The Randy Romance Novelist

by Meghan Quinn

  Between her crying and sniffles, she nodded her head yes, unable to speak.

  Elation burst through me, as I slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger. It was entirely too big, but I didn’t care; she was mine.

  We both stood and I pulled her into my chest, kissing the top of her head, joy overfilling me. Her arms wrapped around my waist and she held on to me tightly, not wanting to let go. Through my shirt, I could hear her mumbling, “I love you,” making my heart soar.

  Needing to see her, I put a miniscule amount of space between us and asked her to look up at me. “Rosie, look at me, love.”

  Her beautifully tear-stained eyes met mine, followed by a warm smile.

  “I’m sorry, love, for all the confusion. I didn’t want you to think I was proposing because of the baby.”

  She laughed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “In my state of hormonal bliss, I probably would have thought that, so I’m glad you explained everything.” She looked at her ring and then back up at me. “You really wanted to propose a while ago?”

  I nodded. “I wanted to propose to you the minute I realized I was in love with you. There is no one else I would rather spend the rest of my life with, Rosie.”

  “You still find me attractive?”

  I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it, the scrunch of her nose was too adorable. “Rosie, I find you so fucking sexy that I can’t wait to get you back home. The doctor said it was okay to perform normal activities, and I’m pretty sure me pounding into you is a normal activity on our day-to-day schedule.”

  Her entire face lit up. “What are we waiting for then?” she pulled on my hand and led me past the pond and out of the park. “I need your penis.”

  Chuckling and shaking my head, I responded, “You’re so randy.”

  Epilogue

  ROSIE

  “Can I ask you a question, love?” Henry asked, coming up from behind me and placing a kiss on the back of my neck.

  I was nine months pregnant, ornery, uncomfortable, still horny, and ready to click the publish button on my first ever book. I loved Henry so much, more than anything, but the man was grating on my damn nerves. I used him for two things: food delivery and his penis. Anything else, I wanted him to steer clear of me.

  “Sure,” I answered him, double-checking everything I’d input when it came to sale price. I was a ball of nerves, unsure if I was ready for this or not. Wolf Fleece Wendy believed I was; she even set me up with her publicist to help me with my release. This was all so surreal.

  “Did you like my balls slapping your ass this morning? I thought it sounded like a sweet lullaby.”

  I paused mid-click and looked at Henry. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, the waistline of his boxer briefs peeking out and his chest bare. His hair was rumpled to the side and he had a devious smile on his face.

  “What kind of disgusting question is that? No one likes the sound of sweaty balls slapping against equally sweaty sex skin.”

  Henry laughed. “What? You don’t talk about balls slapping asses in your book?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t. I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

  “Balls slapping asses are always appropriate.” He kissed my forehead and then knelt down beside me, trying to paint a pretty picture. “You could do some really good stuff with ball slapping. Just think: He holds her hips in his hands, his grip tight, not wanting to miss the intimate connection between them. The room is silent except for the fleshy slap of his balls on her ass.”

  “No,” I deadpan. “That is horrific. That’s not sexy at all. You don’t talk about balls slapping, things being moist, or vaginas being flappy, or the pungent raw smell of a pounded-out vagina.”

  Henry shivered. “I can’t see why not. Pounded-out vagina is always on the top of my list for topics of conversation.”

  “You’re gross today and extremely irritating. I suggest you step away from me before I rip this baby out of my uterus and make her slap you.”

  “Don’t you turn our baby girl on us. She needs to make her own decisions on how gross her daddy is.”

  “Lucky her,” I said sarcastically, knowing I was having a big bitch moment.

  I couldn’t help them anymore. When we became engaged, I kept my hormones in check, really trying to make sure I didn’t say or do anything that would make Henry change his mind, but after an onslaught of gross pregnant things that happened to me, he stuck around; therefore, I let the bitch out in this last month of pure hell.

  Ever see an ankle swell to the size of a cantaloupe? I have, they are attached to the toothpicks I used to call feet.

