by Meghan Quinn
He looked at me as if I was crazy. I held up my hands in defense.
“You come out when you’re ready. No pressure. I’m just saying, it’s a little obvious, buddy. Your infatuation with humping my shirts and licking your own balls; there’s no hiding it. Just know, when the time comes, we will be there for you. That includes Rosie.”
I was losing it. I was talking to the cat, encouraging him to be his own person. I really had spent too much time at work in the last month.
I took a sip of my beer and was about to text her when I heard the jingle of her keys against the lock. I tried to shoo Sir Licks-a-Lot away from me because Rosie didn’t really like it when we got along, but he was set in stone. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Henry, are you home—” She stopped when she saw me on the couch. “I guess you are.”
“Hi, love.” I smiled brightly. Fuck, I’ve missed her so much.
The last month had been non-stop, so now that it was over, I felt like I could finally take a breath and enjoy my once-simple life of holding my girl every night while we watched movies.
“How was the party? Did you drink?”
“No, why do you keep asking that?” She seemed irritated.
“Just wondering. Wanted to make sure Delaney was able to get home safely. I can only imagine what she was like at the party.” Inwardly, I relaxed. I was a little worried about Rosie drinking, knowing that she was pregnant.
“She was a hot mess,” Rosie answered. She set her things down in the entryway and walked toward me, a little sway in her hips, and I wondered what she was up to. “The party was good, although I’ll be happy to never see a penis again.”
I raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed.
“I mean a penis prop, or party favor. Real-life penises, I’m good with.”
“There better be only one real-life penis you’re interested in viewing.”
“Sir Licks-a-Lots?”
At the sound of his name, he perked up.
“I love you, Rosie, but that was disturbing.”
“Yeah, I heard it after I said it.” Right in the living room, she lifted her tunic over her head and tossed it to the side. She stood there in a pair of leggings and her bra. Her pants were pulled up and over her stomach, but even in the dim light of the living room, I could tell she was showing. No wonder her pants didn’t fit the other day. My heart broke for her. Did she know and she wasn’t telling me?
She had to know . . . right?
It was Rosie . . . she was very naïve when it came to a lot of things in real life. I doubted she knew. Hell, she still went to the gym and was trying to watch what she ate, but she didn’t fool me, I caught her many nights, passed out with a package of Oreos on her stomach when I got home from working late.
“Are you ready to get naughty?” she asked, shaking her hips side to side.
“Uh, what are you talking about?” I removed Sir Licks-a-Lot from my lap and set him to the side.
“Don’t you remember our text messaging earlier, Mr. Grey?” She licked her finger—not in a sexy way, but in a full coat of saliva on the finger way—and rubbed it down the front of her chest, stopping right before her cute little pregnant belly. From the lights in the living room, I saw the trail of spit she’d left on her skin. Not the best thing I’d ever seen. Saliva wasn’t very sexy.
“Aren’t you tired?” I asked. “Must have been hard being a host to a plethora of drunk women tossing dicks around.”
She yawned, but covered it up quick by placing her hands over her face and then doing a peek-a-boo like motion, giving me air kisses through her hands. I wanted to laugh . . . a chuckle was sitting at the base of my throat, willing itself to come out, but I tamped that shit down. Laughing while she was trying to be sexy was not a good idea, especially in her state.
“Come on, big man, let’s go to the bedroom.” She quirked her finger at me, trying to draw me into her weird erotic world.
“Rosie . . .”
“Come on, jump on it.” She set up in a galloping position, whacked her ass, and went off into the bedroom.
Christ.
Sir Licks-a-Lot gave me a sideways look, and I shrugged my shoulders. If I didn’t follow her into the bedroom, she’d have a meltdown, but I was still too nervous to do anything sexually with her.
Yes, I was that guy. I knew my dick wasn’t going to bust open her cervix. I wasn’t the men she read about in her books, but I also wanted to talk to a doctor about our situation before I started digging around in there, especially since she thought her vagina was purple.
I was taking some precautionary measures. Did I miss being inside her? More than anything, but I felt like things had been so crazy lately, I just wanted to take a deep breath, propose to her, and then go from there.
“Oh, Heeennnrrry,” she started, “I’m needing some attention in here.”
I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and walked into the bedroom, where I found Rosie struggling to pull off her leggings. She looked behind her to find me approaching her.
“Oops, I didn’t expect you to come right away.” She giggled nervously. “These leggings seem to have found a home on my legs. They don’t want to come off.” She shifted from leg to leg, trying to pull them down.
The struggle was real. She tried to put a sexy flair on it, but all she ended up doing was falling over on the bed, ass up in the air.
“Ooof. Damn you,” she muttered into the mattress.
The girl had persistence.
Finally, with the finesse of a drunken man, she removed the leggings and then stood up, one hand on her hip and the other trying to find a position comfortable for her. She held her stomach for a second, but then switched to holding one of her breasts.
