Page 153 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“We have a month to come up with fresh and innovative ideas. This is an account we will win; do not let me down. Danielle, go through the details for us.”
Danielle went over Legacy’s sales figures, their current branding, their social media and advertising, as well as their presence in the market. They weren’t catering to the young crowd, something I knew I could assist with, and they weren’t catering to women either, something I knew I could help them improve as well, despite the penis that resided in my pants. And I could, because I was fucking good at my job. But it wasn’t simply that. I had to ensure I knew Legacy inside out and pitched a plan that blew their mind. Something that would supersede the board’s misconception that gender usurped skill and experience. Something better than Tasha.
Fuck.
Could this nightmare get any worse?
It could, actually . . .
If Rosie found out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Moist
ROSIE
“Delaney, can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” she said.
I was lying across the couch, twirling the water sprayer in my hand, pointing it at Sir Licks-a-Lot- occasionally, just daring him to do something wrong while I talked to Delaney on the phone.
Working from home was probably the best thing that had ever happened to me, besides Henry of course. I completed my actual work in the morning and was able to spend the rest of the afternoon—when I wasn’t battling demon cat—baking cookies, moving furniture around so it was more functional for the space we were living in, and even painting my toenails. I’d just finished, which was why I still had cotton balls smashed between my toesies and Sir Licks-a-Lot was eyeing my foot, as if he were a child staring at a decorated foot of cotton candy.
Casually, I asked Delaney, “You’ve had lots of sex, right?”
“How is that a question? You know the answer to that.” The preposterous tone in her voice made me giggle. Yup, I knew in great detail how much sex she’d had.
Sharing a dorm room and an apartment with the girl since college had educated me on the amount of sex she had, especially with Derk. I needed to segue into my actual question. I might not be a virgin anymore, but I was still very shy when it came to talking about private parts and whatnot. That’s why we called them private parts, because our parts were supposed to remain private. At least that’s what my mother had told me.
“I mean, do you have a lot of sex, like . . . during the day?”
“I don’t typically fuck under my desk when I’m at work, but when I get home, yeah. What are you getting at?”
I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out, but all it did was draw Sir Licks-a-Lot’s attention back to my foot. If he clawed my toe again, he would be making a new friend called The Fire Escape, because that’s where he would be living from now on. He was the master clawer of toes in the middle of the night to unsuspecting dreaming angels, aka, myself. If one single piggy made it outside the blankets, he knew about it, and he reminded me who the toe master was. The worst part, he knew what he was doing because last night, when he got my pinky, I yelped and looked down at him, only to see him smiling that toothy white grin of his.
Bastard!
Turning back to the conversation, I said, “Lately, Henry and I have been having a lot of the sex.”
“It’s just sex, Rosie. You don’t have to put a ‘the’ in the front of it. But yes, you two have been going at it like porn stars on their first shoot. Animals. Grrrawwwlll.”
“Ew, stop, stop that now.” I shuddered just thinking of Henry and me as porn stars. “Please don’t refer to us as porn stars. Do I make him have sex with me in different positions for my book? Of course—”
“How’s that coming, by the way?”
“The book?”
“No, your pussy. Of course the book,” Delaney answered, exasperated with me.
“It’s doing well. The love story is coming along nicely, but I think it needs more. It needs more of a niche, you know?”
“I don’t know, actually, but let’s not get into that. Back to lots of sex.”
And that was that. Delaney loved talking to me about the sex scenes in my book, but when I started to discuss the plot, or the antagonist, she immediately clammed up and changed the subject. She said she had no interest in plotting with me, and she meant that with love. What I really needed was a writing group, a place where I could go and discuss my ideas and struggles when it came to writing; they would understand me. I made a mental note to look one up in the city, because there had to be a romance writing group in this giant urban jungle.
“Okay, um, so we’ve been doing it a lot, and it’s been amazing. I mean, he stuck his fingers inside me this morning—”