  Peeing your pants? Yup, controlling your bladder when pregnant is next to impossible.

  Ill-fitting clothes. Nothing, no matter how hard you try, fits properly.

  Emotional breakdowns over moving to the suburbs with a cat . . . had those.

  I don’t even want to talk about constipation, prune juice, and hemorrhoids. I wouldn’t wish such a thing upon my worst enemies.

  “Delaney and Derk should be here soon, love. Want me to get the snacks ready?”

  “Maybe you should put a shirt on. I didn’t know you were Mike Thurston these days.”

  Henry scrunched his nose in confusion. “Who’s that?”

  “Ugh,” I wailed, exhausted from his questions. “It’s a book thing.”

  “Okay . . .” he drew out, leaving my office for our bedroom.

  Life can change so quickly if you’re not paying attention. One minute, I thought Henry was going to break up with me, and the next, I’m engaged, living in a home we bought together on the outskirts of New York City, and taking a chance as a full-time author. I left Friendly Felines once Henry showed me his first paycheck. He said he wanted me to focus on my writing and the baby, so that’s what I did. I took the opportunity to make my dream a reality.

  The only thing that didn’t change was the presence of Sir Licks-a-Lot. He made the move along with his collection of my torn-up bras he used as half shells to sit in. He now had a laundry room to crap in, and a larger house to destroy. His favorite thing: pushing glasses of water off the table. Cats! If Henry and Sir Licks-a-Lot didn’t have such a bro-mance, I would have found a different home for the feline, but that wasn’t an option.

  Despite my hatred for the cat, we’d found a mutual understanding. He stayed on his side of the house, and I stayed on mine. We shared Henry when he got home, but at night, in bed, that was when I bogarted the man. It was an even trade.

  Delaney and Derk got married. It was a beautiful ceremony, put on by their parents. I was able to wear an empire waist dress, thankfully, that didn’t make me look like a whale. Henry, of course, looked sexy as usual in his tailored suit, to the point that I had sex with him in the reception hall bathroom. I had no shame.

  Since the proposal, I hadn’t taken a break when it came to being intimate with my man. Every chance I got, I was at him; it was a little much at times, but I blamed the hormones and the cologne he wore: lethal combination.

  Henry’s been kicking butt with his new job, and funny enough, he hired Freddy as his assistant, despite his unnecessary bro-cabulary. Freddy was damn good at his job, and now sported his sensitive side. Henry went out to a gay bar with him a few months back, spotted another pumped-up beefcake just like Freddy, and helped him score a date. They weren’t your typical gay couple—if you were into horrible stereotypes—they bonded over weightlifting, protein shakes, and woodworking. They were a fantastic couple I enjoyed having game night with, even though sometimes I could throttle Freddy if he called Henry bro one more time.

  “They’re here,” Henry called out from the entryway. From a distance, I could hear 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 wi
ll 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 kind of way. It’s perfect, Rosie.”

  She was right, I took my entire dating life leading up to Henry and put it on display, including Marta, the redbrick road, kicking men in the balls, and using dating websites that didn’t even come close to working out 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 was there for you the whole time.

  Wolf Fleece 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 stand-out authors. We talked daily about something we saw on Facebook, a post of a naked man, or some “rant” someone went on. We discussed if I was going to put myself out there, I was going to be an entertainer, and that was it. I wasn’t going to 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 down 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 radiated off him and enveloped me. This was the man I would 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 girl into the world. He would forever go down in history as the best book boyfriend, ever. No questions asked.

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading The Randy Romance Novelist! I hope you enjoyed it. If you enjoyed this book, please help other readers find it too:

  1. This book is lendable, so send it to a friend who you think might like it so they can discover me too.

  2. Help other people find this book by writing a review.

  3. Come like my Facebook page: Author Meghan Quinn -https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor?ref=bookmarks

  4. Find me on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360513.Meghan_Quinn

  5. Don’t forget to visit my website: www.authormeghanquinn.com

  About Meghan Quinn

  Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if "It's Raining Men" starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

  Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing... enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

  Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!