“Sit on the bed,” she demanded, catching her balance from her awkward movements.
I did what she said, so I could be in a position to speak to her rationally.
Liking that I followed directions, she stood in front of me and placed her hands on my shoulders, so I reciprocated the movement and gripped her hips. She was even more beautiful in the moonlight, and I savored her. She looked at me as if I was the only man she would ever be happy with. I only hoped she knew the feeling was mutual.
“Rosie, maybe we can hold—”
“Uh-uh.” her finger pressed against my lips. “No talking, only actions tonight.” Still gripping my shoulders, she spread her legs so they were shoulder width apart and then licked her lips. “Take my underwear off and smell them.”
Ehh, did I just hear her correctly? “Excuse me?”
I could see her swallow hard as she straightened up and once again, said, “Take off my underwear and smell them.”
I studied her face to see if she was serious. Not once did she smile or hint at being funny. She was one hundred percent being real with me.
“I . . . I don’t think that’s something we do with each other,” I answered, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
Her right index finger ran up my neck to my chin where she ran it up and down my lips, as if I was Bugs Bunny looking at a rather attractive bunny for the first time. What was happening?
“There is always time to try something new.” She leaned over and got in my face. “Let’s get erotic, Henry. Let’s spice things up. Men like forward women, so take off my underwear and smell them.”
This wasn’t going to go well; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I was going to sniff her underwear, even though she was dead set on the idea.
Not moving, I gripped her tighter and forced her to sit on my lap. I turned her chin so she met my eyes. “Love, we don’t need to get erotic. It’s been a long night. Why don’t we just cuddle and turn on some I Love Lucy or something? I can make you some hot chocolate.”
“I don’t want hot chocolate,” she snapped, standing up from my lap.
Oh, shit.
“I want your dick, served to me on a silver platter of orgasmic pleasure. I want you to want to rip my u
nderwear off like all the men in the books I’ve read, but not give me crack burn this time. I want the same kind of passion I write about, that I read about. It’s not there with us anymore. There is no passion. You don’t want me.” Her eyes welled, and I wondered if I should come clean. Should I go to my drawer and pull out the ring?
The thought was at the forefront of my mind when she took off her underwear and waved it in the air. “Smell them. For the love of Christian Grey, smell them. You watched the movie with me. Remember how sensual it was when he did that?”
“That was my least favorite part,” I answered, forgetting about being sensitive.
“It was one of the best parts. He cares enough about her to smell the crotch of her panties. Do you care enough about me to smell my underwear?”
I stood there, frozen, not quite sure what to say. I grabbed the back of my neck and said, “I’m a little confused why smelling someone’s day-old underwear means you care about them.”
Rosie tossed her hands in the air, throwing the underwear in frustration. “You don’t get it. It’s not about smelling underwear. It’s about wanting to smell it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Why was I poking the bear? I just didn’t understand why we were fighting over sniffing underwear.
“Fine, don’t smell it, don’t smell anything of mine. For the rest of your life, just stop smelling anything that is ever associated with me. You know what?” She pointed her finger at me. “Stop breathing through your nose right now, because you’re too close to smelling any of my essence and APPARENTLY YOU WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH MY ESSENCE,” she screamed, causing Sir Licks-a-Lot to run in place on the hardwood floor until he gained grip and shot under the bed, hiding for cover. I wanted desperately to join him.
“Rosie.” She walked away from me and headed to the closet.
“Don’t you Rosie me.” Clothes were flung from the closest, decorating the room with prints, plaids, and jeans. “I was trying to spice things up for us, Henry. It’s like we’re just roommates; people who live together and occasionally kiss because . . . why the hell not? We’re not even in a relationship. You barely talk to me anymore. I had to find out at the party that you were working on some dick-sleeve campaign.”
I walked over to the closet where she was packing a bag, and my heart seized in my chest. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving. What does it look like? We are not compatible anymore. If you didn’t want to be with me, then you should have just said it instead of doing this hot and cold relationship with me.”
“I want to be with you, Rosie.”
“Really?” she asked, lifting her tear-streaked face to me. “When we first got together, you wanted nothing more than to be inside me, to be a part of me, but now I feel like I don’t even know you. You’re living some second life at work, doing Lord knows what—”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She zipped up her bag and went to the bathroom, grabbing her cosmetics. “You know exactly what it means. How can a man just quit having sex with his girlfriend cold turkey after the amount of times we were doing it? You can’t. So you had to be getting it somewhere.” She shoved her toiletries in her bag and then spun around to look at me, hand on hip. “So, what is it?”
“What is what?”
“Are you having an affair with someone or are you addicted to porn and would rather pump your own penis than be with me? Those are the only two things I can think of that would prevent you from . . .” She paused as an idea hit her. Her lips trembled and more tears fell from her eyes. “Oh, my God.”
This was a clusterfuck. I was mad, she was mad; I was insulted . . . clearly, she was insulted for some reason. How she could still think she wasn’t my entire world? It was beyond me.
