The Randy Romance Novelist(72)

ROSIE




Last night would go down in history as the worst night of my life. It beat kicking Atticus in the crotch, exposing my neon * on a bowling date, plastering my heel through squirrel tail’s penis picture, and even confessing my undying love to a man who made out with his dog.

Nothing that I did for the rest of my life would beat vagina balls falling out in front of Henry’s esteemed guests at the party, only to be followed up by my decade-old bra popping through my dress for all to see.

Any other normal person would have thought it was time to excuse yourself to the bathroom. No, not me. I liked to perform. I liked to hang coochey covered marbles off my musty old bra as a party trick.

Congratulations to me, I failed at life.

Before Henry even popped one of his eyeballs open this morning, I grabbed the bag I’d packed for myself last night, loaded all the bachelorette party items into a taxi, and went straight to the venue. Luckily enough, they opened the doors after four hours of me sitting on the curb with a giant penis under my arm, and a penis straw hanging out of my mouth. I refused to answer any of Henry’s texts or calls; I was too mortified to even look at him.

I completely understood why he didn’t want to chase after me last night. Operation Be Sexy failed miserably. Definitely didn’t go as planned.

This morning, when I was sneaking out, I contemplated just leaving for good, giving Henry a way out of the nightmare I’d created, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with him. I didn’t want to trap him with baby news; I wanted him to want me for me.

So, while I sat on the curb, waiting for the club owner to arrive, I thought about my next plan, my final push to reclaim my man, not that I’d lost him or anything, but after last night, pretty sure our relationship was dangling by a thread.

The only idea I could think of, to really make him love me, was to go erotic on him. Men liked erotic women, women who liked a little role-play and a slap to the ass.

I was going to pull out the big guns . . . I was going to go Fifty Shades on him.

Still feeling a little sour about last night, but happy with my plan, I spent the entire afternoon decorating the room Henry had booked for the bachelorette party.

The club was perfect; it had a room in the back made specifically for bachelorette parties. It had a bull riding machine, but instead of the typical steed you held onto, it was a giant, pink penis, with pee hole and everything. The balls had fake, black hair—kind of like strands off a mop—dangling to the sides, grazing the landing zone for those who couldn’t grip the dick long enough. And those who rode the penis for eight seconds were rewarded with a blast of water straight from the penis’s urethra.

Vastly inappropriate, but a bachelorette party game changer for sure.

The club catered, and since they were known for hosting a great peen party, they shaped their food appropriately and offered phallic shaped items for snacking.

Games to be played for tonight: elephant condoms on the legs, penis riding, carve a penis out of a cucumber, penis pi?ata, and of course, pin the penis on Derk. I refused to play that one again—for obvious reasons—I would be the moderator.

Prizes for the winners were a variety of vibrators, lubes, and edible underwear—well, because they were cheap and my bank account was diminishing rather quickly from this party.

Penis garland decorated the outline of the room, condoms were blown into horribly shaped balloons—I used a pump, no lips to the latex for me—and the dong bong was sitting next to the beer, waiting to be used as a consumption device.

The party was ready. I just needed to get ready. Thankfully, the owner let me use the employee locker rooms to get dressed, instead of the sub-par bathrooms open to everyone.

The dress Delaney made me get for the party did not fit, nope, and she would have to deal with the disappointment of that on her own. I was pretty sure she was going to be so distracted by all the dicks in the room that she wouldn’t even notice what I was wearing.

Luckily, I had a cute teal glitter tunic that fell just above my knees that gave plenty of tummy room. I paired it with a pair of black leggings and black flats. I was doing my make up when my phone lit up with a text from Henry.



Henry: Can you please let me know you’re alive? You’re scaring me, love. You won’t answer my calls or my texts.



Succumbing to his wishes because I didn’t want him barging into Delaney’s party, I texted him back.



Rosie: Sorry, I’ve been busy getting ready for the party tonight. I’m good. I will see you later. Have fun with Derk.



His text back was instantaneous.



Henry: Jesus, Rosie. Was it that hard to text back? I’ve been worried about you.



Knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere with my makeup until I settled his worry, I set my brushes down and picked up my phone.



Rosie: Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you this morning, and I just want to make sure this party is perfect.



Henry: I wanted to talk about last night.



Rosie: Maybe we don’t. Let’s just forget it and move on. I would rather not rehash the most embarrassing moment of my life.



I could feel myself start to get emotional, but I kept it in check. I already had one eye done with makeup; I wasn’t about to ruin it.