The Virgin Romance Novelist

  I slouched on the couch and tried to figure out where my heart rested. Instead of being able to calm the nerves floating in my stomach, they just continued to twist in knots, over and over again.

  The image of my lead character in my book came into my head, and I thought about what she would do in the situation, what I would want her to do. Given that I’m a romantic at heart, I would be beating my Kindle against my pillow, telling the girl to give up her stupid reservations and just go for it. Isn’t that how all romantics are, give love a chance? That was the sole basis of every romance novel out there; give love a chance.

  It seemed so easy, to just put yourself out there, to give in to the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long, to put the most important thing in your life on the line.

  If I ever lost Henry because I thought he might actually want to start a relationship with me, I would never forgive myself. He is too important to me.

  Ugh, I was that girl. That girl who couldn’t make up her damn mind. That girl in a novel that I wanted to shake uncontrollably, slap some sense into her. I could see the reviews now, God, Rosie is so annoying. Rosie is so wishy-washy. Rosie doesn’t know a good thing when it hits her in the face.

  Well from an outsider’s perspective, love seems easy, but when you’re the one in the hot seat, making the decisions, it’s not that easy putting your heart out there, gathering enough courage to fall into the unknown. Love isn’t easy and love isn’t kind; love is something you sacrifice everything for in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, there is a person in this world who will accept you for who you are.

  The front door to the apartment opened, and I knew without even looking it was Henry by the way his shoes hit the wooden floors.

  “Rosie, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to see if you felt like going to that swing club with me? Friday night swing,” he wiggled his eyebrows as he sat next to me.

  I hated how casual he was with me, when deep inside, my gut was twisting.

  “I can’t,” I said as I sat up and looked over at him. “I have a date with Greg tonight.”

  Henry’s brow creased as he studied what I said.

  “That’s the guy with the dog?”

  “Yes, I’m going to his place to make some pizza.”

  “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 up and walked over to a mirror that was in the living room. I took in the black outfit I had on. It was 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 go change, and while you’re at it, change into a swing dress so you can go dancing with me tonight.”

  “Henry, I told you, I have a date.”

  “Cancel,” he said, as he came up next to me and 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, Rosie. Let me take you on a date.” The way he spoke to me was so vulnerable, like he was trying to offer me the world, but was nervous about it.

  My lungs seized on me, 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, Rosie. 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, Rosie.”

  Being honest, I replied, “You’re confusing me, Henry. You’re making it seem like, like…you like me.”

  He tilted his head to the side as he responded. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  Would it? Well, Virginia would be happy, but right about now Virginia would be happy with a lubed up turkey baster. My inner girl, the girl who’s had a crush on Henry for so long wanted it, wanted him, but my heart wasn’t ready to lose my best friend.

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I’m just so confused, Henry. The way you’re treating me, the things you’re saying, I’m afraid I’m going to lose you.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “You’re my best friend. I don’t want something to happen between us and then I lose you. I would be devastated.”

  “You would be devastated? Hell, Rosie, I wouldn’t know what to do if you were no longer in my life.”

  “Exactly,” I added, while patting his chest. “Why mess with a good thing, right?”

  His brow furrowed and he stepped back from me, clearly insulted, even though I didn’t mean to.

  He rubbed his chin as he scanned me. “You know, Rosie, it surprises me how dense and naïve you can be at times.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Don’t you see the way I look at you every day, the way I touch you and talk to you? Can’t you see my heart beating out of my fucking chest every time I’m around you?”

  “Yeah, but it’s because you’re my friend, right?”

  Shaking his head, he ran his hand over his face, and then walked away.

  Yup, I get the moron of the year award.

  “Henry, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too, Rosie. Have fun with the dog lover tonight. I’ll be out for the weekend. Mikey invited me to the Hamptons.”

  “Wait, does that mean you’re not going to brunch?”

  “Yes, that means I won’t make it to brunch, since I’ll most likely be wasted starting tonight and ending Monday morning.”

  “You’re really not going?” I asked, feeling pretty sad and upset that he was starting to shut me out.

  “I’m really not going, Rosie. I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel like being around you right now.”

  “But, Henry,” my voice choked on a sob that wanted to escape. The minute he heard the tightness in my voice, he sighed, walked over to me and pulled me into his chest. “You can’t just leave me. This is why I didn’t want anything to happen. I can’t have you mad at me, Henry. Please don’t pull yourself away, I can’t handle it.”

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, Henry nodded and then pulled away. “Sorry, love. Just give me some time right now, alright? I will see you Monday. Have a good weekend and have fun with the dog lover. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  A weak smile spread across his face as he nodded and walked away.

  I could feel it, it was the beginning of the end for Henry and me. I knew he said it wouldn’t affect us, but it already had. He was already pulling himself away, and because of that, a little piece inside of me died. I wouldn’t be able to survive without Henry. He was everything to me, absolutely everything.

