“How the hell would I know?” Henry laughed. “Do I need to start screening what you read, and honestly Rosie, are you that naive? You know I love you, but a pencil in the ass?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and laughed. “I just learned how to suck a dick on a banana the other day. How am I supposed to know that people aren’t supposed to stick things in butt holes?”
“Oh, things can go in butt holes, just not pencils.”
“Oh! Like anal plugs!” I said with pride. “She had an anal plug in her butt before she had the pencil. And, you know, I was thinking the other day, when he pulled out the anal plug to replace it with the pencil, do you think it made a popping sound? Like when you pull a cork out of a wine bottle? I’m trying to envision this so called plug and all I can think about is a wine cork.”
Visions of corks in butts ran through my mind while I turned and saw Henry running his hands up and down his face, like he was in pain.
“Rosie, you know how to Google, why didn’t you just Google what an anal plug looks like?”
“So, it’s not a wine cork?”
“For fuck’s sake, no, Rosie,” he laughed. “An anal plug is thin on one side and thicker on the other, and they come in all colors and sizes.”
“Glow in the dark?”
“Probably. I’ve never used one.”
“Oh, so they’re not just for girls?”
“No, anyone can stick an anal plug in their ass.”
“Interesting,” I pondered for a moment, thinking if I could incorporate an anal plug in my book…they seemed interesting.
“Don’t even think about it,” Henry stopped me. “You’re not writing about anal plugs.”
“And why not?” I asked defiantly.
“Because you don’t even know what a dick looks like in person. You can’t go from virgin to anal plug stuffing romance writer. Work your way in, Rosie. Write about stuff you know.”
“I know nothing,” I said, a little frustrated. “I know that when you kick a man in the crotch, he won’t want to see you again.”
“That’s not true. Atticus may want to call you.”
“I made him throw up, Henry.”
He nodded and I saw a small smirk spread across his face. I despised him at that moment.
“Yeah, we might want to cut our losses with Atticus and move on. Your date tonight, focus on that and the taco man.”
“His name is Alejandro,” I corrected, just as a ping went off on my computer, causing me to turn around and see what the noise was.
A picture of Alejandro popped up on my screen along with a message from him.
Hi Rosie,
I’m so glad you wrote me back. How does Monday sound? We can meet at the restaurant.
Alejandro
“Alejandro wrote me back,” I squealed. “He wants to go out Monday night. What should I say back?”
A long exhale came out of Henry as he got off my bed and stepped up behind me. His hands rested on my shoulders and he read the message off of my computer.
“For the record, I don’t like this guy. He seems too excited.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I looked up at him over my shoulder.
“No, but I just don’t like him.”
“That’s very mature of you,” I teased. “So, what should I say?”
“Do you want to meet him on Monday?”
“Should I? I don’t want to sound desperate?” Henry gave me a pointed look, so I pinched his stomach, making him step back. “I’m not desperate, just…intrigued. So Monday, then?”
“Sure, but you will be telling me where this taco place is, because hell if I’m going to let you go out with this Alejandro and have me not know about it.”
“You’re too protective,” I said, while writing Alejandro back and letting him know Monday worked perfectly.
“Just don’t want to see you get hurt.” He paused for a second and then spun me around in my chair. He knelt in front of me and held my hands. He took a deep breath and said softly, “You know, Rosie, if you wanted, I could just show you everything myself.”
My heart stopped beating in my chest as I tried to comprehend Henry’s offer. Was he serious?
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice breaking.
His brow creased as he thought about his words. He cleared his throat and stood up, putting distance between us.
“Never mind.” He shook his head, as if what he was about to say was crazy. Unsure of what to do, he stumbled a bit and said, “I have to go, but make sure you say bye to me before your date tonight. I want to wish you good luck.”
With that, Henry left my room, leaving me completely and utterly confused. Did he just offer to show me everything, as in, have sex with me?
Delaney’s words of Henry being a cherry chaser kept running through my head; there was no way he was a cherry chaser, and even if he was, he wouldn’t want to be with me just because I was a virgin. He wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship like that; it was impossible.
I shook the thoughts from my head and went back to my bed where I pulled my Kindle off of my nightstand and started reading about the magnificent pencil holder and her kinky man.
Chapter Eight
The North Star
“I’m telling you, I’m terrible at bowling,” I laughed, as Lance and I both looked at the TV that held our scores. I was at a measly fifty-two, and Lance was bowling a one-eighty, which was quite impressive to me.
“At least you look adorable doing it,” Lance pinched my chin, making me melt in place.
I was nervous coming into this date, because I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I had only met Lance once before, and we barely held a conversation, so to see this fun side of him was different for me; it was intriguing.
We met at the bowling alley, and I was instantly intimidated to see he was with four of his friends, who were all dressed up for cosmic bowling, thankfully, since I wore my tight white shirt, jeans and neon green bra. I fit in with the crowd, perfectly actually, but outside of the bowling alley, I looked like a teenager who spent her spare time hanging out by the light post of the local gas station. Real classy, top notch.
