The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  “It sounds amazing. I wish I could go there someday. I have a passport but no stamps yet.”

  “No? Maybe other countries aren’t ready for you just yet,” Lance said with a wink.

  “That or I haven’t had the money saved up for it, but I will. I’ll get that stamp.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  I took a sip of my margarita that I was really starting to enjoy. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

  “Promise,” he said and grabbed my leg to give it a light squeeze. My lady bits shivered from his touch.

  “I really want to go to the Icelandic coast. I’ve always been fascinated with the Northern Lights and trips to Iceland are actually affordable. I think it would be such a beautiful and fun trip.”

  “Why would I make fun of you for picking Iceland? My buddy went there for a week, and when he came back, he showed me the pictures he took, and I was jealous. It’s gorgeous there.”

  “It really is, at least from what I’ve seen from Google.”

  “Why did you think I’d make fun of you?” His hand went to my hair and started twisting it absentmindedly. Good God, he was pulling out all the stops tonight, touching me in every way possible, and damn if I wasn’t loving every single touch.

  “I feel like when you usually ask someone where they want to go, anywhere in the world, they answer someplace exotic. Not many people want to go to Iceland.”

  “True.” He chuckled. “But that’s what makes you so unique. You’re not like everyone else, Rosie.” And for most of my life, I've thought that was detrimental. Yet the way he said I wasn't like everyone else made it seem like he’d known me for a while. But how was that possible?

  The way he said his statement made it seem like he’s known me for a while when in fact, we really didn’t know each other at all.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You can ask me anything.” He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, lightly kissing my knuckles. His gestures were sweet, and in some ways, he reminded me of Henry. But this guy is interested in me. Likes me.

  “Why did you want to ask me out? I feel like we don’t know each other at all, and this date came out of the blue . . . not that it’s a bad thing. I guess I’m curious.”

  “I can understand that,” he answered with a devilish grin. “To be honest, I’m kind of shy, so when I first met you, I brushed you off because I was too nervous to go up to you. Rosie, you’re drop-dead gorgeous and the first time I saw you, I was hooked. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to get on another photo shoot with you. Once I found out you were writing up the Maine Coon interview, I made sure to be there.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling a little flabbergasted.

  “Really. I like you, Rosie, a lot and if I’m putting myself out there, I have to tell you, I’ve read all of your cat articles.” An adoring look crossed his face, making me laugh.

  “What fine literature you’ve chosen to read.”

  “I know more about cats than I would prefer, but I think you’re a great writer, even if some articles are about the most effective ways to clean hairballs.”

  “Yea, the pictures for that article were a little intense for my liking.”

  “They were a bit rough.” He nodded and smiled.

  Sincerely, I said, “Thank you for reading my articles, even if they’re not the most riveting.”

  “Hey, I learned something.” He shrugged. “Do you want to work somewhere else?”

  Starting to grow nervous, since I hadn’t really talked about my life aspirations with anyone but Delaney and Henry, I contemplated telling him what I really wanted to do. He seemed like he would be cool with me being a romance novelist.

  Sometimes I worried what people would think if I told them I was interested in writing sex, writing romance, writing about that all-consuming power called love. I felt like there was a stereotype in the world for people who read romance novels. Some people depicted romance readers as sad ladies sitting in the corner of their house, wearing a torn-up sweater while eating chocolates and petting their cats, but that’s not the case at all. There was a whole community out there who loved love, who loved romance . . . and I’m one of them. It’s a world I loved living in, where there were happily ever afters offered to even the unimaginable. Where the odd girl gets the good-looking guy and where chivalry wasn’t lost. I knew it couldn’t all be true, that life wasn’t as grand as some novels made it out to be, but I still loved every single story because it was an escape from reality, a moment in time where you daydreamed of the impossible, where there was a chance of watching true love unfold right in front of you.

  Sigh.

  “Rosie?”

  “Oh sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m actually writing a romance novel. Well, trying to.”

  “Wow, really? That’s pretty cool. Does your hero have glasses and take pictures of cats?”

  “Something like that.” Right now it certainly is. I laughed while I finished off my margarita. “Want to go back to bowling?” I told him I was writing a book, but I didn’t think I was comfortable enough explaining the fine details of my riveting novel, because I saw the look in his eyes: he was curious. I feared he’d start talking about sex, and I wasn’t prepared for that. I could barely talk about sex with Henry, let alone a guy I was interested in.

  “Sure. Do you need some tips to keep your ball from staying out of the gutter?” he teased.

  “Probably. I’ve never been particularly athletic. I’m surprised I can even pick up the ball.”

  “Its six pounds.” He laughed.

  “That’s why my arm is tired.”

  Shaking his head at me, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me to our lane where his friends were no longer lounging. They’d dispersed, which was nice because I far more comfortable when it was just Lance. I felt quite intimidated around his friends.

  “Ladies first, Rosie,” Lance said.

  “All right, I got this.”

