Free The Randy Romance Novelist by Meghan Quinn

fuck under my desk, 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 of the blankets, he knew about it, and he reminded you who the toe master was. The worst part was, 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. Yes, do I make him have sex with me in different positions for my book? Of course . . .”
    “How’s that coming, by the way?” Delaney asked, interrupting me.
    “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 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; there had to be some kind of 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—”
    “Nope, no, no, no, no. We are not going into details. I love you, Rosie, but you and Henry are like siblings to me; I don’t want to know about fingers going up anyone. Gah, gross. He knows he has a dick, right, and that he can use it on you?”
    “It was foreplay. He was getting me all . . . juicy.”
    “Again, no. Do not say juicy,” Delaney chastised.
    “Moist?”
    Delaney made a disgusted noise on the other side of the phone. “Rosie! Have you not learned one thing from all those groups we participate in on Facebook?”
    In my pursuit of being an author, I decided to join some book groups on Facebook; my goodness, did they liked posting penis pictures. Delaney joined to “help me” after she saw me scrolling through my newsfeed and saw a butt shot of Stuart Reardon. Such a horn dog. But, in all honesty, I couldn’t blame her; Stu has a nice tush. Oh and that Franggy, man does he have a beard some ladies would like to sit on. Now she was a part of all the same groups. It led to great conversations, but they mostly revolved around the uncircumcised dick she saw that morning. I was privileged to hear her talk about wanting to have sex with one just once, so she could give it a test run. Like we always say, it’s for science!
    Referring back to her question about what I had been educated on in those groups, I answered, “I’ve learned that penises come in all shapes and sizes and that the majority of the female population likes a good tattoo and appreciates a bad boy.”
    “They also hate the word moist, Rosie! It makes them cringe, it makes them want to pick up their first born child and sell them on the sidewalk for five dollars or best