  ***

  My mood for my date with Greg was dampened, thanks to the awkward conversation with Henry, but I tried to put on a good face when I met Greg, who was just as handsome in person as he was in his pictures.

  Along with Greg was his best buddy, Bear, who seemed to be a very loving but protective dog. The dynamic between the two was endearing, and I could appreciate the bond they had with each other, even though it might be weird that Greg practically made out with his dog every chance he got.

  After some semi-awkward pleasantries and introductions, we jumped right into the pizza making, which was good for me because I was starving.

  Greg lived on the Upper West side and had a small but nice apartment. If your apartment wasn’t small in New York City, then you were raking in some good money. Greg was a young investment broker, but according to him, he was on the “up and up” with his company and was looking at a promotion soon. He spoke animatedly about his job, like he actually liked it, and it surprised me, to see someone so enthusiastic about their occupation.

  Ma
ybe it was because I despised my job. Delaney and Henry would occasionally talk about what they were doing, but for the most part, kept their excitement to a minimum.

  “So, tell me, Rosie, what brought you to New York City?” Greg asked, as he popped a bottle of wine, something I would probably have to choke down because wine wasn’t my favorite of all the alcoholic beverages.

  “My parents live on Long Island.”

  “Ah, I never would have pictured you as a girl from Long Island.”

  “Yes, I break all the stereotypes,” I joked. “When I was in high school, I wanted to get off the island and onto the real one, so I worked my butt off in school and was accepted into NYU, where I majored in English.”

  “English? Interesting. Tell me, what’s your favorite book?”

  “No doubt about it, Pride and Prejudice. It’s the ultimate romance, in my opinion.”

  Nodding, Greg handed me a glass of wine and went to the fridge where he pulled out a bowl of dough that he must have made earlier, because it seemed like the dough had risen throughout the day.

  “Who is your Mr. Darcy?”

  “Is that even a question? Colin Firth, come on Greg,” I smiled.

  “Okay, just checking, because if you said the guy who was in the new version of Pride and Prejudice, you know, the one with Kiera Knightly…”

  “Matthew MacFayden,” I helped.

  “Really? That’s his name?” Greg asked with a confused look. “Huh, never would have guessed that. Anyway, if you said that guy, I would have had to end this date.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a P&P fan.”

  “That Elizabeth Bennet is a strong-willed chick to stand up to Mr. Darcy.”

  A slow grin spread across his face, loosening the tension in my body. Maybe I had a rough conversation with Henry that truly hurt my heart, but sitting here with Greg, drinking wine, it almost seemed so natural.

  “You really know how to win over a girl’s heart with that kind of talk.”

  “I’m a Jane-ite, what can I say?” he said, referring to the name Jane Austen fans called themselves.

  “Shut up, you are not. Next thing you’re going to tell me you’re a Brony.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Frankly, Rainbow Dash is my favorite My Little Pony, but Toola-Roola really has my heart at times.”

  I spit some wine out of my mouth at his confession and grabbed for a towel to wipe my lips as he just threw his head back and laughed.

  “Please tell me you’re not really a Brony? How do you even know their names?”

  “I have a six year old niece who is obsessed. I watch her occasionally for my brother, and can you guess her latest addiction?”

  “My Little Pony?”

  “Bingo,” Greg said while tapping my nose. “I get sucked into watching the damn show and playing with her figurines. I have to be honest, some of those ponies are real bitches.”

  “I can only imagine; there’s only so much sparkle in the world to go around.”

  “It’s so true,” he shook his head and smiled. “Enough pony talk, shall we get going on our pizzas?”

  “Sure. Let me wash my hands real quick and then I can help.”

  I got off the bar stool I was sitting on and went over to his sink, where I washed up. I really admired his small but modern kitchen. It was clean and well decorated. The guy had his stuff together, that was for sure.

  “How old are you again?” I asked.

  “Wow, getting down to it, aren’t we?” He chuckled and answered. “Thirty.”

  “Thirty? Wow, you’re an old man.”

  “An old man? Really? Well, I guess I’ll just be enjoying the pizza for myself.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” I said quickly, while drying my hands. “You’re…cultured.”

  “Ha, alright, nice recovery. Here,” he handed me half of the dough. “Start kneading it and stretching it out so we can put some sauce and cheese on it. I have some toppings in the fridge you can choose from as well.”

  “Did you make this dough from scratch?” I asked, seriously impressed.

  “I can see from the awe in your eyes that impresses you, so I hate that I have to say no. The pizza shop around the corner sells their dough, so I thought I would grab some for us tonight.”

  “Smart idea. Whenever I make home pizza, I grab a box of Jiffy pizza crust and let’s just say it always turns out like crap.”

