The Randy Romance Novelist

by Meghan Quinn

  “Balls to the Wall, this is Roshanda.”

  “Yes, hi Roshanda, this is Rosie Bloom. I scheduled for one of your male strippers to come dance at my friend’s bachelorette party tonight.”

  “Hold on,” she replied with an irritated voice. I heard her fingers clicking away at a computer before she said, “Did he not show up?”

  “Well, someone showed up, but not the person I booked. I booked the guy with the giant man balls, Mahki; instead, I got a hairy gorilla prancing around the room.”

  In a monotone voice, the lady responded, “Let me see what is going on.”

  More computer clicking.

  “Ah, yes, we were afraid by the way you addressed the men at the audition that you were not going to be able to keep your hands off Mahki, so we booked you with someone we thought would work well with your party.”

  “What?” my voice rose. “You can’t do that? I’m paying for this service, not for you to decide who smacks my friend in the face with their junk.”

  “Yeah, you signed a contract, and in the fine print it said we reserve the right to change any reservations if it seemed like our employees were at risk.”

  “That is ridiculous,” I snorted. “In what way would we have harmed your employee?”

  “Let me look.” Her voice continued to be inconvenienced. “In the notes it says you referred to the stripper of your choice as giant man balls and said you couldn’t wait to give your friend a black eye with his junk. The dancer didn’t feel conformable with that statement and requested to have a fill in.”

  “That’s preposterous. I was just joking!” Not really, but the lady didn’t need to know that. “I want my money back!”

  “No refunds. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Oh, you just got on my bad side,” I threatened. “Expect a nasty review coming your way when you go into work tomorrow. This will not be the last you hear of me.”

  The phone went dead. The bitch hung up on me.

  “How dare she!”

  I was seconds from redialing the phone number to give her a piece of my mind when I turned to find Delaney’s head voluntarily buried in Alejandro’s bush. My entire body revolted, sweat slicked my skin, and the familiar feeling of needing to be sick hit me hard.

  Not wanting to make a mess near Alejandro’s crotch . . . again, I sprinted off to the bathroom, where I knelt in front of the toilet, and for the first time felt the effects of little Beelzebub.

  By the time I was able to peel myself off the floor, the party was winding down, Delaney was passed out on the floor, and Alejandro was stuffing his junk into a pair of sweats. He looked up at me and smiled.

  Pointing his finger in recognition, he said, “Ah, Roseanne, right?”

  “Rosie,” I quickly corrected him.

  “That’s right. You’re the bonita that threw up on my crotch.”

  “Because I choked on one of your pubes!” I defended myself. “It’s called a razor; try it.”

  “Why would I do such a thing? The ladies love a man who is comfortable in his natural state of being. This right here,” he waved at his body, “is one hundred percent natural. Just ask your friend over there. She spent a good five minutes buried in my male scent.”

  “Nope,” I shook my head and held up my hand. “Don’t call it that. For the love of God, do not call it that.” My stomach began to churn again.

  “Aw, you’re a sensitive little darling. Well, I will tell you this, I’ve gotten over what happened between us. If you would like to try again, I have time before my next showing.” He casually walked over to me and tilted my chin up so I was forced to look him in the eyes.

  “Ew.”

  I said it before I could even think about what was coming out of my mouth. I blame the kid.

  Insulted, Alejandro dropped my chin and walked away. “Your loss. Good luck finding such finesse like myself.”

  He wadded up his ones and took off toward the front door. Relieved, I looked down at Delaney and sighed. It was time to call Derk.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sniff, Sniff, Kiss, Kiss

  HENRY

  Once Derk got the signal from Rosie to come peel his fiancée off the ground, he bolted out of her apartment, ending our poker game immediately. That was an hour ago, and Rosie was nowhere to be found.

  Sir Licks-a-Lot and I now sat on the couch together, waiting for the lady of the house to return. This morning, I was a little shocked to see that Rosie had left without saying good bye, and I was shocked that I was able to sleep through it all. Recently, I hadn’t been sleeping very well because I was worried about the job, worried about Rosie, and worried about our future.

  Last night after hearing I got the job, I was actually able to put my mind at ease and get some much-needed sleep.

  Once I realized she was gone for the day, I called up Derk, and we met at the jeweler. I had no idea what size finger Rosie had, so I made sure to get something a little bigger in case she had to size it down. She didn’t have sausage fingers by any means, but I still didn’t want to chance it.

  Derk wasn’t the best at picking out rings. His picks were all modern, things that would suit Delaney well, but not Rosie. My girl was old school, she appreciated vintage jewelry. Luckily, the jeweler had a line of engagement rings that were perfect for Rosie’s style. I ended up picking one that had three stones, representing the past, present, and future with filigree on the side, a design I knew Rosie would love.

  Within an hour, I had purchased an engagement ring, and now I was just trying to figure out the perfect time to propose. I wanted to propose before we talked about the baby. Knowing Rosie, she would assume I was only proposing because of the baby, which wasn’t the case at all.

  “Where is she?” I asked Sir Licks-a-Lot, who found his way onto my lap. I was scratching his head, wondering when this relationship had started. “Do you think she will like the ring?”

  Pretty sure if I gave him a chance, he would shit on the ring.

  “Yeah, I think so. She’ll love it. Now, how should I propose? I’m guessing strapping it to your collar for a cute pet proposal wouldn’t go over well.” He sneezed and I took that as a no. “I could do it here in the apartment. I could ask her out at the beach where her parents live, or back at campus where we first met. Going on vacation is always an option as well. Give her a little distance from you.”

  His ears drew back in discontentment.

  “Hey, it’s your own fault. You steal her bras, hack up hairballs on her shoes, and beat her at games she wants so desperately to win. She gives you opportunities to be friends, but you don’t take them. I honestly don’t understand what your issue is. Are you gay? Is that why you love me so much? If you’re a homosexual feline, we will be one hundred percent okay with that and support you in any way we can. I don’t mind going to gay bars for cats, seems like it would be a good time. And I know Rosie would be supportive, but if that’s the case, you have to let us know.”

  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 waited some more for Rosie to come home. I 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 so non-stop, so now that it w
as 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?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “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.”

  “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 will 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 dress 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. It was doubtful 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 kind of 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 could see the trail of spit she left on her skin, not the best thing I’ve 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, 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 just shrugged my shoulders. If I didn’t follow her into the bedroom, she was going to have a meltdown, but I also was 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 just taking some precautionary measures. Did I miss being inside of 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 carried out my name, “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 nervously giggled. “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 that was 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.

  Instead of arguing, 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. In the moonlight, I savored the way her beautiful features sparkled down at me, like 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.”

  The urge to clean out my ear in front of her was overwhelming. “Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if I heard her right.

  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 take off her underwear and smell them, even though she was dead set on the idea.

  Not moving to remove said underwear, 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 up 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 underwear 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.” She started to tear up, and I wondered if I should come clean with my plans of proposing. Should I just 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 w
hat to say. I grabbed the back of my neck and said, “I’m a little confused as to 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 ESSENSE!” she screamed, scaring Sir Licks-a-Lot, causing him 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 look in my eye. “When we first got together, you wanted nothing more than to be inside of 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 . . .”