  I walked to the ball holder and grabbed my bright pink, six-pound ball, stuck my thumb in, and walked to the line. I was about to prepare to bowl when I felt Lance stand behind me and speak softly in my ear. His voice had chills running up and down my skin.

  “Can I give you a pointer?”

  “Please,” I answered a little too breathlessly.

  His hands were splayed on my shoulders and his mouth was practically kissing my ear. Good heavens, my muscles contracted below and the heat in my body immediately sky-rocketed.

  “Do you see those little arrows on the alley?” Uhh . . . arrows? All I could think about was the pass of his lips over my ear. “You want to line up your hand with those arrows and make sure your hand flows straight through them. Think you can do that?”

  “Seems simple,” I replied with some confidence, despite the war of arousal my body was fighting.

  “Good. You got this, Rosie.” He leaned in more and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before pulling away. What a flirt.

  My entire lady region was alive and awake, letting me know she still existed, and in fact she had a well-working libido, which was now spiked, thanks to Lance’s little intimate act. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I wanted to actually toss my ball down the alley and run into his arms. I wanted more kisses and not just on my cheek.

  Concentrating on what Lance said, rather than dry-humping his leg, I brought my arm back and walked to the edge of the alley. With a strong thrust, I threw my arm forward and released the ball. I watched with my hands linked together, promise of a strike in my eyes, as the ball went straight into the gutter.

  “Damn.”

  I turned to look at Lance, who had a giant grin on his face but was shaking his head as well. He walked to me and lifted my chin while pulling me into his chest. My hands went instinctively to his hips, and I could feel myself start to shake from the close contact. I wish I could be one of those girls who wasn’t affected by close intimacy. But I was nervous, one hundred
percent, a sweaty hot mess of nerves.

  “That was a good try.”

  “It was kind of pathetic.”

  “It kind of was.” He chuckled. “You got this next one though. Remember straight arm and get lower to the ground, that might help.”

  “Got it, straight arm and low to the floor.”

  He rubbed my cheek with his thumb and then pulled away. I wanted to cry and tell him to come back, but I held on to my self-respect, turned around and got my ball.

  With confidence, I got in position, looked at the arrows, and then walked toward the alley as my arm swung back. I squatted down, as low as I could go, and threw the ball forward just as I heard a loud rip and a gush of air go straight up my vagina.

  What.

  The.

  Hell.

  There comes a time in a girl’s life when the world freezes in place and she reflects on her current life situation.

  That moment for me was right now.

  I stood there, melted in place, a contemplative look on my face. Confused, on the verge of being mortified as I tried to comprehend the reason for a short burst of air between my legs.

  It shouldn’t ever be breezy down there.

  Never. Unless . . .

  I froze in place as I tried to will time to rewind because, I was pretty sure I just split my pants from vagina to the Great and Powerful Asshole.

  Some onlookers might have thought I was freezing my bowling pose by my frozen state, but little did they know. I was trying to mentally plan my escape, calling up Scotty to beam me the hell out of the bowling alley.

  Too bad Scotty was retired now, the bastard.

  What the hell was I supposed to do? Get up? If I got up, I’d have to explain what the hell just happened, and I wasn’t ready for that, but then again, I was wearing a thong and right now, I was squatting, meaning . . .

  Holy shit.

  I stood straight as a rod and turned around quickly, hiding my butt from Lance so only the pins could see the mess that was my backside.

  Out of all the days to choose to wear a thong. It was my punishment—it had to be.

  There were moments in a person’s life where you really thought if you died, the situation in front of you wouldn’t be better. That was how I felt because all I could think about was my newly bleached asshole and it lighting up like the damn North Star under the black lights. Wasn’t sure if it was possible but if it was, it would happen to me. With my luck, three kings would be walking through the door any minute now with presents for Virginia, a camel harnessed outside chewing on a bale of hay, and the luxury of frankincense and myrrh in my near future.

  “You got two pins,” Lance cheered as he walked toward me, causing me to walk backward. He couldn’t come close to me. How the hell was I going to get out of this? “What’s wrong?” Lance looked concerned. “Careful,” he called out as I continued to back up. “You don’t want to—”

  With one wrong step, I felt the grip of my shoe seize and slip on the greasy alley.

  My legs twisted, my arms flailed, my dignity scrambled, and right when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, my legs flew out from under me and I fell backward, legs spread and up in the air, exposing my ripped crotch and matching neon-green thong.

  To hold on to that last ounce of self-respect I had left, I clenched my ass cheeks tightly together just in case the Great and Powerful tried to peek through.

  “Oh shit,” Lance said while grabbing my arms and pulling me into his chest. He walked me to the seats and crouched in front of me.

  I clenched my legs tight and buried my head in my hands.

  “I split my pants,” I muttered in mortification.

  “It’s okay.” He rubbed the top of my thighs. “Believe me, I’ve done it too, right in the middle of a photo shoot where everyone saw my package fall right out of my jeans.”

  “Your balls?” I asked, peeking through my hands.