  Laughing, Greg agreed. “Worst pizza dough mix ever. The only thing Jiffy is good for is their corn mix. That stuff is legit.”

  “You know every southern cook is swearing your name from that statement.”

  “Hey, I’m a city boy, I don’t know any better. A little honey on that cornbread, and you’re good to go. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

  “Pretty sure it does,” I teased, as I struggled to knead my dough. Greg didn’t seem to be having the same issues as me. “Why is your dough getting all stretched out and mine is shriveling up like balls in a cold vat of water.”

  Did I just say that? I threw my hand over my mouth, shocked that I said such a thing on a first date. When I looked over at Greg, he was gaping at me as a smile spread across his handsome face.

  “Oh, my God, I didn’t know I was getting a little potty mouth with the package I invited over. I like it,” he chuckled. “To answer your question, you need to knead the dough, make love to it.”

  Easy for him, I thought. He definitely wasn’t a virgin, not with that body, that face, and those hands. Nope, he was experienced.

  How do you make love to dough? Visions of me making out with the dough, thrusting my tongue at it and stroking the dough until it flattened ran through my mind. The whole idea was completely absurd, but then again, maybe it could work.

  I leaned my head down for a second and then common sense kicked me in the ass and told me to be a normal human. Instead of making out with my pizza dough, I looked over at Greg and watched what he was doing and mimicked his movements.

  “I think my fists are too small,” I said, as I pounded on the dough.

  Greg pulled away from his pizza and grabbed my hands. He brought them close to his face and examined them carefully.

  “You know, I think you’re right. These hands are too dainty. Here, take my dough and I’ll take yours.”

  “What a chivalrous man,” I joked.

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  We flattened out our pizza dough a little bit more, and once we were satisfied, we placed them on a baking sheet.

  “Alright, this is the fun part, time to put on some toppings.” He went to the fridge and started pulling out bowls with saran wrap on them. “I have diced peppers, peperoni, black olives and broccoli,” he winked at me and continued, “some sausage and mushrooms.”

  “Black olives and broccoli, trying to win some brownie points, are we?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Remarkably,” I answered, knowing it really was.

  “Yes,” he fist pumped the air like a nerd, making me giggle.

  Surprisingly, I was having a rather enjoyable time with Greg, and was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. There was always something wrong.

  After we put the toppings on our pizzas, we placed them in the oven and waited for them to cook. He invited me over to his couch, which I accepted. I sat down, crossing one leg under my seat so I was facing him. He turned toward me with his arms on the back of the couch. He was wearing a navy polo and jeans; he looked casual, yet very nice.

  What had me laughing was his interesting printed socks. They were yellow with strawberry frosted doughnuts on them.

  I nodded toward them and said, “Nice socks.”

  “Thanks, my mom gets me socks all the time with weird things on them.”

  “And you wear them? Aren’t you the model son?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s made it a hobby of hers now. She likes to find weird socks from different places. Randomly, I’ll get packages in the mail contai
ning just a pair of socks.”

  “Really? That’s cute. What’s been you’re favorite pair so far?”

  “Hmm, that’s a hard question. I have so many. Probably the pair that’s honoring the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.”

  “You mean Prince William and Kate Middleton?”

  “The one and only,” he smiled. “One sock has the Duke and the other has the Duchess. I can’t tell you how into the royal wedding my mom was. She flew to England to stand outside and wave a flag with their faces on it while they rode down the streets of London.”

  “Your mom was there?” I asked, completely awestruck. I mean, I wasn’t obsessed with the royal wedding, but I will admit that I might have watched it, and I might have picked up a couple of magazines, but that was only because Kate Middleton was living a commoner’s dream. She was a peasant in the morning, but a princess in the afternoon. When does that ever happen?

  “She was. She started saving for her plane ticket the minute William and Kate started dating.”

  “Seriously? But didn’t they break up at one point?”

  “They went their separate ways for a brief moment in time, but my mom held out for them and stayed positive. I wish I had a recording of when my mom called me to tell me they were back together, oh, and then when they were engaged, God, I really thought she was going to have a heart attack, the woman was screeching in my ear. It was rather intense.”

  “I think I love your mom,” I laughed.

  “Were you into the royal wedding?”

  “I mean, I didn’t get a commemorative coin to remember the day, but I watched, and I might have picked up a magazine or two. And, I don’t care what people say, Pippa didn’t steal the show.”

  “I agree, she was beautiful, but nothing beats Kate in that lace top dress.”

  I paused and studied him for a second with a quirk of my lips.

  “Are you gay?” I asked.

  A guttural laugh came from him as his head flew back.

  “No, I just get to hear my mom talk about the royal family all the time. No joke, anything that happens, she calls to talk to me about it.”

  “How did she feel when Prince George came into the picture?”