Page 97 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“God, why did I wait so long for that?” He licked his lips, as if he were tasting me all over again. “I ordered some deli sandwiches, if that’s okay?”
“Sounds good to me. I brought some cookies for you.” He thanked me and put them on the kitchen counter, eyeing them carefully, like he wanted one right then.
Leaving him to his cookie staring, I sat on his couch as he did the same and turned toward him. “So, tell me how you hurt your wrist. I’m here, I want the details.”
He linked my hand with his and said, “You can’t leave though, once I tell you.”
“I can’t make any promises.” I shrugged.
“Then I’m not telling you.”
“Then I’m afraid I have to go.” I started to get up, but he pulled me back down, this time a lot closer. He grabbed my legs and swung them over his so I was practically sitting on his lap.
“You’re not going anywhere now that I have you here.”
Having Lance to myself was so much better than our first one. It's quieter, more . . . us.
“All right, just tell me what happened, then I can judge you after, is that okay?”
“I guess I have to take what I can get.”
“Dish it,” I said while getting comfortable.
Playing with his hair, he looked off and started telling me his story. “I was at a photo shoot for some stupid makeup products the other day. They are the worst kind of photo shoots because you have to place everything properly and take pictures of still products. The shoots pay well, but they are boring as hell, so to liven them up, I play music for me and the other person the magazine sends along. I was hanging with this twenty-year-old intern—”
“A girl?” I crossed my hands over my chest and tried to fake pout. Didn’t know how well it worked until he leaned over and kissed me. Maybe I should pout more often.
“Not a girl. It was a guy, and he was obsessed with Michael Jackson. So I thought, why not blast some MJ on my phone to make the shoot go by more smoothly?”
“They had a guy help out at a makeup shoot?”
“Believe me, we both wanted to jump off cliffs. It was awful. So toward the end of the shoot, we started busting out our best MJ moves.”
“Do you have moves?” I eyed him up and down while his hand started to caress my thigh. I didn’t even have to ask. He had moves all right, because Virginia was trying to suck in his hand and dance with it. Why did I bother with all the other guys? I should have just stuck with Lance; clearly he was the better choice out of all of them, especially Greg and his love of dog balls.
“I have moves, baby. Just wait, I’ll show them to you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Cheesy, but I’d take it.
“So, what happened?”
“Well, the intern, God, I can’t remember his name, how awful is that? Oh well, the intern goes and lifts his knee and does this shaking thing with his leg like MJ does and he grabs his crotch.”
“Classic.” He nodded.
“So, of course, what did I have to do?”
“You busted out the moonwalk, didn’t you?”
“Did I even have a choice?”
“After the crotch grab? I’m afraid not.” A grin spread across my face.
“That’s what I was thinking. So to add some pizazz, I turned in a full circle, grabbed my crotch—I feel like it was a given—and then started moonwalking right into the display of makeup, where I knocked over everything and landed on my wrist.”
“Oh, ouch. How was the makeup?”
Tickling me, he replied, “Is that what you really care about?”