  Laughing, he nodded. “Yes, my balls. I don’t tend to wear underwear, so when I split my pants, everyone got a great view of the hanging twins.”

  A small smile spread across my face but I was still mortified. This was something I wouldn’t get over easily. I split my pants in front of my date. My very hot date who was actually into me.

  “Here, take my cardigan, wrap it around your waist, and we will get you home so you can change. How does that sound?”

  I just nodded, took his cardigan and wrapped it around my waist, wanting to wilt and sit in a dark hole all by myself.

  The date was over. I didn’t talk much as we took a cab to my apartment. I stared out the window, completely removing myself from the present. There was nothing I could really say. I was humiliated for many reasons.

  When we pulled up in front of my apartment, Lance kindly told the cabbie to wait as he walked me to my door.

  We reached the front of the apartment and I started pulling off his cardigan, but he stopped me.

  “Give it back to me on our next date.”

  “You want another date?”

  “Of course. Do you think a tear in the pants is going to deter me? Come on, Rosie. I’m better than that. I like you, a lot. It’s kind of cute what happened.”

  “How is that cute? You saw my Virginia.”

  Throwing his head back and laughing, he said, “You’re Virginia? Oh that’s amazing. And no, I didn’t see your Virginia. I did see a pretty hot piece of underwear though.”

  Look at him being so kind to me, made everything feel that much worse.

  He gathered me closer and pressed his hands on my lower back, bringing me into his chest. One of his hands moved to my cheek where he ran his thumb gently.

  “See me again?”

  “No more bowling?” I asked with a slight smile, warming from his touch.

  “No bowling,” he agreed.

  I watched as he pulled me in closer and my breath caught in my chest as his head lowered to mine. I quickly wet my lips and pressed my hands against his chest as his lips connected with mine. The hand on my back moved to my neck and into my hair, making every single nerve ending in my body stand on end.

  His soft lips played with mine, providing me confidence, so I ran my hands up his chest and linked my hands together behind his neck to hold on better. I felt him moving me backward and let him as he pressed me against the side of my building and deepened our kiss.

  So, I’d been kissed before but nothing like this, nothing that made my toes curl, that made Virginia cry out in joy, that had me wanting to rip the man’s clothes off. Was this what it felt like to feel randy? To feel completely out of control? To need a man so badly that you were going to claw his clothes right off?

  It was.

  Welcome to the real world, Rosie. This was what all those books I read were talking about: all-consuming passion.

  Just when I was settling in for a long night of lips locked on the stoop of my apartment building, Lance pulled away looking a little dazed, a look I was most likely sporting as well.

  He touched my cheek again and said, “I’ll call you, Rosie.”

  I just nodded, unable to work my voice past the thumping of my heart in my throat.

  Once the cab left, I ran upstairs into my room and shut my door. I needed to write in my journal, and talking to my friends was something I wanted to avoid at the moment.

  I was on such a high, I really didn’t want to rehash everything, I wanted to revel in the kiss I just shared, on the stoop of my apartment, while I stood under the stars with an incredibly sexy man with . . . my ripped pants. Well, every other part of that picture was sexy.

  June 6, 2018

  Pretty sure I almost had an orgasm today just from Lance’s lips. He is so sexy and understanding and sweet. There has to be something wrong with him because there is no way a guy that amazing could be that perfect, but for now, I won’t dwell on what could be wrong. Because HOLY CRAP, I was just kissed senseless. That kiss made up for an almost shining appearance from the North Star.

 
; Note to self: check pants longevity before wearing them on dates, because they are bound to rip if they’re old. Plus, never get asshole bleached again—bad decisions all around.

  Chapter Nine

  Man-Milk Mutilator

  I was able to avoid my roommates all night last night but now that it was Sunday morning and they were starting to trickle out of their rooms from their slumbers, all avoidance was impossible. Henry was wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and that was it. His hair was pushed to the side from his pillow, creating a rather hilarious bedhead effect. Delaney walked out of her room wearing a long shirt and her pink slippers.

  Together, they traveled like zombies straight to the coffee maker where there was some fresh brew waiting for them. I was that nice.

  I sat on one of the kitchen stools, watching them while sipping on my own cup of coffee. I waited for the caffeine to touch their lips to see them light up and realize I was in the kitchen, waiting for their questions.

  As usual, Henry was the first one to perk up since it always took Delaney longer. He rubbed the side of his hair and gave me a lazy smile.

  “Good morning, love. How was the date? I tried asking you last night but you were already asleep. I hope everything went well.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled over my coffee cup.

  Henry stopped in his tracks, mug halfway to his mouth when he said, “Did you lose your virginity?”

  Is he insane?

  “No! Really, Henry? On the first date?” I laughed from the look on his face.

  Relief flashed through his eyes as he settled in next to me.

  “From the look on your face, you can’t blame me for asking. So what happened?”

  “He kissed me,” I said with a bright smile, still remembering how it felt to be held by Lance, to have his lips on mine, demanding more.