The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  “They’re here,” Henry called out from the entryway. From a distance, I heard Delaney and Derk greet Henry and Sir Licks-a-Lot. “She’s in her office. Follow me.”

  “When are you going to decorate this place? It’s called a picture, Henry, try hanging one,” Delaney said with snark.

  “We’re taking our time. We want some family pictures to hang. Cool your tits, Delaney. It will happen.”

  Henry was right. We hadn’t done much decorating, because I wanted to take my time, really make the home ours. I didn’t plan on moving ever again. This was it for me.

  “There’s our famous author,” Delaney shouted, as she came running into the office, holding a bottle of sparkling cider. This kid couldn’t come out quick enough.

  “I’m not even close to being famous. I’m just hitting the publish button, that’s all.”

  “But it’s a big deal,” Delaney added. “You’ve come so far from writing about briar patches and matching pubic hairs.”

  “I still wrote about that in this book.” I laughed.

  “But in a joking, naïve way. It’s perfect, Rosie.”

  She was right. I captured my entire dating life leading up to Henry and put it on display, including Marta, the red brick road, kicking men in the balls, and using dating websites that hadn’t even come close to working for me. I put it all on display, even farting on a chin—Henry didn’t like that part. He didn’t want to relive the memory of another man being in “his territory.”

  I put my entire heart in this book. My internal dialogue, what I really thought when it came to sex, penises, and even the internal dialogue of my vagina . . . Virginia. I wrapped the novel up with a pretty little bow of finding love where you least expected it, with your best friend, the man who had been there for you the whole time.

  Wolf Shirt Wendy couldn’t have been prouder of me, or Delaney who was my number-one beta reader—a self-proclaimed title. She had started to read more, now that I was inserting myself in the world, so she kept up to date on new books and standout authors. We talked daily about something we saw on Facebook, a post of a naked man, or some “rant” someone went on. We decided that if I was going to put myself out there, I’d be an entertainer, and that was it. I wouldn’t use my status as an author to talk about my problems, because no one wanted to hear about those. My job was to help readers forget THEIR problems, so I started writing down fun ideas on how to do that with interactive posts and funny tidbits only my brain could think of.

  So far, I had a Facebook page with five hundred likes—pretty much all family and friends, but whenever I got a new like from someone neither of us knew, Delaney and I cheered with each other. It was going to be a long road, full of highs and lows, but I was ready to take the journey. If anything, I just wanted to make one person laugh, one person escape their reality for a short period of time. If I did that, then I had done my job.

  “Are you ready for this?” Delaney asked, gripping my shoulders.

  Henry and Derk stood beside us, basking in the new adventure that sat before me.

  “I think I am.” I nodded.

  “I’m so proud of you, love.” Henry kissed the top of my head. “Press it.”

  I took a calming breath, smiled, and clicked the publish button. “The Virgin Romance Novelist is now published. Look out, world, my quirky and naïve character, Meghan, is coming for you.”

  Derk, Henry, and Delaney cheered, congratulating me and pulling me into hugs.

  “Check the sales,” Derk chanted. “I’m sure there are at least five. That cover is legit.”

  I laughed. “Derk, it can take up to twenty-four hours to process. We have some time.”

  “Damn, that would have been so cool.”

  “Nice try. Want to go to the living room for snacks?”

  “Sure.” Delaney kissed me on the cheek and then guided Derk out of the room to give Henry and me a little privacy.

  Taking me into his arms, he pulled me as close to his chest as he could, thanks to my baby bump.

  “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, Rosie. Your strength and determination to make this happen is so sexy.” He rubbed my back and smiled at me.

  “We have guests,” I reminded him.

  “They might like to hear some ball slapping.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  “No one likes ball slapping.” I laughed and walked away, but I didn’t get very far because Henry pulled on my arm and brought his lips quickly down on mine. I melted into him, loving the way his mouth softly explored mine.

  Love enveloped me. This was the man I’d be spending the rest of my life with, the man who would hold my hand during the good reviews and the bad, the man who would help welcome our baby boy into the world. He would forever go down in history as the best book boyfriend, ever. No questions asked.

  Part Three

  THE PARENTING ROMANCE NOVELIST

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ROSIE

  Knock. Knock.

  “Come in,” I call out, shifting my hospital gown down my leg.

  Delany peeks her head past the door and tiptoes into the room. “Can I visit?

  I wave in Delaney. “Yup.” I rest my head against the hospital bed and fold my hands over my deflated belly. “No need to be quiet. The baby is off having some tests done.”

  “Ugh, really?” Shoulders slouched, the air knocked out of her, she stumbles the rest of the way into the room and flops a teddy bear on the end of the hospital bed. “Lame. Don’t they know Aunt Delaney is here to see her precious little nephew?”

  I reach for my ice chips—my throat is sore from all the painful screaming—and pop a few in my mouth. “Apparently the nurses don’t care about your schedule.” I look past Delaney just as she sits on the chair next to my bed. “Where’s Derk?”

  “Spotted Henry in the cafeteria and decided to smoke a cigar with him outside. You know, men shit.”

