The Randy Romance Novelist(80)

“Ooof. Damn you,” she muttered into the mattress.

The girl had persistence.

Finally, with the finesse of a drunken man, she removed the leggings and then stood up, one hand on her hip and the other trying to find a position that was comfortable for her. She held her stomach for a second, but then switched to holding one of her breasts.

“Sit on the bed,” she demanded, catching her balance from her awkward movements.

Instead of arguing, I did what she said, so I could be in a position to speak to her rationally.

Liking that I followed directions, she stood in front of me and placed her hands on my shoulders, so I reciprocated the movement and gripped her hips. In the moonlight, I savored the way her beautiful features sparkled down at me, like I was the only man she would ever be happy with. I only hoped she knew the feeling was mutual.

“Rosie, maybe we can hold—”

“Uh-uh,” her finger pressed against my lips. “No talking, only actions tonight.” Still gripping my shoulders, she spread her legs so they were shoulder width apart and then licked her lips. “Take my underwear off and smell them.”

The urge to clean out my ear in front of her was overwhelming. “Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if I heard her right.

I could see her swallow hard as she straightened up and once again, said, “Take off my underwear and smell them.”

I studied her face to see if she was serious. Not once did she smile or hint at being funny. She was one hundred percent being real with me.

“I . . . I don’t think that’s something we do with each other,” I answered, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

Her right index finger ran up my neck to my chin where she ran it up and down my lips, as if I was Bugs Bunny looking at a rather attractive bunny for the first time. What was happening?

“There is always time to try something new.” She leaned over and got in my face. “Let’s get erotic, Henry. Let’s spice things up. Men like forward women, so take off my underwear and smell them.”

This wasn’t going to go well; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I was going to take off her underwear and smell them, even though she was dead set on the idea.

Not moving to remove said underwear, I gripped her tighter and forced her to sit on my lap. I turned her chin so she met my eyes. “Love, we don’t need to get erotic. It’s been a long night; why don’t we just cuddle up and turn on some I Love Lucy or something? I can make you some hot chocolate.”

“I don’t want hot chocolate!” she snapped, standing up from my lap.

Oh, shit.

“I want your dick, served to me on a silver platter of orgasmic pleasure. I want you to want to rip my underwear off like all the men in the books I’ve read, but not give me crack burn this time. I want the same kind of passion I write about, that I read about. It’s not there with us anymore. There is no passion. You don’t want me.” She started to tear up, and I wondered if I should come clean with my plans of proposing. Should I just go to my drawer and pull out the ring?

The thought was at the forefront of my mind when she took off her underwear and waved it in the air. “Smell them, for the love of Christian Grey, smell them. You watched the movie with me; remember how sensual it was when he did that?”

“That was my least favorite part,” I answered, forgetting about being sensitive.

“It was one of the best parts! He cares enough about her to smell the crotch of her panties. Do you care enough about me to smell my underwear?”

I stood there, frozen, not quite sure what to say. I grabbed the back of my neck and said, “I’m a little confused as to why smelling someone’s day old underwear means you care about them.”

Rosie tossed her hands in the air, throwing the underwear in frustration. “You don’t get it! It’s not about smelling underwear, it’s about wanting to smell it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Why was I poking the bear? I just didn’t understand why we were fighting over sniffing underwear.

“Fine, don’t smell it, don’t smell anything of mine. For the rest of your life, just stop smelling anything that is ever associated with me. You know what?” she pointed her finger at me. “Stop breathing through your nose right now, because you’re too close to smelling any of my essence and APPARENTLY YOU WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH MY ESSENSE!” she screamed, scaring Sir Licks-a-Lot, causing him to run in place on the hardwood floor until he gained grip and shot under the bed, hiding for cover. I wanted desperately to join him.

“Rosie.” She walked away from me and headed to the closet.

“Don’t you Rosie me.” Clothes were flung from the closest, decorating the room with prints, plaids, and jeans. “I was trying to spice things up for us, Henry. It’s like we’re just roommates; people who live together and occasionally kiss because . . . why the hell not? We’re not even in a relationship. You barely talk to me anymore. I had to find out at the party that you were working on some dick sleeve campaign.”

I walked over to the closet where she was packing a bag, and my heart seized in my chest. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving. What does it look like? We are not compatible anymore. If you didn’t want to be with me, then you should have just said it instead of doing this hot and cold relationship with me.”