Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
But Bryan plopped down like he owned the place, immediately grabbing the drinks list.
“What do we have here?” he asked, squinting his eyes at the small print in the dim light. “Let’s see. Mojitos, yes. Cosmos, yes. Whiskey on the rocks? No.”
Again, I didn’t know what to say at first because cosmos and mojitos aren’t exactly the most manly drinks. I’m used guys ordering bourbon straight or a pale ale of some type. Not something that came in pink or green with fruit flavors added.
“Um okay,” I said hesitantly. “The grapefruit cosmos are supposed to be really good. In fact, I’m having one right now,” I said, indicating the drink at my elbow. “Do you want a taste before ordering?”
He squinched his nose again. Again, Bryan was really handsome but his odd habits and gestures had a way of making him look like a jumpy rabbit.
“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t like sharing straws, so no thanks.”
I sat completely still for a moment, just looking at him. Was this guy for real? Were we in kindergarten or something? But things just went from bad to worse because when the server came around, he leered at her before ordering a mojito and a cosmo.
“Make it quick!” he ordered. “I need my drinks.”
And unfortunately, that sentence pretty much summed up Bryan’s approach to life. The guy was a raging alcoholic, and proceeded to guzzle non-stop for the hour we were together. He went through a couple more cocktails before ordering a seltzer water and then passing out on the bar.
What do I do now? I texted Renee in a panic. Bryan’s slumped on the counter and snoring like a dog.
Do you have Uber on your phone? she texted back.
Yes, but how do I get him from the bar to the car?
Ask the driver, she typed back. The drivers are usually really helpful.
And fortunately, my Uber driver was really nice. Mohammed actually came into the venue and helped me haul Bryan into the backseat before strapping him in securely. I thanked him profusely and added a thirty percent tip, which probably wasn’t going to be enough given that there was a very real chance that Bryan might puke in the back of the sedan.
But at least the man was off my hands and I walked the five blocks back to my apartment, feet aching in the high heels. Much use they’d been. Bryan hadn’t even noticed my shoes, much less appreciated the high arch and the way they made my legs look longer. All he’d seen was the bottom of his drinks and I was thankful to finally get home and sit on my couch.
I looked longingly over at my most recent romance novel. I’ve been a fan of Judy Wright, a historical romance author, since I was a teen and I’d splurged twenty-five bucks to buy her new release in hardback. Why oh why had I ever thought going out with a strange man would be a good idea when I could have stayed home with my newest bodice ripper? At least there was no chance that anyone would puke on my shoes or force me into some uncomfortable situation while reading a book.
But at least these things are easily remedied. I was home now and comfortably ensconced on my couch, so I reached over to the book, turning to page fifteen. Ah, here we go. The hero, Magnus, was just about to disrobe the virginal heroine, Amelia, and she was squirming and crying, yet really wanting it. I read, eyes wide, for a few paragraphs because Judy Wright has a way of making the words leap off the page, and suddenly I desperately wanted to be Amelia with a handsome Roman soldier ready to rip off my clothes.
But the tingling in my pussy worked two ways because on the one hand, all I wanted to do was to read more. After the horrendous date with Bryan, I felt entitled to have some quality one-on-one time with myself, writhing and mewling on the couch as I followed Magnus and Amelia to climax.
But on the other, I felt pathetic as well because I desperately wanted a real man. Not some made up imaginary hero who wore a loincloth while fighting lions in the gladiator arena. Not some muscular Scottish Highlander who had an uncanny way of seducing virgins and making them melt all over his cock their first time. I needed a man who would appreciate a BBW with real curves and a sarcastic sense of humor.
In short, I needed a man-to-order.
Throwing my book aside, I sat up abruptly on the couch. Why not dial a date? In the city, you can get just about anything delivered to your door, from take-out, to puppies, to illegal drugs. Why not order a handsome man and have him service me? It’d be just the solution to the disaster that was my romantic life.