The Randy Romance Novelist (21 page)

“Then, what is it? Do I smell? I take a shower every day. Douching isn’t good for you.”

“Stop,” Henry chuckled. “I’ve been busy, Rosie. Busy and I’m tired. I just needed a break.”

“A break from me?” I gasped, horrified.

He clung onto me tighter. “No, I just needed time to collect my head. I’m going through some things at work right now. I’m afraid . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to figure out his words. “I’m afraid I will disappoint you, okay? So just give me some time to figure things out.”

I’ve known Henry for a long time, and I could pretty much understand anything he tried to tell me, but right about now, I’ve never felt so confused in my life.

“I don’t understand. What are you figuring out? What’s going on at work? Is this about the party?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Give me a week, okay?”

“A week of what? No sex?”

“Just give me a week.” With that, he kissed my forehead and went into the bathroom, where he started the shower.

Give him a week? What the hell was going on? Not liking his idea, I decided he could take his week and shove it up his butt!

Storming into the bathroom, I peeled off my clothes and pinned his naked body against the bathroom wall. Instead of telling me he was tired, he switched positions, brought my hands above my head and started kissing me like he couldn’t get enough. I melted into the wall as his lips explored mine and his erection pressed against my thigh.

Talk about mood swings . . . you would think the man was going through some kind of hormonal change.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he whispered across my skin.

Hurt me? When had he ever said anything like that?

“You never hurt me,” I answered back, loving the way his mouth felt against my breasts.

He ran his mouth down to below my belly button, releasing my hands and kneeling before me. “No penetration tonight, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” I asked, gripping onto the wall, so I didn’t fall over from need.

“Just in case,” was all he said before spreading my legs and pressing his mouth against my very wet and needy slit.

His weird conversation left me as I fell into a euphoric state of pleasure from the magic of his tongue. Who knew one muscle on a human’s body could bring this much pleasure?

Meerkats, Pads, and Yetis

ROSIE

“That dress is perfect, Rosie. You have to get it. Henry will die when he sees you in it.”

“You think?” I asked, checking out my reflection in the mirror. The dress was black and tight, clinging to every inch of my body. It wasn’t something I would normally wear, something Lucille Ball would never even consider. That was how I judged my apparel . . . if Lucille Ball would wear it, then so would I. But desperate times called for desperate measures in this case. “I need a better bra to wear with this dress, though.” I stared at my flattened boobs in disgust.

“Yes, well, one would think you wouldn’t wear a sports bra when going to pick out a dress, but you do prove norms wrong,” Delaney mocked.

I felt my boobs and rubbed them in a circular pattern. “They’ve been super sore lately. A bra with underwire didn’t seem appealing. I have a strapless bra with a front clasp that will work, though, super heavy underwire in it. With that, I really think I can get some lift with these puppies.” I pulled up my boobs, but cringed when they ached in my hands.

Boobs weren’t supposed to ache in my hands, they were supposed to ache with need for Henry’s hands.

“I’m sure you have a great bra. If you’re going to get that dress, you better get it now. Don’t you have that date with Wolf Fleece Wendy?”

I checked the time on my phone and squeaked. “Ahh, I’m going to be late.” I shut the dressing room door, took the dress off as quickly as possible, and put on my outfit for the day . . . yoga pants again. I did some Pinterest searches recently and found some cute ways to dress up yoga pants and leggings. Who knew scarves could make you look fancy?

My workout routine didn’t feel like it was doing anything. I went to many spin classes with Delaney, and all it did was eat up my vagina . . . and not in a good way. I thought my crotch was sore before, I didn’t think I could even sit down without a pad on if I wanted to.

Yes, I’d started wearing a pad every day to protect my area from hard benches and wooden chairs. That was why I started doing some Pinterest research. I wound up making an entire board full of ways to look cute in leggings. And yes . . . they are pants!

I tossed the dress at Delaney when I exited the dressing room and said, “Purchase that for me. I’ll pay you back.”

