The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  A devious smile was plastered on her face as she walked out of the building.

  Motherfucker!

  I ran my hand over my face, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of me. I tried to tell myself not to let her get in my head, that she was just throwing me off my game—job well done.

  She had nothing. Her campaign wasn’t nearly as clean-cut and refined as mine. I had statistics to back up my presentation; I had proof in the pudding that my campaign was the clear-cut choice.

  But there was that annoying voice in the back of my head, that voice of self-doubt that told me maybe I didn’t have it all figured out. Maybe the past month had been a waste of time, spending long nights at the office when I could have been wining and dining the clients.

  Shit.

  I’d never thought about a working relationship with them. I’d assumed I was a likeable human who could get along with any client, a little self-absorbed, yes, but I hadn’t had any complaints yet.

  Work weighed heavily on me as I faltered in the entryway of my office building. I looked at the elevators and contemplated going back to my cube to double-check everything. Even though the thought of going to my cube crossed my mind, I knew it was useless. Tomorrow was the reveal; there was nothing else I could do. The decision was in the board’s and Legacy’s hands now.

  The walk home was lonely. I kept kicking myself in the ass for not thinking about meeting with the clients more. What the hell had I been thinking?

  Clearly, I hadn’t been. I’d been off my game, and there was only one reason: Rosie.

  She’d changed me, helped me relax, allowed me to love so deeply, and I’d become lost in the world we were living in. There was no doubt in my mind I had been distracted, especially by the sex.

  Sex. Fuck did I miss it.

  I missed getting lost in Rosie’s scent, in her touch, in the sexy little sound she made when she came.

  I wasn’t ready to have sex with her until she saw a doctor, though. I didn’t want to chance anything. I just needed this whole campaign to be over so I could put my sole focus on my girl. One more fucking day and this would all be over. I’d seen the hurt in her eyes when I’d asked for a week to sort things out. God, she knew me better than to think it was about us. But how bleak she’d looked. I wanted this behind us so we could move forward. I loved her, and I wanted us back.

  “Drop it. I’m not kidding,” Rosie shouted, as I walked in the apartment.

  She was holding a rolling pin in one hand, making whacking gestures, and a colander in the other. She was wearing one of my T-shirts and her hair looked like it shook strands with an electrical outlet. Her bare feet bounced up and down on the hardwood floor while she made scooping motions with the colander.

  “You little spikey-dicked bastard. Give me the penis crown and I won’t have to try to strain you through this colander.”

  “What’s going on, love?” I asked, shutting the door and startling her.

  She clenched her behind from the sound of the door closing and then turned in my direction. She had mascara dripping down her cheeks and her eyes were beet red. My heart sunk.

  “What’s going on?” she screamed, waving the rolling pin in the air. “What’s going on is that hairy monster over there won’t give me the penis crown. He thinks he won it during our test drive of pin the penis on Derk, but I tried to tell him there was no crown prize. He begs to differ. Now he’s just rubbing his win in my face by parading around with it. How could I lose to a cat? I should know where a penis goes.”

  Confused, I looked at the wall and saw a life-sized picture of Derk hung up by tacks. There was a scratch mark where Derk’s crotch was—my guess was that was Sir Licks-a-Lot’s placement, and then there was a cutout penis stuck near Derk’s nipple.

  “Don’t judge me. I spun around too many times. Maybe if we actually had sex every once in a while, I might know where a penis actually goes. This is all your fault.” She pointed the rolling pin at me. “If you actually drained your vein in me—”

  “Don’t say that.” I shook my head.

  “Oh, was that too crude for you?” She was certifiable right now. I reminded myself why she was losing it. She was stressed from the party; she was most likely horny . . . she was pregnant.

  She was pregnant, she was pregnant, she was pregnant.

  Instead of arguing with her, I set my bag and suit jacket down and walked carefully over to Sir Licks-a-Lot, who started purring at my approach. He leapt into the air, penis crown still in his mouth, and landed in my arms. I took the crown from him and allowed him to rub his head against my five o’clock shadow. I glanced at Rosie, whose mouth was wide open in a look of complete disbelief.

