Page 123 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Remember that guy, Atticus?”
“The one you kicked in the crotch?” Delaney asked.
“Yes, him. He called me and asked to take me out again. I was shocked and didn’t know how to respond and that’s when Henry went all weird.”
Blowing out a heavy breath and sitting back in her chair, Delaney shook her head at me. “God, Rosie, you’re so dense at times. That voicemail upset Henry. The guy has it bad for you, and right after you two have sex you talk about possibly going out with another guy. He was an ass because he was protecting his heart.”
“Wh-what? No . . .”
Henry’s face flashed in my mind when I started talking about Atticus, and that’s when it hit me. Delaney was right. Henry was upset about the phone call.But I wasn’t going to go out with Atticus.
“Oh God, I am dense,” I said, burying my head in my hands. “Do you really think he likes me like that?”
“Jesus, even I saw that he liked you,” Jenny said. “It’s so obvious, Rosie.”
“She’s right. It’s obvious, sweetie. Ever since freshman year in college, he’s loved you, but you’ve always wanted to be friends so that’s what he granted you: friendship. I can only imagine how much he wanted you as time passed and after seeing you date all of these guys in a short time period, he snapped.”
"But what about all the women he's slept with over the years, Delaney? How was I supposed to know Henry had feelings for me? Only a few weeks ago he hooked up with that Tinder girl. Remember?”
"He's a man, Rosie. They can have sex with anyone really. It's a physical release."Right. Sex with anyone for release.
“I don’t know what to say. I mean, what the hell do I do now?”
“Talk to him,” Delaney suggested. “Unless, are you going to go out with Atticus?”
“No. I haven’t even called him back.”
“Then let him know that. Do you like Henry? Do you have feelings for him?”
That was an easy question to answer. Of course I had feelings for Henry. I’d had feelings for him ever since I met him, but I’d always thought he was out of my league. That’s why I’d kept him as a friend because if anything, I wanted him in my life, any way I could take him. But now . . . now I wanted more. I wanted to be the one he kissed good night, the one who slept in his arms, the one he sent flowers to on special occasions. I wanted every last inch of Henry all to myself but was terrified to actually hand my heart over to get that. But then I thought about Derk’s words before he proposed to Delaney.“I realized that at some point, I no longer only wanted her as a friend, because I wanted her in my life at all times.”Yes, I knew what I wanted.
“I do,” I said, which made Delaney squeal. “I just don’t know if he wants me still.”
“You’ll never know until you put yourself out there and ask. Time to take your life by the lady balls, Rosie,” Delaney said while Jenny nodded in agreement. “He’ll be home tonight. Don’t wait any longer, make it happen.”
“I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“Welcome to the world of love, Rosie. It sucks, it’s nauseating and nerve-racking at times, but the reward is so worth it when you have someone by your side, encouraging you, loving you, and being your life support. There’s nothing like it.”
Life support, yup, that was what Henry was to me. But at the moment, without him, I could feel myself slowly deteriorating, losing the ability to be happy, to eat, to sleep. Hewashands down my life support; he was the reason I breathed.
* * *
Later that night, when I got home from work, I stood in front of my apartment door, contemplating what I would say to Henry, how I’d approach the subject without being incredibly awkward.
Usually at this point in the books I’d read, the guy had screwed up, and for the most part, he won the girl back with ease, explaining he’d been an idiot and then made the grand gesture like proposing.
Well, that was out of the picture. There was no way I’d be proposingtalk about an epic mistake. But talking, cuddling . . . honestly I’d love to jump his bones and make up that way. I read a book where that was completely acceptable, but my gut was telling me that wasn’t the best solution with Henry and me.
Talking was obviously the clear-cut choice, but how to go about talking to him was the question.
Did I say something like, “So about our post-coitus relations . . .”
No, no one said coitus, unless you were a doctor in the fifties who liked to skirt around words like sex and fucking. I didn’t really say fucking, even though, there were times where people just fucked. Not that I’d experienced that. I’d only had penis insertion once, but in some of the books I’d read, those characters fucked—holy hell did they fuck. Up against walls, in hot tubs, on desks, kitchen counters, chairs, and my favorite, on top of a horse. That’s fucking. What Henry and I shared was . . . God, it was making love. I felt absolutely worshipped.
I was such an idiot. I wasthatgirl.
I was that girl you read about in a romance novel that you wanted to shake uncontrollably and say, “You idiot. He’s the perfect man for you.”
