The Randy Romance Novelist(41)

“Are you going to be okay, love?”

My purse and keys were in my hand when I went up to Henry and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “I don’t want to talk about what just happened in that closet. You hear me? The skinny jean struggle is something we keep between these two balls and vag, got it?”

“Got it, boss.” He kissed me, grabbing onto my ass at the same time. “Seriously, the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

“You don’t have to flatter me to get in my pants, Henry. You know I will jump your bones when I get home.”

I left the apartment with Henry’s giant smile branded on my brain. I didn’t care what he said, I was hitting up the gym starting as soon as possible. What I just experienced in that closet will never happen again.

***

“It’s called love chub,” Delaney answered nonchalantly, while smelling some free lotion that was on display in the salon. “It’s like your freshman fifteen, but with relationships. Happens to the best of us. Once we find someone and feel comfortable around them, we let ourselves go a little. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Delaney, I couldn’t fit in my jeans. I sucked in real hard and they would not close. That is not just letting myself go.”

Delaney gave me a horrified look and leaned in closer to speak. “They wouldn’t close? Like, you couldn’t even button them up?”

“No,” I whisper shouted. “They wouldn’t close.”

“How the hell do you plan on fitting into your dress?”

“I haven’t even gotten my bridesmaid dress, Delaney.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care about your bridesmaid dress. I’m talking about your dress for the bachelorette party. The short pink one; does it still fit?”

I rolled my eyes; of course she would only be worried about the bachelorette party. I didn’t even know what I was wearing for the wedding. Apparently something was picked out, I just had to go try it on.

“It will fit.” I hope, I thought to myself, mentally crossing my fingers.

The gym and I were going to start being best friends starting tomorrow.

“Delaney and Rosie.” A technician called our names.

“And Rosie?” I asked Delaney, who was smiling brightly.

“Yes, that’s us.”

I grabbed Delaney’s hand and stopped her from walking down the hallway. “What are we doing here? Why did they say my name?” My upper lip began to sweat. “What kind of appointment is this?”

“Cool your tits. It’s going to be fun.”

“Last time you said that, a lady with a unibrow bleached my butthole.”

“A long-awaited and much-needed bleach. You’re welcome.”

“I wasn’t thanking you,” I called out, as I chased after her.

The technician led us into a room that looked awfully similar to the room I once lost pieces of skin in. There was a table, there were robes, and there was . . . wax.

“What the hell?” I asked, staring at the little heater that was warming up the devil’s cream.

“Marta will be right with you,” the technician said. “Please strip off your bottom half and put on a robe. Enjoy, ladies.”

“Marta?” I shouted, just as the technician closed the door. “Marta! The she-devil herself. Are you insane? I’m not going through that again. She did things to me that are . . . unspeakable.”

I tore off to the door, but Delaney stopped me, grabbing both of my shoulders and righting me so she could look me in the eyes.

“Rosie—”

I didn’t let her finish; I tore at her face with my claws, trying to distract her from her firm grip on me.

“Release your hands from me. I demand this at once,” I shouted.

“Why are you talking like some kind of royal? Hey, Duchess Cray Pants, calm the eff down.”

“I will not calm down, and I will not strip off my pants. This is not happening again. I refuse to have that goliath of a woman—”

The door opened before I was able to finish my sentence. Standing at what seemed like the Loch Ness Monster’s size, filling the doorframe with her knee-high stockings, white technician outfit, and her snarly unibrow was Marta, in the flesh.

“Nooooo,” I yelled, my hands cupping my crotch out of pure self-defense. “You’re not going to touch my vagina; you hear me, you . . . you . . . manatee!”

“Rosie,” Delaney scolded me. “Don’t be rude.”

Releasing myself of Delaney’s grip, I cowered in the corner, still gripping my crotch and staying as far away from Marta as I could, who was giving me a rather strange look.

“Ah, Captain Cunt Ripper,” Marta pointed and laughed at me. “You come back for more.”

“The hell I did. You’re not touching my vagina, you hear me?” I threatened her with my fist in the air. “If you come near me, I’ll have to do damage.” I shook my fist, my tiny, very weak fist. “I know how to do some damage with this thing, so unless you want to answer to Five-Finger McGee, then I suggest you keep your distance.”

“So no Vajazzle for you?”

I paused for a second, trying to figure out what kind of language she was speaking.

“Vajazzle? Is that some sick term you use when you’re tearing people’s clits off and laughing about it? Well, I’m not falling for it. I see the wax; I know how this works. I pull my pants down, you search my area for weak spots, apply wax in areas that will buckle all my senses, and then you rip off precious lady parts, adding them to your graveyard of psychotic torture. You’re a sadist!”