  She crossed her hands over her chest and started tapping her toe on the ground. “Oh, so you’re making out with the cat now? Fantastic.”

  Kitchen utensils flew in the air as she tossed her weapons to the side and sat on the floor next to a pile of penis paraphernalia. Mumbles of discontent flew from her as bags were aggressively stuffed with bachelorette party items.

  Secretly, I gave Sir Licks-a-Lot a quick pet—didn’t want to be caught fraternizing with the enemy—and then set him down before slowly walking toward the ball of rage stewing on the apartment floor.

  Ever so carefully, I knelt down next to her and placed my hand on her leg. The minute our skin made contact, her head snapped in my direction, and I swear to all that was holy, she developed fangs and growled at me.

  Startled, I backed off, watching her practically ripping each bag while she stuffed them in indignation.

  “Can I help you with anything?” I asked, ready to be yelled at.

  “Oh, you want to help now? How convenient.”

  Deep breaths, I kept telling myself.

  “Rosie, I’m sorry I’m late, and I’m sorry that Sir Licks-a-Lot beat you at pin the penis. He’s a tough competitor. He was at more of an eye level with the crotch . . . it was easier for him.”

  The destructive stuffing slowed down as I spoke.

  “If it helps, I think he cheated. Did you even see if he closed his eyes?”

  Rosie pondered my question for a second while tapping her chin with her index finger. “I didn’t get a good look. I was so fascinated with his paw going straight for the crotch.” Rosie slammed the bags on the ground and pointed her finger at Sir Licks-a-Lot, who was mid-tongue-to-balls. “Rematch!”

  Before I could say one word, Rosie jumped off the ground, yanked her pinned nipple penis off the wall and said, “Get over here, ball licker. We are going to have a rematch, and guess what? Henry is going to judge and make sure you follow the rules this time.” She glanced over at me and said, “What are you waiting for; come spin me.”

  Honestly, was this normal pregnant behavior? If so, I feared for all men around the country. Right now, I had a tense and angry girlfriend, waiting to pin a penis to a wall and challenging a cat to a contest only a human could really win—but somehow she’d lost.

  Even though the situation was completely nuts, I played along. I didn’t want any more anger directed at me. So, I grabbed Sir Licks-a-Lot and held him while I dictated the penis-pinning rules.

  “All right, each contestant will get spun five times. Eyes must be closed, and there will be no feeling around allowed. Where your hand/paw lands on the wall is where you place your penis. Understood?”

  Rosie nodded and rubbed her hands together, while cracking her neck to the side. Sir Licks-a-Lot licked his paw and brushed his head. He understood.

  “There will be one round, final death. Whoever pins the penis closest to Derk’s crotch wins . . .” Not sure what the prize was, I leaned to whisper to Rosie. “What are the stakes?”

  She raised her fist in the air and said, “Penis pinning rights.”

  “Oh, of course.” I cleared my throat. “Whoever is closest to the crotch wins penis pinning rights of the apartment. Contestants, please shake on the terms.”

  Rosie turned up her nose at the idea, but
reluctantly grabbed Sir Licks-a-Lot’s paw and shook it.

  “His foot is soft, like a creepily padded pillow,” she said before pulling away and putting her game face on. “And with that, you’re going down, ginger puss.”

  I shook my head at the ridiculousness. “Who’s going to go first?”

  “I will.” Rosie raised her hand and shut her eyes, ready to be spun.

  I set the cat down, who went back to licking himself, and gripped Rosie’s shoulders. I pressed a light kiss against her cheek to sweeten her up and whispered in her ear, “You got this, love. No competition.”

  “Spin me.”

  I did just that. I carefully spun her, making sure not to make her nauseous. The last thing I needed was Rosie puking everywhere and then crying the rest of the night about it.

  After five counts of very steady spinning, I pointed her directly in front of the blowup picture of Derk, so she couldn’t miss. The minute I let go, her hand sprung forward and placed the dick right near Derk’s belly button. Pretty damn close.

