The Randy Romance Novelist

by Meghan Quinn

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, insulted.

  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 else 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 wasn’t going well . . . at all.

  Whatever was brewing in her head wasn’t good; this whole conversation was a clusterfuck. I was mad, she was mad; I was insulted . . . clearly, she was insulted for some reason. How she could still think I didn’t think she was my entire world was beyond me.

  “What are you thinking now?” My tone was annoyed, I wasn’t sweet, 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!” She was completely irrational at this point. With a hefty hoist, she picked up her bag and headed for the front door, Sir Licks-a-Lot poking his head out from under the bed just in time to give her the middle claw before she walked away.

  I shooed him with my foot and chased after Rosie. “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.”

  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. 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 heart shattered on the floor and my mind completely blank.

  ***

  “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 interrupted Derk before he could go any further. “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 as to why this was 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. When Rosie tells me she loves me, it’s like she sucker punches me every time, 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 just started with that. I’ve been holding out on her until I was able to get through this promotion and go 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.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. Why didn’t you just talk to her, confront her about being pregnant, tell her about the promotion? Kind of like I told you in the first place. You know, communication goes a long way in relationships.”

  If we were sitting next to each other, I would have dick-tapped him by now. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what I was doing was backwards, I just didn’t think it would backfire this badly.

  “Wow, thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  “Don’t get mad at me. If it was so obvious to talk to your girlfriend, then why the hell didn’t you do it?”

  “Because I was hoping I could take care of everything before it all got out of hand. Obviously, I was wrong. You know how long I’ve wanted to propose to her. I couldn’t do it before the promotion because I wasn’t sure if I would ge
t it, and once I found out I got the promotion, I didn’t have any time to prepare. I didn’t want to propose after I talked to her about the baby, because in her state, she would assume I was only proposing because she was pregnant. Knowing her, she would say something asinine like I was just making sure our child wasn’t a bastard.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “So, I’ve been kind of fucked in this whole situation.”

  “You could always wait a year or so to propose, then it doesn’t look like a shotgun wedding.”

  That wasn’t an option. Rosie needed to be my wife as soon as possible. I wanted her tied to my last name.

  “No, would you want to wait that long to get married to Delaney?”

  “Hell no. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to tie her down. Then again, she was more of a wild one in college. I had to tame her first, and I’ve barely done that.”

  Delaney definitely needed taming. I remember when I first met her in college; I couldn’t understand how she and Rosie were such good friends. Rosie was soft spoken and Delaney didn’t care what flew out of her mouth. Derk had a real hard time trying to get her to settle. If he had proposed to her right off the bat, there was no doubt in my mind he would have freaked her out, and she would have sent him packing.

  Rosie was the opposite. She was a lover, a believer in commitment, in the happily ever after. She believed in soulmates; I just hoped she still believed I was the one for her.

  “I don’t even know what to do now. If I propose, she’s going to think it’s my way of making up to her, not something meaningful. Before she left, she said actions are more important than words. Proposing is an action, but I want it to be an action that is remembered for the love I have for that woman, not for making up after a fight.”

  “Man, you’re in a real pickle.”

  “You’re helpful,” I replied, sarcastically. “You don’t have any words of wisdom?”

  Silence stretched across the line while Derk thought about what he was going to say. “I would have sniffed the underwear.”

  “You’re the absolute fucking worst right now.”

  He chuckled and then said, “Listen, let me feel her out tomorrow, and I’ll report back. Take tonight to think of some plans. We’ll convene later.”

  “Okay.” I paused for a second, not wanting to get all girly on Derk, but nervous about my future. “Do you think Rosie and I are done? She left me, Derk.”

  “That she did,” Derk confirmed. “But Rosie is also dramatic, and I think she wants a dramatic response. Think big, think books. From knowing her, I will tell you this right now, you will always be chasing after the happily ever after with her.”

  Didn’t I fucking know it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fraggle Rock

  ROSIE

  The harmonious sounds of Delaney making friends with her toilet echoed through the room as the sun shined down upon me. Delaney’s couch was less than comfortable and definitely didn’t have the best smell either, which I tried not to let myself wonder what the smell was from. I missed the warmth of Henry’s arms, the comfort of our bed, and the silence of an early morning.

  Delaney’s retching wasn’t doing it for me. It wasn’t doing it for me so much that I started to get the sweats myself, and before I knew it, I was trotting over to the kitchen trash can, expunging all the wiener bites I had last night.

  Wasn’t morning sickness supposed to happen within the first few weeks of being pregnant? I had no clue how far along I was, but if I had to guess, it would be three months and I was cruising right along into my second trimester. I was too overwhelmed at the doctor’s office to even think about asking how far along I was or what I needed to be doing to take care of the baby.

  I couldn’t deny this forever, though, so I made a mental note to call the doctor this week, apologize for sticking his head between my legs, and try to figure all this baby stuff out.

  Just thinking about the baby made my mind wander. Was I going to be doing this alone? Last night wasn’t as successful as I thought it was going to be. I wasn’t sexy; I knew I wasn’t. I didn’t have a passionate desire for Henry to sniff my underwear . . . I was just trying to see if we could spice things up. Then once he denied the sniffing, I wondered if there was something so wrong with me that he didn’t want to bring my panties to his nose. If he asked me to sniff his boxers . . .