“You better! I’m saving my money for the stripper. I plan on showering him with ones, especially if he has big balls like I expect.”

I zipped up my boots and adjusted my scarf. “You promise that dress is good? You don’t think the fabric is too thin? It felt a little thin for a dress that’s so tight.”

“It’s perfect. I will pick you up some Spanx so they provide an extra layer under the dress.”

“Get me a large,” I called out, while waving and taking off toward the exit.

I was meeting Wolf Fleece Wendy at the Park Hyatt right across from Central Park. She had a surprise for me; I just hoped it wasn’t some kind of freaky sex party she was inviting me to.

If I was honest, I was also very nervous because I finished my book the other day and sent her the last chapter. She was going to be giving me feedback, and after the last serious critique I had, I felt like I was going to throw up.

Since the hotel was only a couple blocks away, I hoofed it across the streets of New York City, bumping into strangers as I tried to text Henry. It was a Saturday, and once again, he was at work. He was working so much that Sir Licks-a-Lot had started to whine at night; it was a real treat while writing, having a horrible screech ring through your ears every minute.

He said to give him one week, but I didn’t think I could. He still wouldn’t touch me, except going down on me before his shower, but that was it. He wouldn’t even let me touch him. I tried not to let it bother me. I tried to convince myself that he needed a week . . . for God knows what. I could make it through a week.

Typing out a text, I quickly sent it before I stepped into the extravagant hotel.

Rosie: Miss you. Can we have a date night? Maybe a little cuddle on the couch with some curry?

I put my phone in my purse, just as it buzzed back with a text message. I searched the entryway for Wolf Fleece Wendy, but didn’t see her, so I quickly read the text back from Henry.

Henry: Hopefully I can get out of here on time. Love you.

I refrained from throwing my phone at the man next to me, who found scratching his crotch something to perform for the elegant customers of the Park Hyatt.

What was I thinking? Of course Henry wouldn’t be home later. I didn’t text him back because if I did, I would lose it on him. Instead of freaking out like my entire body itched to do, I took calming breaths and looked around for Wendy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her approaching, wearing another wolf fleece. Her collection was impressive, and I think subliminally, she was turning me onto wolf wear. When I was pinning the other day, I came across some wolf T-shirts that I was tempted to check out, but refrained. Wolves were Wendy’s things. I didn’t think it would be polite to copy her, even though the wolves looked so powerful, so . . . sexual with their fangs and howling. I wondered what wolf sex was like; did they have spiky penises like cats? I made a mental note to do some research, but then checked the crazy at the door and realized what I was telling myself.

No, I would not research wolf sex. I was losing my mind, but not that much.

“Rosie, I’m so glad you’re here!” Wendy pulled me into a hug, and I didn’t balk at the new development in our relationship. I embraced it.

“Hi, Wendy. What are we doing here?” I looked around, taking in the exuberance of the hotel.

“Well, since you finished your book, I thought I would bring you to your first book signing, as a fan. You can meet some fellow authors and get an idea of what it’s like to be in this world, because believe it or not, you were born to be a part of this community.”

Emotions took over me as my tears welled up. “You really think so?”

“I do,” Wendy nodded. “I loved your book. It was unique, relatable, and sweet. It was a little crass at times, but then again, that’s comedy.”

“You didn’t think it was too much?”

Wendy nodded her head. “At times, yes, but then again, it’s fiction comedy. The way I see it, you have to look at other forms of comedy. For instance, take
Friends
as an example. The antics, the experiences they face wouldn’t normally happen to people like you and me every day, but if we wrote about our everyday lives, would it really be that humorous?”

“No, it would be kind of boring at times, but there are some instances in the book that are real life experiences.”