  She instantly opened her eyes and started cheering for herself. “Ha! Eat that, you four-legged freak.” She moonwalked right into the wall behind her, stumbling once she made contact.

  I reached out to steady her, my heart pounding at a faster rate from her almost falling over. “You have to be careful, Rosie.” I held on to her. “You can’t be bumping into things and falling over.”

  She gave me a questioning look. “You’re being weird. Get the cat up here; it’s his turn, and if I try to grab him he’ll scratch off my face.”

  I gave her one more once-over, observing her stance. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She sounded annoyed. “I bumped into a wall; I didn’t fall into an abyss. Now, let’s get this competition going. Stop stalling.”

  “Okay.” Like the dutiful boyfriend I was, I picked up Sir Licks-a-Lot and placed him in front of blowup Derk. I had no clue how this was going to work, so I carefully spun him around in five circles and then covered his face with my hand so he couldn’t see.

  We stared at him as he sat right in front of the poster . . . unmoving. I waited in anticipation for him to lift his paw, but he was stagnant; it didn’t even look like he was breathing.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is this what he did last time?”

  Rosie shrugged. “I didn’t spin him last time. I just let him swipe.”

  I bent over, with my hand over a cat’s eyes while I waited for it to swat at my best friend’s crotch. This was beyond stupid.

  Talk about one’s life changing once they were in a relationship. I never thought I would spend my Friday nights with a pregnant girlfriend and a cat whose favorite pastime was licking his junk.

  But, here I was, and guess what? I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  “Should we call it a forfeit?”

  Rosie shushed me and then whispered. “No, he’s thinking. I can tell in the way his ears are tilted back. I’ve spent enough time with this cat to know when he’s about to move. Just give it a second.”

  Out of nowhere, Sir Licks-a-Lot lifted his paw and swatted Derk’s crotch, right on the mark, leaving a wet paw print on the picture.

  Both Rosie and I stood there, flabbergasted by his uncanny accuracy. I kind of wanted to applaud the cat, give him a high paw, because damn was he good.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Rosie’s chest start to rise and fall at a rapid rate, and I prepared for the worst. My shoulders tightened up, I squinted and waited for the tidal wave of emotion from losing to a cat at pin the penis once again.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rosie yelled. I knew it wasn’t good, because she never swore. Arms pumping, she power-walked to the penis piñata, where she booted it straight into the air and then stormed off to the bedroom, the door slamming behind her.

  I glanced at a smug looking Sir Licks-a-Lot and said, “Thanks. You just made my night exponentially harder.” I couldn’t help it, though. The cat had skills, so I leaned over and gave him knuckles. To my surprise he lifted his paw and met my hand halfway. “Got to hand it to you, bud, you nailed that crotch.”

  The boys of the apartment had to stick together when the pregnant demon was storming around.

  Turning toward the bedroom, I took a deep breath and made the deathly walk to hell. It felt like lava and fire were booming next to me as I drew closer and closer to the bedroom door. I could hear pounding on the other side with the faint sounds of swearing. The only reason I decided to go in was because I was afraid she might cause harm to the baby; otherwise, I would have let her figure out her devastating loss by herself.

  Preparing for the worst, I let myself into the pit of lava-filled hell. Just as I suspected, on the other side was Rosie losing her damn mind. Straddling my pillow, she threw blow after blow with her fists to the feather-down cocoon. I prayed she didn’t ruin the shape.

  “Uh, hey, love. Everything okay?”

  Her entire body contorted into something I’d only seen from The Exorcist, and danger danced in her eyes as she stared me down. A deep voice bellowed out of her, scaring me right out of my socks. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

  The scene was straight out of a horror film. Sweet woman mutated and possessed so now she spoke the devil’s tongue in a dark and scary voice. The kind of voice that you heard and swore snakes popped out of their mouth when they spoke.