  Nope.

  My head went back into the trash can and I dry-heaved a couple of times before my stomach settled.

  I couldn’t blame the man. Fabric crotches should be kept to one’s self, not shared with significant others, no matter how erotic it looked.

  Still . . . he didn’t want me. But why?

  He told me he loved me, he held me at his boss’s party, he made sweet gestures like my maid-of-honor penis. Why was he pulling away?

  OH.

  MY.

  GOD!

  “Delaney!” I shouted like a crazed woman, running through their apartment and straight into the bathroom, where Delaney was resting her cheek against the seat of the toilet, one of her boobs hanging out of her camisole and a pair of Derk’s whitie tighties being the only cover-up for her bottom half.

  “Oh, dear,” I said, stopping in place from the sight in front of me.

  “Fraggle Rock,” she mumbled, spitting into the toilet and running her finger along the edge.

  Her makeup was smeared, her hair was greasy from a mixture of vomit, sweat, and last night’s activities, and I was pretty sure if you tapped her like a maple tree, you could serve up a keg of vodka for a frat party.

  Cautiously, I knelt down beside her, tucked her boob in her shirt for her, and patted her forehead with a washcloth that was on the sink.

  “Why are you mumbling about a live-action puppet show?”

  “It was such a simple time,” she answered, her voice rough, like an eighty-year-old who’s given way too many blow jobs.

  “I don’t quite understand, but I’m just going to nod my head.”

  She blew a long breath of air out of her lips, foaming saliva and bubbles, not a very attractive picture for her at the time.

  “Remember being a kid, when alcohol didn’t exist?”

  “Alcohol existed when we were children. We weren’t raised during prohibition.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she sighed, pulling her body away from the toilet and leaning against the wall of the bathroom. “When we were young, alcohol wasn’t on our radar. We didn’t care about consuming it. We cared about Fraggle Rock and the Fraggles and the Doozers and what colored jellies we were going to wear.”

  “Pink with glitter, always,” I reminisced.

  “Purple with glitter. Remember how they used to stick to your feet when you walked, especially on a hot day? Such impractical footwear.”

  “But stylish,” I pointed out.

  “Nonetheless, they were simpler times. Times I can remember. Last night, I don’t even know what happened. Flashes of pink cocks and pubic hairs is all that crosses my brain. Did I act like Oprah handing out cock rings last night?”

  “That would be an accurate statement.”

  Delaney barely nodded, not wanting to shake too much. “Then you did your job, maid of honor. You brought out the inner Oprah in me. I couldn’t be more proud.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say, but you’re welcome,” I laughed.

  Delaney tilted her head to the side, taking in my outfit. “Why are you here right now?”

  “Henry and I got in a fight last night. He wouldn’t sniff my underwear.”

  Delaney winced. “Bad move, Henry. Rookie mistake.”

  “We fought and I packed a bag and walked out on him.”

  Sitting up and growing thoughtful, Delaney said, “That’s serious. Did you break up with him?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “Wait a second,” Delaney took a deep breath as she eyed the toilet, but then swallowed and exhaled. “This
isn’t one of those Ross and Rachel things where he thinks you’re on a break and then he goes and fucks some other woman when all you wanted was some time to think.”

  I didn’t think about that. Did Henry think we’d broken up? Were we broken up? Did he go drown his sorrows in the “copy girl,” aka, Tasha’s breasts?

  “I have no clue,” I said, my voice a little shaky with concern.

  “I hope not, because that would be the most idiotic thing he ever did.”

  Giving Henry the benefit of the doubt and wanting to ease my mind, I said, “I don’t think Henry would do that; he’s not that kind of guy.”

  “Oh, he isn’t? Wasn’t he the one who got back together with Tasha after you two had sex?”

  Once again, it didn’t even occur to me that he would do something like that again. He was upset at me then . . . he thought I was moving on, so he moved on as well.

  “And here I thought he was terminally ill. He’s probably shacking up with Tasha again. I’m so stupid. I pushed him right into her arms.”

  “Hold on.” Delaney held up her hand. “Let’s pause for a second. I want to get off this floor and I need some coffee before we get into conversations about terminally ill boyfriends. Help me up.”

  The next ten minutes were spent peeling Delaney off the ground, washing her face, and brewing some coffee. I didn’t have any; I opted for tea instead. Caffeine and all, I was trying to be a good vessel for the growing fetus inside of me, even though at times it earned the name Beelzebub.

  Once we were seated at her dining room table, she asked, “So, Henry is terminally ill?”

  “What?” Derk asked, walking out of the bedroom and rubbing his eyes, his hair was sticking up, and he looked just as bad as Delaney. I knew it wasn’t from getting drunk himself, but most likely from having to take care of his very drunk fiancée last night. Both of them luckily took the day off from work. “Henry is sick?”

  “Maybe, that or he’s back with Tasha.”

  Derk groaned. “He’s not back with Tasha.”

  Delaney turned to him. “How do you know that? How do you know he didn’t waltz on over to her house like a chipper Leonardo DiCaprio in that popular meme we always see, and fuck her against the wall?”