“What are you thinking now?” I was annoyed. I wasn’t sweet, and I wasn’t kind. Everything coming out of my mouth was completely wrong, but I couldn’t stop it.
“You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”
“Noticed what?”
“Oh, don’t you dare pretend.” With a hefty hoist, she picked up her bag and headed for the front door.
“Noticed what?” I repeated myself.
The entryway was still dark, so I was almost unable to see her put on her Uggs and grab her purse and keys.
“Rosie, stop. Tell me what the hell is going on. I’m so confused right now. Why can’t we just sit and watch a movie together? Not everything is about sex.”
“I know that, Henry, but sex is a big part. If you don’t desire me, then we are just glorified roommates, and honestly, I could go and live with Delaney if I wanted that. I’m sure she would spoon me when I needed it. What I want is a man who wants me, not one who judges me for putting on some weight.”
Emotionally slapped across the face, I stood there, shocked. “Are you fucking crazy? Do I not tell you every day how beautiful you are? How much I love you?”
“Words are just that, Henry. They are words; they mean nothing. It’s your actions that tell me everything. And you haven’t touched me for weeks. Weeks, Henry. Those actions tell me everything. Don’t follow me.”
“Rosie, you can’t just run away from the problem.”
She opened the door and turned around to face me one last time.
“I’m not running, Henry. I’m finally giving you the out you wanted. This relationship was too fast and too sudden for someone like you. I see that now. I hope you had your fun at least, got what you were looking for.”
With that she left me.
My mind completely blank, and my heart was shattered on the floor. What the fuck just happened?
“Hello?”
“Derk, it’s Henry.”
“She’s here,” Derk said, not even having to hear me ask the question. “Delaney is passed out, so she went straight to bed. I take it you didn’t propose.”
“Not so much,” I sighed and slouched on the couch, Sir Licks-a-Lot at my feet. I ran my hand over my face, not sure where to go from here. “I don’t even know what happened. I wanted to have a simple night with her, but she wanted more than that. Something about sniffing her underwear . . .”
“Fifty Shades of Grey. Nice.”
“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I’m not the kind of guy who can stand there, sniff a pair of panties and pull it off. I’m not alpha enough, even though I like to think I am at times.”
“You didn’t sniff the underwear?”
“No, I didn’t sniff the underwear.”
“Dude, you should have sniffed the underwear.”
What was with people?
“Why on earth would I have sniffed the underwear? Have you sniffed Delaney’s underwear? I wouldn’t rip my boxers off and ask Rosie to sniff my trunks. You just don’t do that.”
Derk sighed on the other end of the phone, as if to say, this stupid, stupid man.
“We’ve known each other for a while, Henry, and I’ve always admired your ability to read the situation and act appropriately, but you fucked up.”
“Because I didn’t sniff her underwear?” I shouted, so confused. Why was this even a thing?
“Not because of the act of not sniffing, but because you didn’t show that you cared enough to sniff.”
If I was animated, my head would have detached from my body and spun around five times right about now.
“Let me get this straight.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I spoke. “By sniffing her underwear, I would have showed that I cared about her?”
“Exactly.”
Never would this ever make sense to me. Not even if the Pope told me it was God’s way of showing appreciation. Sniffing underwear to show you care? Were people going to make shirts with sniffing taglines on them now?
I sniff, therefore I care.
*Underwear Symbol* + *Nose Symbol* = 4EVA *heart symbol*
Sniff, sniff, kiss, kiss, ways to love your little miss.
“This is so fucked up. What happened to telling a girl you loved
her? Why isn’t that enough? Why can’t we just do this the old-fashioned way, believe in each other’s words and know they mean more than any action I could ever perform?”
“Not in our generation, man. Words are taken for granted. Back in the day, you told someone you loved them, you married them, and you died next to them. There are so many people out there now who use those three sacred words loosely. They’ve lost their meaning.”
“They haven’t to me. Every time Rosie tells me she loves me, it’s like she sucker-punches me, because I still can’t believe I could ever deserve such commitment from her, such trust. When she tells me she loves me, she’s handing me her fucking heart. I would never do anything to fuck that up.”
“Besides not sniffing her underwear.” Derk chuckled.
“Not the time, man. So not that time.”
“Sorry.” He sobered up. “Listen, you have to think about who you’re dealing with here. Rosie has had such huge expectations of love her entire life because of the amount of stories she’s read and movies she’s watched. Love to her is a grandiose emotion that needs to be expressed in a way only an eleven-million-dollar production can accomplish. Tack on the fact that she’s hormonal and super emotional, and that only adds onto her expectations.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Was this fight just about sniffing the underwear?”
I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer; it was going to be a long night and a little liquid encouragement would help me get through this talk.
“No, it began with that. I’ve been holding out on her until I was able to get through this promotion and see a doctor with her. She’s been complaining about . . . lady things down there, so I wanted to make sure all was right. She took that as I didn’t want to have sex with her.”