  “Ah yes, because the man did all the work, therefore he should smoke the cigar.” I lean forward. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The woman should be the one smoking a freaking cigar after childbirth. Do you know what it’s like to shove a motorcycle helmet through a quarter? It’s not pretty.” I pretend to smoke a cigar, puffing into the air. “I could really use something to help forget the moment of pure terror when I knew I was going to need stitches.”

  “Oh God, was it that bad?”

  I snap my head to the side, facing Delaney, and point to my eye. “Do you see this? This is called a broken blood vessel . . . in my eyeball. I was pushing so hard, I broke a blood vessel.”

  “Were you trying to push him out of your eyeball?” She laughs at her piss-poor attempt at a joke.

  “You think that’s funny?” I sit up and get serious. “You know how all those classes in school talk about safe sex and how a baby will change your life if you don’t use birth control?” She wearily nods. “Do you know what they don’t tell you?”

  She sits back in her chair. “Uh, that some women contract a serious case of the scary after giving birth?”

  “No!” In one swoop, I fling my blankets to the side and lift up my hospital gown. “What they don’t tell you is that you won’t stop bleeding. It’s like nine months worth of menstrual cycle all flowing at once. I’m wearing a goddamn diaper, Delaney.” I point to my crotch. “A diaper!”

  Delaney’s eyes narrow in and a look of both disgust and confusion collides simultaneously. “You gave birth yesterday . . .”

  “And yet, here I am”—I gesture my arm to my hospital room palace—“un-showered, lying on a lumpy mattress, with a grown-ass diaper strapped around my waist because every time I shift, something falls out of me.”

  “Oh God.” Delany covers her mouth.

  “And that’s not even the worst of it.” I look at the ceiling as I speak, settling back into a relaxed position. “They don’t tell you about the stitches, or having to give birth to a human organ that you grew expertly inside of you, or . . .”

>   I bite on my lip.

  “Or what?” Delany asks, horror in her face.

  “No, I can’t say it.”

  Delaney places her hand on my arm. “Rosie, you can tell me anything.”

  I bite my bottom lip, contemplating if I should share my greatest humiliation. “I don’t think I can.”

  “If anything, educate me. I need to know in case Derk and I ever have kids.”

  I nod, knowing this information is vital, woman to woman. Taking a deep breath, I slowly let the air expel from my lungs before saying, “He saw.”

  “He saw what? Your vagina?”

  “Of course he saw my vagina, but he saw way more than that.”

  “The baby’s head crowning.”

  I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “No . . . he saw me poop.”

  Silence.

  Only the faint sound of monitors beeping trail into the stagnant room, reminding me that I’m not dreaming. That in fact, as I was popping a blood vessel in my eye, while pushing out a nine-pound child—yes, nine pounds—and swearing up a slew of dramatic yet, classy swear words and walloping Henry in the stomach, I . . . pooped.

  On a sigh, I whisper, “There is no coming back from that. How on earth will I ever be able to be romantic with the man again when he saw me poop on a bed while I was continuously slapping him in the stomach? Couples don’t bounce back from that easily.”

  “Maybe he didn’t see . . .”

  “Oh, he saw.” I nod my head and then quietly repeat. “He saw.”

  More silence.

  Delaney shifts on the chair next to me, leaning back as well and joining me in a gaze at the plain white ceiling. “But you have a baby boy now.”

  “I do. A true blessing, but at the expense of any little dignity I had left.”

  “And here I thought you lost it after farting on a man’s chin and dropping Ben Wa balls in front of all of Henry’s coworkers.”

  “One would think those would be sufficiently damning.” I shake my head. “Nope. The universe decided my life wasn’t embarrassing enough, so it made me poop.”

  Delaney sighs. “I blame the schools. They said nothing about poop.”

  “Talk about the perfect form of birth control. If you get pregnant, be prepared to spread your legs and poop in front of not only a half-dozen strangers but also your significant other.”

  “May your dignity rest in peace.”

  I pop another ice chip in my mouth. “Amen.”

  HENRY

  Puff. Puff.

  “So she pooped.”

  I nod. “Yup. And you know what . . . I don’t even fucking care, because I’m in awe.” I lean my head against the stone wall of the parking garage. “You should have seen her, Derk, she was phenomenal. She was in labor for twelve hours and handled it like a pro. Yeah, she might have smacked me a few times, told me to die at least three, and pinched my nipple whenever her fingers miraculously snagged it, but she pushed a human out of her. She gave me a son.”

  “She told you to die?”

  “Oh yeah.” I look into the distance. “I’ve never seen or heard anything like it before. It was as if a zombie crawled out of her throat, stared me in the eyes, and told me to drop dead.” I shake my head. “Her voice was so deep, like a demon with a bad cold. It was terrifying.”

  “I’m shivering just thinking about it.” He taps his cigar with his thumb. “But now that he’s here, are you ready?”

  “To be a dad?” Derk nods his head. “Is anyone ever really ready? We took the classes and we read all the books but now, it’s real. I don’t think I am, but you know what I’m ready for?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m ready to protect them.” My throat gets tight. “I’m ready to throw down my body for the both of them. I would do anything to protect my family and I think that’s a start, don’t you?”