  My lip trembled as I tried to gain my composure. Sweat kissed the back of my neck and the urge to pee was overwhelming. I backed away from the pillow-beating Beelzebub and held up my hands.

  “Um, I’m just going to let you finish up here. I’ll be in the living room, stuffing bags, if you need me.”

  Without turning my back on her, I quickly made my way out of the bedroom and shut the door, only to hear her start to beat my pillow again. I prayed she wasn’t envisioning my face while she was punching.

  Needing to calm my nerves, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then settled down on the floor, where I started to pack the bags for the bachelorette party. I didn’t dare turn on the TV to watch the sports highlights, in fear that the monster might spring from the room, claws and fangs exposed.

  In silence, I packed, and Sir Licks-a-Lot put on a delightful show of tongue to crotch for me. His gnawing noise was the cherry on top of the deranged cake.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Penis Allergies Please

  ROSIE

  Last night wasn’t my best showing.

  I let losing to a cat get to me. Instead of storming off in pure, unfiltered rage, I should have shaken hand in paw with the feline and congratulated him on a job well done.

  But I didn’t do that.

  Despite my best efforts to not take the loss to heart, I ended up punting a hole through the bottom of the penis piñata that Henry had to patch up this morning before heading to work—again—and relentlessly beating Henry’s pillow until I passed out on the bed, ass up in the air and arms spread out like a T. I know this because Henry took a picture of me last night and showed me this morning.

  Normally, I would have laughed. Instead, I chucked his phone across the room. I watched it skid across the floor until it hit the kitchen wall. I was so shocked at my reaction that I ran into the bathroom, locked myself away, and got ready for my doctor’s appointment.

  Thank God for phone cases, because before I left the apartment, I checked to make sure his phone was okay and apologized. He was very forgiving, kissed me on the forehead, and sent me on my way. I told him I had some last-minute bachelorette party things to attend to, rather than tell him about my appointment. I couldn’t spare another eye-roll from him.

  I knew he was stressed, I was stressed, the cat was stressed . . . it was one giant stress ball in our apartment, and the last thing I wanted to do was get all emotional again over my heavy purple vagina. I felt sure that one more insane outburst from me would grant me a one-way ticket to singles-ville. Why the man hadn’t left me yet was beyond me, especially after
last night’s episode.

  Pretty sure I earned my grade-A certificate to the insane asylum.

  Something to be proud of.

  All self-respect I once had for myself derailed and flew off into the void, never to be found again. Whenever I tried to find it, I struck out big time, and usually wound up making a bigger ass of myself.

  The one good thing that happened today was Wendy hooked me up with her editor. She was going through the first round of edits. Wendy thought it would be a good idea for me to self-publish, because it gave me more control, and I could start to get my name out there. She talked about starting up a separate Facebook page, a website with my own domain, and a Goodreads profile. I had no clue what any of that was, but I had a feeling I’d find out quickly. She was the driving force behind my book right now; without her, it would probably still be on my computer, ten chapters in and no resolution for poor Meghan, left only with a good fart to the face of one of the suitors trying to pursue her.

  “Rosie,” a nurse called out into the waiting room.

  I gathered my things and followed her to the doctor’s office, straight to the scale, where I began to sweat. I knew the number she’d read out loud wouldn’t settle well with me, so I tried to weasel my way out of this portion of the exam.

  “I don’t think we need to weigh me. I can tell you I’m a cool one twenty-five.” I sucked in the gut flopping over my yoga pants, but she wasn’t falling for it.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but we have to weigh everyone.” She tapped the scale, indicating for me to follow directions.

  “Um, okay. Hold on.” I dropped my purse, took off my shoes, socks, scarf, and even undid my ponytail to get rid of the weight of the rubber band . . . anything to help that number.

  “You ready?” The nurse looked at me weird.

  “Sure, but please note, I had a bagel this morning, so I might be a little heavier than normal.” I stepped one foot on the scale, secretly keeping the other foot on the floor, but applying just enough pressure to reach that one twenty-five mark. “Ah, see, I told you. What a lovely number, don’t you think?”