The Randy Romance Novelist(19)
Fuck, Tasha.
Could this nightmare get any worse?
It could, actually . . . if Rosie found out.
Chapter Five
Moist
ROSIE
“Delaney, can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” she said, over the phone.
I was lying across the couch, twirling the water sprayer in my hand, pointing it at Sir Licks-a-Lot-occasionally, just daring him to do something wrong while I talked to Delaney on the phone.
Working from home was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, besides Henry of course. I was able to get my actual work done in the morning, so I was able to spend the rest of the afternoon, when I was battling demon cat, baking cookies, moving furniture around so it was more functional for the space we were living in, and even painting my toenails. I’d just finished, that was why I still had cotton balls smashed between my toesies and the reason why Sir Licks-a-Lot was eyeing my foot, as if he was a child staring at a decorated foot of cotton candy.
Casually, I asked Delaney, “You’ve had lots of sex, right?”
“How is that a question? You know the answer to that.” The preposterous tone in her voice made me giggle. Yup, I knew in great detail how much sex she’d had.
Sharing a dorm room and an apartment with the girl since college had well educated me on the amount of sex she had, especially with Derk. I just needed a segue into my actual question. I might not be a virgin anymore, but I was still very shy when it came to talking about private parts and whatnot. That’s why we called them private parts, because our parts were supposed to remain private. At least that’s what my mother told me.
“I mean, do you have a lot of sex, like . . . during the day?”
“When I’m at work, I don’t typically f*ck under my desk, but when I get home, yeah. What are you getting at?”
I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out, but all it did was draw Sir Licks-a-Lot’s attention back to my foot. If he clawed my toe again, he would be making a new friend called, The Fire Escape, because that’s where he would be living from now on. He was the master clawer of toes in the middle of the night to unsuspecting dreaming angels, aka, myself. If one single piggy made it outside of the blankets, he knew about it, and he reminded you who the toe master was. The worst part was, he knew what he was doing because last night, when he got my pinky, I yelped and looked down at him, only to see him smiling that toothy white grin of his.
Bastard!
Turning back to the conversation, I said, “Lately, Henry and I have been having a lot of the sex.”
“It’s just sex, Rosie. You don’t have to put a ‘the’ in the front of it. But yes, you two have been going at it like porn stars on their first shoot. Animals! Grrrawwwlll.”
“Ew, stop, stop that now.” I shuddered just thinking of Henry and me as porn stars. “Please don’t refer to us as porn stars. Yes, do I make him have sex with me in different positions for my book? Of course . . .”
“How’s that coming, by the way?” Delaney asked, interrupting me.
“The book?”
“No, your *. Of course the book!” Delaney answered, exasperated with me.
“It’s doing well. The love story is coming along nicely, but I think it needs more. It needs more of a niche; you know?”
“I don’t know, actually, but let’s not get into that, back to lots of sex.”
And that was that. Delaney loved talking to me about the sex scenes in my book, but when I started to discuss the plot, or the antagonist, she immediately clammed up and changed the subject. She said she had no interest in plotting with me, and she meant that with love. What I really needed was a writing group, a place I could go and discuss my ideas and struggles when it came to writing; they would understand me. I made a mental note to look one up in the city; there had to be some kind of romance writing group in this giant urban jungle.
“Okay, um, so we’ve been doing it a lot, and it’s been amazing. I mean, he stuck his fingers inside me this morning—”
“Nope, no, no, no, no. We are not going into details. I love you, Rosie, but you and Henry are like siblings to me; I don’t want to know about fingers going up anyone. Gah, gross. He knows he has a dick, right, and that he can use it on you?”
“It was foreplay. He was getting me all . . . juicy.”
“Again, no. Do not say juicy,” Delaney chastised.
“Moist?”
Delaney made a disgusted noise on the other side of the phone. “Rosie! Have you not learned one thing from all those groups we participate in on Facebook?”
In my pursuit of being an author, I decided to join some book groups on Facebook; my goodness, did they liked posting penis pictures. Delaney joined to “help me” after she saw me scrolling through my newsfeed and saw a butt shot of Stuart Reardon. Such a horn dog. But, in all honesty, I couldn’t blame her; Stu has a nice tush. Oh and that Franggy, man does he have a beard some ladies would like to sit on. Now she was a part of all the same groups. It led to great conversations, but they mostly revolved around the uncircumcised dick she saw that morning. I was privileged to hear her talk about wanting to have sex with one just once, so she could give it a test run. Like we always say, it’s for science!