  “It’s the perfect start.” Derk claps me on the back. “All right, I want to meet this boy of yours.”

  “He should be done with his testing by now.” I hold up the Twix bar Rosie wanted. “And hopefully by now Rosie is ready to see me again.”

  “What do you mean ready to see you again?” Derk asks as we walk toward the hospital, our cigars put out and thrown in the trash.

  “Well, I guess she’s really mad about never really knowing what happens to a woman’s body after birth and every time I look her in the eye, she points to the diaper she has to wear and says it’s my fault.”

  Derk lightly chuckles. “A diaper? Goddamn, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes right now.”

  I press the button for the elevator, shifting on my feet as hospital staff breeze past us. I’m tired as fuck, and I haven’t taken a shower in two days because Rosie demands I take one when she can take one. It’s a fair trade. And all I want to do is cuddle up with my girl and tell her how amazing she is, but I’m on thin ice right now . . . or at least my penis is.

  The elevator doors part and I press the floor for the maternity ward. “Your time will come. You want kids, right?”

  “Hell yeah, but Delaney isn’t there yet. She still has a lot to accomplish before she moves out to the burbs with you guys.”

  “It’s a good life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  After we make it past the locked door, I direct Derk to the room in the corner, room 505, where my entire life is resting. Quietly, I push the door open to find Rosie sitting on the bed, our son snuggled up in her arms, breastfeeding.

  She’s a fucking natural. I knew she would be. She has the sweetest heart and so much love to give, especially to our little boy. For a second, she looks up and makes eye contact with me, all the hatred and animosity devoid from her face as she smiles with a beam of a thousand sunshines. I take a step in and she wipes a tear away.

  “He’s nursing.” She gives me a beautiful smile and then looks at our son.

  Feet propelling me forward as my heart is seconds from exploding out of my chest, I take a seat on the side of the bed and wrap my arm around her, staring at our little miracle. Rosie is covered enough so Derk doesn’t have to feel awkward, but he still keeps his head down. Not me, I watch in fascination how easily Rosie is falling into motherhood.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper into her ear right before planting a kiss on her cheek.

  “So did you finally come up with a name?” Delaney asks, her usual teasing tone gone.

  “I think so, right, love?” I push a stray hair away from her face.

  She nods. “Henry gave me the go-ahead on THE name.”

  Delaney quietly squeals and claps her fingers together. “Are you serious?”

  “What’s the name?” Derk cuts in.

  Beaming with excitement, Rosie says, “His name is Kellan Kyle Anderson.”

  Dramatically, Delaney sighs next to me and drapes her arm over her eyes. “Oh, Kellan.”

  Derk looks to me. “Who’s Kellan, and why is he making my wife faint?”

  I chuckle and place a kiss against Rosie’s cheek. “Some book boyfriend of theirs.”

  Rosie turns to me, a look of horror on her face. Speaking quietly but with conviction, she says, “He’s not just a book boyfriend. He is THE book boyfriend. I love him so much. S.C. Stephens brought to life my dream rockstar.”

  Derk quirks a brow in my direction and thumbs at Rosie. “You let her name your first born after another man?”

  I shrug, “Whatever inspires her and gets that dreamy look in her eye, I’m all for.” I lean toward Derk and say, “Also, Kellan was my grandpa’s name and Kyle is my middle name, so it worked out.” I wink and with a smile, turn back to my girl. Not that she knows that’s why I was so cool about the name Kellan. I’ll happily let her believe it’s about THE book boyfriend.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  HENRY

  “We are so nailing this parent thing.” Rosie lets out a long sigh and takes a seat on the couch. Kellan secure in my hands, I sit next to her.

  “We really are.”

/>   Carefully, Rosie peels back his blanket and reveals his tiny little scrunched-up nose. “He’s an angel, just look at him all content in his little blanket. And talk about the beau of the ball? The grandparents couldn’t get enough of him.”

  “He’s going to be spoiled for sure.” Finally alone and in our house, I reach over and bring Rosie close to my side. I kiss the top of her head, fucking floating on cloud nine with my little family in my arms. “How are you doing, love? Do you need anything?”

  She shakes her head against my chest. “I’m good.” Tilting her head back, she kisses the side of my jaw. “I’m sorry I told you to die, and I’m sorry I was physically aggressive with you and then proceeded to give you the stink-eye for the next two days.”

  I chuckle quietly, not to disturb Kellan. “I’ve never seen fire in a person’s eyes before but after Kellan’s birth, I can safely say, if not treated right, I know the devil lurks behind your beautiful blue eyes.”

  “Sir Licks-a-Lot must be rubbing off on me.”

  “Where is he by the way? He has to meet his brother.”

  “No, nope, no.” Rosie shakes her head. “I refuse to be those people. Kellan and Sir Licks-a-Lot are not brothers. They are child and cat.”

  “Aw, come on, love. Think of all the Christmas card opportunities we’d have at our disposal.”

  “No. I’m still trying to get Gladys to take him back.”

  “Love, if she hasn’t taken him back already, I’m sure she’s not going to take him now, especially after you left your job and we live in the suburbs.”