Lance loved my outfit, though, and I had to admit, he looked beyond handsome in his dark jeans and white V-neck shirt. It was simple, yet classic.
“Want to take a break?” Lance asked, as his hand found the small of my back.
“That might be a good idea. My thumb is starting to hurt.”
“Aw, you have bowler’s thumb.” Lance grabbed my thumb and brought it to his lips, where he lightly kissed it.
At that moment, I felt like one of those cartoon characters who started floating in the air while their legs kicked about and hearts sprouted from their heads. A little kiss on the thumb from Lance had me wanting to dance around and fist bump anyone with a hand.
I hated that I was so caught up in the little things…that a small gesture from a man had me shaking and quaking in my shoes, but I’ve never been romanced. I never really went on dates and never really put myself out there, so it was nice to see I could garner some male attention. I rather enjoyed it.
Lance grabbed my hand, entwined our fingers, and led me to the bowling alley bar, where he helped me up on the barstool. I wasn’t someone who frequented bowling alleys very often, but a bowling alley in the city was much different than one in a smaller town. It was fancy and kind of posh, with white leather seating and exposed brick.
Luckily, Lance gave me a heads up that usually the bowling alley had a strict dress code, but once a month they had cosmic bowling night and encouraged bowlers to wear fun colors and white shirts to add to the atmosphere. Otherwise, there was a no athletic wear and white shirt policy. When did bowling alleys become judgmental snobs of a white shirt? Hello, have they seen the classic bowling shirt? Uh, tacky!
“What can I get you?” he asked, while calling the bartender over to us.
“Um, how about a margarita? Can they make one of those?”
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“I’m sure they can.” When the bartender came over, Lance grabbed my hand and said, “Margarita on the rocks for this little lady, and a Stella on tap for me, thanks.”
“Big beer drinker?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Love beer. Different craft beers are my favorite. I love traveling around and finding local breweries, little holes in the wall where they make their own brews. I’ve had some pretty stellar beers from local breweries,” he crinkled his nose and continued, “And I’ve had some real donkey piss too.”
A genuine laugh escaped me from the look on his face. “Oh no, that bad?”
He nodded as the bartender set our drinks in front of us. Lance grabbed his beer and took a swig, while turning in his seat to face me better.
“I was in Milwaukee for a sailing boat photo shoot during the summer…”
“There are sailing boats in Milwaukee?” I asked, a little dumbfounded at finding that out. I always pictured Milwaukee as a frigid metropolis, where snowmen and polar bears play friendly games of ice hockey. Apparently not.
“Oh, yeah. Summer in Milwaukee is huge. The city sits right on Lake Michigan, so sailing and speed boats are big during the summer season, as well as music festivals. It’s quite a lively city in the summer; if you ever get a chance, I suggest you go. And if you go, I suggest you don’t go to the brewery I went to. I can’t remember what it’s called, but I know exactly where it was because when I was walking downtown, I saw a homeless person peeing on the corner of Michigan Avenue. Instead of passing him and risking the possibility of getting pee all over me, I went into the brewery on the corner to get a drink. Little did I know, the homeless person was most likely helping to make the beer.”
“Eck, gross. Did they at least serve pretzels?”
“No,” Lance said with outrage. “You would think there would be some sort of pretzel, but there were none. Can you believe that?”
“I can’t,” I giggled. “So, have you traveled a lot?”
He nodded as he sipped on his beer. “I’ve been all over the U.S., and then, of course, outside the states.”
“Really? Where?”
“Let’s see, I’ve been to Europe, stuck my head up the center of the Eiffel Tower; I’ve been to the coastlines of Italy and Greece, as well as saluted the Queen of England. I’ve also been lucky to travel to Africa, South Africa mainly, and Australia, both very long flights.”
“I can imagine. What’s been your favorite place?”
He paused and thought about the question, something I admired about him. He really took his time and put thought into his answers.
“I would have to say Greece, there is something about the contrast of the blue of the coast up against the white of the buildings. It is a true photographer’s dream being out there. Plus, the culture is exciting. The families are intense, and I like that. I have a close-knit family, so being over there made me think of home.”
“It sounds amazing. I wish I could go there someday. I have a passport, but no stamps yet.”
“No? Maybe other countries aren’t ready for you just yet,” Lance said with a wink.
“That or I just haven’t had the money saved up for it, but I will. I’ll get that stamp.”
“Where do you want to go, once you do?”
I took a sip of my margarita that I was really starting to enjoy and said, “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”
“Promise,” he said, and grabbed my leg to give it a light squeeze. My lady bits shivered from his touch.
“I really want to go to the Icelandic coast. I’ve always been fascinated with the Northern Lights, and trips up to Iceland are actually quite affordable. I think it would be such a beautiful and fun trip.”
“Now, why would I make fun of you for picking Iceland? My buddy went up there for a week and when he came back, he showed me all the pictures he took, and I couldn’t have been more jealous. It’s gorgeous there.”
“It really is, at least from what I’ve seen from my Googling.”