“Yes, exactly, and as an author of comedy, it’s your job to take that funny experience and embellish it. You did that in your book, you embellished and pushed the limits of ‘is this really possible.’ My favorite example to use is the episode of
Friends
when Ross makes himself a pair of paste pants out of lotion and baby powder. No one in their right mind would ever do that, but if the writers just said he wrapped a blanket around him and went home, it wouldn’t be nearly as funny. Instead, they turned an awful situation into one that is so funny, you can’t help but laugh and feel for the man. As writers, that’s what we need to do. In comedy, we need to make the readers laugh, we need to make them feel awkward and uncomfortable, and we need to make them relate in some way. If we are making readers experience emotion, good or bad, then we did our job at the end of the day. They might not agree with our humor, but if we made them feel, that’s all that matters.”

I felt like kissing Wolf Fleece Wendy. She was so empowering. She made me feel like I could tackle anything. She was a mentor I couldn’t have even dreamt of.

“Thank you so much, Wendy. You’ve been such an inspiration to me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Wendy cupped my cheeks and spoke with sincerity. “You’re a beautiful young woman with a huge future in front of you. Now, tell me, what is the title of your book?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still trying to figure it out. I want something unique. I was thinking of something like,
The Chronicles of Meghan
. What do you think?”

“Hate it,” Wendy laughed. “It doesn’t speak of the book. Let’s keep working on it. In the meantime, let’s go meet some authors.”

I couldn’t contain my smile. I linked my arm with Wendy’s, and I let her lead me to the elevators and the ballroom. The entire ride, we spoke of Wendy’s favorite parts in the book, the waxing scene being one of her favorites.

“Where did you even come up with the idea of the redbrick road?”

“I didn’t have to come up with the idea,” I chuckled. “That was all from experience. I itched for days!”

Wolf Shirt Wendy tossed her head back and let out a giant guffaw. “That is fantastic. I’m glad I’m old enough not to have to even worry about getting waxed.”

When the elevator doors opened, we were greeted by giant signs for the event: Authors in the Big Apple. There were hundreds of women walking around, carrying books, stacked up in carts and tucked under their arms. There were tables after tables of authors signing books with their banners up next to them, displaying their logos.

I was in book euphoria. Swag was everywhere and my little paws itched to scoop it all into my purse. Chap Stick, condoms, pens, bookmarks, bracelets, and pins. I wanted it all. I wanted to wear every single pin, I wanted to apply every Chap Stick, and I wanted to decorate my fingers with condoms.

“This. Is. AMAZING!” I cried, holding my heart while looking around, not really sure where to start. “Who’s here? Anyone I might have read?”

“Probably. This is a fantastic lineup of authors. Tickets have been sold out for a while, but thankfully I know the event coordinator and was able to secure two tickets for us. Are you ready for this?”

“Do they take credit cards?” I asked, holding up my debit card I’d magically extracted from my wallet without even knowing.

“Oh, they do. This is your lucky day!”

I fist pumped the air, nearly crushing my card with my super human book love power.

“Then let’s spend some money!”

Like a giddy little schoolgirl, I skipped along from table to table, meeting authors, grabbing every piece of swag I could find, cherishing them as my very own treasures, and buying paperbacks that I either had read, or wanted to read.

I made sure to go to every table, to introduce myself, and shake hands with some of the nicest people I had ever met. Even if I didn’t buy a paperback, they still wanted to talk to me, they wanted to know about my book, and they told me to write them if I had any questions about the process.

I had never felt so accepted in my life. On Facebook, the book groups gave me a small glimpse of what this community was like, but now, I fully understood.

Books didn’t just expand your imagination and take you into another world where reality was a far off memory. Books connected souls. Books created a common ground for everyone to walk on, no matter your background, your fortunes or misgivings, books brought readers and authors together to form an unyielding and beautiful bond.

Women could be catty at times, they could be backstabbing, and they could be straight-up trolls if they were in the mood. Not here, not in this world. This community was about empowering women and seeing your friends succeed at a daunting task: writing a book.

I never really thought about the notion until I talked to some of the authors at the signing. Writing a book wasn’t just typing out words onto your computer that twisted into a plot. It was taking a little piece of your soul and letting it bleed out for everyone to read and judge. To write a book was like capturing a moment in your life and exposing it for prying and curious eyes.