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"My outlaw's dick is ... perfect," Lisa sighed happily. "Have I showed you the picture of it yet?" She digs out her phone and flips through it, looking for the pic in question. I have to admit, I want to see it, if only to give myself something to fantasize about tonight.
"Roger!" Ashley finally says excitedly.
I swing my head to look at her, the whole world moving a little more than it probably should've with that movement – damn iced tea – and stare.
"What?" Even Lisa is staring at her.
"Roger! That's what I named my dildo," she says triumphantly.
"Who names their dildo 'Roger'?" I demand. "That is the least imaginative name on the planet!"
She just shrugs. "I'd just met a hot guy named Roger. I mean, nothing like Apollo, but he was cute. I figured it was just as good as any name."
I just look at her skeptically. It most definitely is not as good as any name. It is an awful name. It's a horrendous name. It's a terrible name. She should be ashamed of that—
"Here it is!" Lisa held her phone out and waggled it at me. "Look! I told you he was huge."
Oh.
My.
God.
There is no way a cock like that fits inside a person.
I mean, I'm sure how huge her screen is doesn't help anything, but even that aside ...
"He's a monster," I breathe, staring endlessly at the screen. I can't tear my eyes away. It's mesmerizing ...
She pulls it back to stare down at it with a naughty grin, and I could just see she is replaying their last fucking in her mind. Eeewww...I love Lisa and all, but I really don't want to think about her fucking. There are some things I just don’t want in my head, KWIM?
I push away from the table.
"I gotta head out," I slur, and kissing Ashley and Lisa on the cheeks, I take the elevator to the main floor, which totes messes with my stomach; have you ever been drunk on an elevator? You feel like you're flying—and then out onto the street. I hesitate for a minute, trying to decide whether to text for an Uber or walk home, and finally decide to hell with it, I'll go for a walk. It's a damn nice day – not muggy or cold or windy or snowing, which has to be some sort of New York City weather miracle – so I might as well enjoy it, right? Plus, it'll give me a chance to burn off some of this alcohol.
Home, in Turtle Bay, is like 30 blocks away, so I guess it's a good thing I'm wearing my Tieks instead of stilettos, right? I take off down the street toward Grand Central, enjoying the bustle of New Yorkers passing me – god, I really am drunk if I'm waxing on about how pleasant I find other New Yorkers – when suddenly, someone runs smack into the back of me.
"What the fuck?" I slur-yell, my Louis Vuitton purse swinging and then it's gone from my arm! Some punk ass kid with a black hoodie pulled up over his head is taking off down the street with my precious Louis Vuitton!
I take off running after him.
"Stop! You goddamn thief, come back here!"
I should probably save my breath so I can run faster, but shit, I can't keep quiet. That man just stole my fucking purse!
As I run, my drunk legs wobbling underneath me with every step, I suddenly hear weird noises. Like, it's New York City, right? I'm used to noises. But this ... this isn't something I've ever heard before.
My head whips around just in time to see...
A cowboy on a horse come tearing past me, a lasso spinning above his head.
How drunk am I?
42
Chase
"God, are they ever going to show up?" Jason asks, hooking a boot as he leans up against the horse trailer. "Finding a parking spot here in New York is fucking insane, and I'm pretty sure the meter maid is going to notice us soon. We either need to keep going or someone needs to show up."
