Page 160 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Christ,” he mumbled before snorting out a chunk of banana.
Not knowing what else to do, and frankly not wanting to make the situation any worse, I sat in front of him and waited for his charley horse to settle down. I itched to grab his calf and massage it out, but was too afraid to make it worse. Keeping my hands to myself seemed like a better plan.
After a few minutes of rocking back and forth and breathing through his mouth, not his nose, he finally released his calf and sat back on the bed. He wiped away the banana on his face and then took a deep breath.
I hated that, even in his misery, I still wanted to get back on top of him and finish what we’d started. Seriously, there was something wrong with me.
“Are you okay?” I asked timidly.
“I think so,” he huffed out. His arm fell over his eyes, while his body settled his cramp.
We sat in silence while he regained his composure. I’ve had a charley horse before in my big toe. I remember being in so much pain that chopping off the phalange seemed like a serious plausible solution.
Minutes ticked by in silence; Sir Licks-a-Lot was practically smoking an e-cig off to the side from the sexual display we gave him, and Billy Crystal was singing, “Surrey with the Fringe on Top” in the background.
Not being able to handle the silence anymore, I asked, “Did you at least like the nipple plucking?”
At a snail’s pace, Henry lifted his arm up so our eyes met, mine full of curiosity, his full of surrender. “You’re going to be the death of me, love.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wolf Fleece Wendy
ROSIE
“Dressed like that?” he asked, looking me up and down.
“Yes, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Seems a little revealing, don’t you think?”
I stood and walked to the mirror in the living room. I took in the fitted outfit I had on. I was wearing black pants and a black top, but the top had some lace in the front neckline, not really showing anything.
“No. It’s fine.”
“I think you should change, and while you’re at it, change into a swing dress so you can go dancing with me tonight.”
“I told you; I have a date.”
“Cancel,” he said, as he came up next to me, grabbing my hands so he could pull me in closer to his body. His head lowered to mine so our foreheads were touching. “Come out with me, Meghan. Let me take you on a date.” He sounded so vulnerable, like he was trying to offer me the world but was nervous about it.
My lungs seized and I knew I was going to start hyperventilating. Why was he doing this? He was changing the dynamics of our relationship. It made me so incredibly scared.
Trying to not hurt him, I said, “We have a date Sunday. We’re going to brunch.”
With the touch of his finger, he lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes.
“I want a real date, Meghan. I want a date with you and only you, not your parents and not our friends. I want to take you out, open doors for you, spoil you, and take you home. I want it all, Meghan.”
Isat back and read the words over and over again that I’d typed on my computer.
“I want a date with you.”
Ugh, I was so naïve back then. Any person reading this story would have thought,can’t you see the man is in love with you?
I’d spent the last two months writing the timeline of my relationship with Henry, the high points and the low points, the mishaps and the fortunate occurrences. Reliving losing my virginity had been an epiphany of sorts. I’d had to recount my interactions with Henry, go back into my journal that I retired after Henry and I became a couple, and read word for word every missed opportunity I’d had with him.
He was there when I wanted to watch porn—not in a creepy way—he was there after I farted on Phillip’s chin, he was there to help me after I kicked a man in the balls, and he was there to hold my hand during the crazy dating world. He told me time and time again how beautiful I was.