“Now, tell me why you thought I would make fun of you?” his hand went to my hair and started twisting it absentmindedly. Good God, he was pulling out all the stops tonight, touching me in every way possible, and damn if I wasn’t falling for it, every single one of them.
“I feel like when you usually ask someone where they want to go, anywhere in the world, they answer someplace exotic. Not many people want to go up to Iceland.”
“True,” he chuckled. “But that’s what makes you so unique; you’re not like everyone else, Rosie.”
The way he said his statement made it seem like he’d known me for a while, when in fact, we really didn’t know each other at all.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything.” He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips, lightly kissing my knuckles. His gestures were sweet and sucking me in every time he made one.
“Why did you want to ask me out? I feel like we don’t know each other at all, and this date came out of the blue, not that it’s a bad thing. I guess I’m just curious is all.”
“I can understand that,” he answered with a devilish grin. “To be honest, I’m kind of shy, so when I first met you, I brushed you off because I was too damn nervous to go up to you. If you haven’t noticed, Rosie, you’re drop dead gorgeous, and the first time I ever saw you, I was hooked. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to get put on another photo shoot with you. It’s been a challenge, but once I found out about you writing up the Maine Coon interview, I made sure to be there.”
“Really?” I asked, feeling a little flabbergasted.
“Really. I like you Rosie, a lot, and since I’m putting myself out there, I have to tell you, I’ve read all of your cat articles.” An adoring look crossed his face, making me laugh.
“What fine literature you’ve chosen to read.”
“I know more about cats than I would prefer, but I think you’re great at writing, even if some articles are about the most effective ways to clean hairballs.”
“Yeah, the pictures for that article were a little intense for my liking.”
“They were a bit rough,” he nodded and smiled.
Sincerely, I said, “Thank you for reading my articles, even if they are not the most riveting literature ever.”
“Hey, I learned something,” he shrugged. “Do you want to work somewhere else?”
Starting to grow nervous, since I hadn’t really talked about my life aspirations with anyone but Delaney and Henry, I contemplated telling him what I really wanted to do. He seemed like he would be cool with me being a romance novelist.
Sometimes, I was worried what people would think if I told them, told them I was interested in writing sex, writing romance, writing about that all-consuming power called love. I feel like there is a stereotype in the world for people who read romance novels, people depict them as sad ladies sitting in a corner of their house, wearing a torn up sweater while eating chocolates and petting their cats, but that’s not the case at all. There is a whole community out there who loves love, who loves romance, and I’m one of them. It’s a world I love living in, where there are happily ever afters, the odd girl gets the good looking guy, and where chivalry isn’t lost. I know it can’t all be true, that life isn’t as grand as some novels make it out to be, but I still love every single story because it’s an escape from reality, a moment in time where you can daydream of the impossible, where there is a chance of watching true love unfold right in front of you.
Sigh.
“Rosie?”
“Oh, sorry,” I shook my head. “I actually am writing a romance novel, well trying to.”
“Wow, really? That’s pretty cool. Does your hero have glasses and take pictures of cats?”
“Something like that,” I laughed, while I finished off my margarita. “Want to go back to bowling?” I told him I was writing a book, but I didn’t think I was comfortable enough to get into the fine details of my riveting novel,
because I could see the look in his eyes, he was curious. I was afraid he was going to start talking about sex, and I wasn’t prepared for such a thing. I could barely talk about sex with Henry, let alone a guy I was interested in.
“Sure. Do you need some tips to keep your ball from staying out of the gutter?” he teased.
“Probably. I’ve never really been athletic. I’m surprised I can even pick up the ball.”
“It’s six pounds,” he laughed.
“That’s why my arm is tired.”
Shaking his head at me, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me back to our lane, where his friends were no longer lounging. They seemed to have dispersed, which was nice because I was enjoying my time with just Lance. When it was all of his friends, I felt quite intimidated.
Like a weirdo, I was fascinated with the white leather seats, which were pristine, and I really wondered how they kept them so clean. They must Scotch Guard the crap out of the seats because there were too many drinks just dying to be spilled all over them. I took note to possibly ask the manager; I wanted their secret.
“Ladies first, Rosie,” Lance gestured.
“Alright, I got this.”
I walked up to the ball holder and grabbed my bright pink, six pound ball, stuck my thumb in and walked up to the line. I was about to start to walk up to the front of the lane when I felt Lance stand behind me and speak softly in my ear. His voice had chills running up and down my skin.
“Can I give you a pointer?”
“Please,” I said a little too breathlessly.
His hands were splayed on my shoulders and his mouth was practically kissing my ear. Gah, Virginia was awakening.
“Do you see those little arrows on the alley? You want to line up your hand with those arrows and make sure your hand flows straight through them. Think you can do that?”
“Seems simple,” I replied with some confidence.
“Good. You got this, Rosie.” He leaned in more and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek before pulling away. What a flirt!
My entire lady region was alive and awake, letting me know she still existed, and in fact she had a well working libido, which was now spiked, thanks to Lance’s little intimate act. Hell, I would be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I wanted to actually toss my ball down the alley and run into his arms. I wanted more kisses…and not just on my cheek.