Page 171 of Catfish

And damn can he reciprocate, and it is so much better like this.

My hands grasp his biceps to hold on to something as he peppers long kisses along my cheek and towards my mouth—but then he stops right there.

“Have a good night, Miss Shelton.”

Wait...huh?

Straightening himself, he reaches for the knob of my door and bumps my ass with it to move. Then he’s gone, abandoning me in probably the most fucked I’ve been in my life.

And not in the way that makes you finish either.

? 99 Problems —Jay Z ?

I don't know if I organized a frat boy party with an obsession of Jay-Z music or a birthday party for a grown-ass man, but here I stand in the middle of a giant hall full of men and women in their twenties acting like a bunch of animals.

And when I mean animals, I’m indicating the fancy prep schools that their mommy and daddy spent their mountains of money on fell to the wayside.

I've already had to pull a group of girls off tables they wanted to use as their own private stage. Stopped two couples from fucking in the garden outside. I put an end to some glorious idea some asshole had to make a Slip ‘N Slide out of the floor in the lobby.

It’s been fun. To the point where I don’t think I ever want kids if they even come close to becoming like this.

And again, these are grown-ass adults.

Me: Help me.

Chase: With…

Chase: Just say orgasm, Sox, and I’m on my way there.

Me: I swear you just ask for the mental abuse.

Chase: I love it when you snap my big-ass head right back into reality.

Chase: What do you need help with?

Me: I can’t tell if I’m hosting a Jay-Z fan club or a birthday party for a man who has the brain of a thirteen-year-old boy.

Chase: Lifestyles of the rich and enabled.

Chase: Whose party do you have the pleasure of doing this time?

Me: I signed an NDA on this party.

Chase: For the information being withheld with what happens in this party or whom it's being done for?

Me: You sound so sexy smart when you talk lawyer to me.

Chase: Well...if that’s all it took…*eye roll*

Me: It’s for the mayor’s son.

Chase: Which mayor? I might know the asshole.

Me: For Elijah Montgomery. The mayor of Bridgeport’s son.

Chase: Don’t know him.

Chase: But since he sounds like a prick, be careful.

---