m also secretly proud.

The most recent conversation is from earlier this morning, concerning brunch, which I forgot about. They’re already gone. They left me behind because it’s almost noon and the reservation was for eleven. I received a text from Caroline outside of the group.

Our flight is at three. You can just meet us at the airport. The suite has late checkout, so take your time.

I send her a response back, feeling like a shit friend. I’m so sorry I missed your brunch. I feel terrible.

She responds immediately. You shouldn’t feel terrible at all this morning.