Page 138 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“You were able to do The Titanic?” I asked with jealousy.
Delaney leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed. “Of course, it was simple. I Kate Winsleted Derk’s penis like it was my job. And when I came, I screamed, ‘I’m flying.’ It was a raw and emotional moment.”
Derk came jogging up behind Delaney, breathing heavily with an annoyed look on his face. “Seriously, babe, what is your obsession with catching them in the middle of having sex?” Derk took in the scene and shook his head.
“They tried to do The Titanic,” Delaney said, ignoring Derk’s question.
Derk looked up at Henry and asked, “Did you plant your feet?”
“Yes,” Henry practically yelled before stomping off toward the bathroom, giving both Delaney and Derk a beautiful look at his bare butt.
“Man, he’s sensitive,” Delaney said. Nodding at the rug, Delaney asked, “You going to wear a tapestry while we discuss wedding plans or are you going to get changed?”
“If you give me some privacy, I’ll change, but I’m not about to give you a naked lady show.”
“Suit yourself. You have five minutes; the bridezilla has spoken.”
With that, Delaney turned on her heel and shut the door. I walked over to Henry, who was combing his hair in the mirror, and kissed his shoulder.
He gave me a defeated smile before saying, “My feet were fucking planted.”
Laughing and patting his shoulder, I said, “I know, Henry. I know.”
* * *
PLOP!
Henry and I were sitting across from Delaney and Derk just as she slammed a giant folder on the table. The four-inch binder was busting at the seams, pamphlets poking out from every direction, dividers clearly labeling each section, and page protectors guarding what I could only assume were her favorite ideas for the wedding.
The bridezilla had awakened.
The last two months, Delaney and Derk haven’t even talked about the wedding; they’ve enjoyed their engagement, actually . . . they’ve enjoyed each other’s bodies. They decided to finally move in together. Let’s just say we haven’t seen much of them, but then again, Henry and I have been in the same kind of fornication fog.
The other night, after I took great notes on a sex scene I was thinking about writing—thank you, Henry, for riding out the falling-off-the-bed mishap—Delaney called me and demanded a wedding meeting. We were both to be present, clothed, and excited to help plan.
Henry was ready to dig his claws into some wedding cake and tuxedos, but me, on the other hand, I knew nothing when it came to wedding planning. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be much help other than emotional support, and I guess by the sounds of her frantic voice on the phone the other night, she was going to need a lot of that.
“Nice binder,” Henry said with a smile, as his hand grazed my inner thigh.
“Stop stroking her,” Delaney shouted. “You think because you’re at a table I can’t see you moving your hand up and down her thigh? This is neither the time nor the place.” Under her breath, she mumbled, “Pervert.”
“Babe, calm down,” Derk said, visibly relaxing Delaney with a touch of his hand to her shoulder.He really is the perfect match for her.
Delaney placed her hands on the table and stared us down. “The time has come. Rosie and Henry, you two are the most important people in our lives, and we would love for you to be our maid of honor and best man.”
“Man, that’s awesome. Thank you for asking,” Henry replied, but Delaney held up her hand to silence him.
“We’re not asking, Henry. You have no choice in the matter. You will be the bridal party.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Gee, thanks.”
“Are you not going to fulfill your best-friend responsibilities?”
“No, I will. It’s just nice to have the option.”
“There is no option in this wedding dictatorship.” Delaney flipped her hair to the side and grabbed the binder. “Now that you both have been told your roles, we must get down to business. Yesterday, Derk and I put down the deposit for a wedding venue in Long Island—”
“Long Island?” Henry mocked.
