Page 225 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
GOD!
“Delaney,” I shouted like a crazed woman, running through their apartment and straight into the bathroom, where Delaney was resting her cheek against the seat of the toilet, one of her boobs hanging out of her camisole and a pair of Derk’s tighty-whities the only cover-up for her bottom half.
“Oh, dear,” I said, stopping in place from the sight in front of me.
“Fraggle Rock,” she mumbled, spitting into the toilet and running her finger along the edge.
Her makeup was smeared, her hair was greasy from a mixture of vomit, sweat, and last night’s activities, and I was pretty sure if you tapped her like a maple tree, you could serve up a keg of vodka for a frat party.
Cautiously, I knelt down beside her, tucked her boob into her shirt for her, and patted her forehead with a washcloth from the sink.
“Why are you mumbling about a live-action puppet show?”
“It was such a simple time,” she answered, her voice rough, like an eighty-year-old who’d given way too many blow jobs.
“I don’t quite understand, but I’m going to nod my head.”
She blew out a long breath of air, foaming saliva and bubbles . . . not a very attractive picture.
“Remember being a kid, when alcohol didn’t exist?”
“Alcohol existed when we were children. We weren’t raised during prohibition.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed, pulling her body away from the toilet and leaning against the wall of the bathroom. “When we were young, alcohol wasn’t on our radar. We didn’t care about consuming it. We cared aboutFraggle Rockand the Fraggles and the Doozers and what colored jellies we were going to wear.”
“Pink with glitter, always,” I said.
“Purple with glitter. Remember how they used to stick to your feet when you walked, especially on a hot day? Such impractical footwear.”
“But stylish.”
“Nonetheless, they were simpler times. Times I can remember. Last night, I don’t even know what happened. Flashes of pink cocks and pubic hairs is all that crosses my brain. Did I act like Oprah handing out cock rings last night?”
“That would be an accurate statement.”
Delaney barely nodded, not wanting to shake too much. “Then you did your job, maid of honor. You brought out the inner Oprah in me. I couldn’t be more proud.”
“That’s an odd thing to say, but you’re welcome.” I laughed.
Delaney tilted her head to the side, taking in my outfit. “Why are you here right now?”
“Henry and I fought last night. He wouldn’t sniff my underwear.”
Delaney winced. “Bad move, Henry. Rookie mistake.”
“We fought and I packed a bag and walked out on him.”
Sitting up and growing thoughtful, Delaney said, “That’s serious. Did you break up with him?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Wait a second.” Delaney took a deep breath as she eyed the toilet, but then swallowed and exhaled. “This isn’t one of those Ross and Rachel things where he thinks you’re on a break and then he goes and fucks some other woman when all you wanted was some time to think, is it?”
I hadn’t thought about that. Did Henry think we’d broken up? Were we broken up? Did he go drown his sorrows in the “copy girl,” aka, Tasha’s breasts?
“I have no clue,” I said, my voice a little shaky with concern.
“I hope not, because that would be the most idiotic thing he ever did.”
