The Virgin Romance Novelist

by Meghan Quinn

  “Now you want the Maine Coon piece, not my fault you turned it down,” I said, while opening up the door to the studio where the photo shoot would be taking place. I had to conduct an interview with a family who owns the now popular, Baboo, who is a YouTube sensation, and since no one else wanted to interview the family, I was stuck with the duties. But once Jenny found out that Lance, the photographer, would be taking the pictures for the magazine, she did everything possible to “ease the burden” the article was giving me. I didn’t believe her for a second. Even though she was with Drew, she still had a wandering eye for Lance, not that she would do anything. She was all about looking and never touching.

  “I didn’t know Lance was going to be there,” she whined.

  “Not my problem, and don’t forget about Drew; he’s a nice guy.”

  “Trust me, I won’t forget about Drew. Take a picture at least for me.”

  “I’m not taking a picture of La…”

  “Hi Rosie,” a deep male voice said from behind me.

  “Oh, my God, that’s him, isn’t it?” Jenny squealed like a tween meeting a member of One Direction.

  “Got to go,” I said, while hanging up. Taking a deep breath, I turned around and came face to face with Lance McCarthy.

  The thick black rim of his glasses framed his deep blue eyes and his light brown hair was styled with a little bit of gel, so you could see those tiny curls of his, making him drop dead gorgeous, not to mention the body on the guy. He was wearing a light blue shirt with a grey cardigan, a damn cardigan. It wasn’t very often you saw a guy who could pull off a cardigan, especially not with muscles like his.

  “Um, hi, Lance. How are you?”

  “Good,” he nodded, while looking around and then meeting my eyes again. “You look pretty today; are those new glasses?”

  I thought of my purple glasses and nodded. “Yeah, I got them a couple of weeks ago.”

  “They make your blue eyes really stand out.”

  “Thanks,” I said shyly.

  I had only worked with Lance one other time, and I really didn’t even think he took notice of me, since we didn’t talk much at all. We did our jobs and then took off, so I was surprised when he noticed something small, like my glasses.

  “You ready for this?” he asked with a smirk, nodding toward the photo shoot.

  “Taking pictures of a cat and asking it questions? Pretty sure I’ll never be ready for this,” I joked.

  Laughing, he looked around and then leaned forward. “I’m glad you’re on set with me today. Sometimes Friendly Felines sends over these stage five clingers that won’t let me take my pictures and leave.”

  “I get what you’re saying. You want to be in and out,” I winked. Where did that come from?

  Smiling brightly, he nodded. “You get me, Rosie. That’s why I’m glad you’re here, and also because I wanted to talk to you some more. I felt like last time we worked together, we barely had a chance to talk.”

  Mr. Professional Hot Pants wanted to talk to me? That was a new shift in my life.

  “What photo shoot was that again?” I asked, trying to not show how out of my element I was. It was rare I talked to men, let alone casually flirted, if that’s what was happening. I really couldn’t tell, given my lack of experience and the sweat that was starting to pool in my armpits.

  “The exposé on litter box best practices,” he said with a smirk.

  I shook my head and grasped my forehead with my hand. “God, I need a new job.”

  Laughing some more, he replied, “But then you wouldn’t be able to meet up with me.”

  “True. Do you like doing these articles?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “These little photo shoots are alright, but I stay with my job because most of the time, I get to go to some pretty cool places, and if I have to take pictures of cats in litter boxes on occasion, it’s worth it.”

  “Where do you get to go?”

  “Lance, can we get some test shots?” one of the production assistants asked.

  “Be right over,” Lance called over his shoulder before returning his gaze to me. “I want to talk some more. Go out with me Saturday?”

  Was he serious right now? Go out with him? Jenny’s boobs would flip inside out if I told her I had a date with Lance. He seemed way out of my league, but he was hot, sweet and talented; I would be stupid to say no, especially with my new goal in life.

  “That sounds like fun,” I replied.

  A big smile crossed his face at my answer, as if he was relieved to know that I would go out with him.

  “Don’t leave this set without giving me your phone number, you hear me?”

  “Don’t worry,” I smiled, as he pinched my chin with his index finger and thumb and then took off toward the set with his camera in his hand.

  Sighing, I watched his jean-clad butt sway away. He really was beyond good looking. Needing to tell someone, I pulled out my phone and texted Delaney. I would be telling Jenny my news in person, just so I could relish the look on her face.

  Rosie: Delaney!! I have a date on Saturday with this really hot photographer.

  Her text back was almost instantaneous.

  Delaney: Rosie, I love you, but what kind of hot photographer are you going to meet at a photo shoot for a cat that likes to lick his own crotch while balancing on a ball?

  That was Baboo’s number one trick. He was Baboo, the ball-licking balancer. Entertainment for the masses had really gone downhill.

  Needing to prove that not only frumpy people, excluding me and Jenny of course, work for cat magazines, I pulled up my camera app on my phone and acted like I was texting, but secretly took a picture of Lance as proof that I wasn’t crazy.

  Like a dumbass, I forgot to turn off my camera’s flash, though, so when it flashed brightly at Lance and the assistant, I fumbled my phone and dropped it to the ground.

  “You okay over there?” he asked with a smile that said he knew exactly what I was doing.

  “Yup,” I called out, while grabbing my phone and turning my back toward them so they couldn’t see the crimson running through my cheeks.

  When I looked down at my phone, I saw that the picture I had so secretly tried to take was of my thumb, because the minute the light flashed, I panicked and tried to stop it, resulting in my thumb being in the shot, but not Lance.

  “If you wanted a pic, you could have just asked,” Lance said next to my ear, making me jump.

  “Christ! I, umm, I wasn’t taking a picture of you.”

  “Liar,” he said even closer, while he grabbed my phone and turned the camera back on. His long arm stretched out in front of me and his head lined up with mine. “Smile,” he whispered, as he took a picture of us. “Now, send that one to your friends and let me know if they approve.”

  “Will do,” I said like a dingus as Lance took off.

  Avoiding all eye contact with the man, I kept my back turned away from him as I sent the picture to Delaney. I was mortified, but also happy that I had a picture of him.

  Rosie: He’s hot and we have a date for Saturday.

  Delaney: Holy shit!! Rosie, you sure know how to pick them. He’s gorgeous. Are his glasses real?

  Rosie: I think so. Why wouldn’t they be?

  Delaney: Hipsters, their glasses are always an accessory not a necessity.

  Rosie: Pretty sure they’re real.

  Delaney: Ask him.

  Rosie: I’m not going to ask him, that would be such a stupid question, and I’m trying to keep my date for Saturday. I kind of like this guy.

  Delaney: What about Atticus? Rosie Bloom, are you playing the field?

  Was I? I guess I was. I didn’t have any real commitments to anyone, and if I wanted to write a solid book, I was going to have to get a lot of experience with men, all different kinds, so why not have some fun while I could?

  Rosie: I guess I am. P.S. That’s a book title, Playing the Field. Amazing series about some hot baseball players.

 
Delaney: You’re annoying.

  “Rosie, we’re ready for you,” someone called out to me, while an excited couple and a less than excited Baboo walked out on set.

  Pulling out my notebook and questions, I took a deep breath and walked over to the couple. They were wearing matching blue Baboo shirts, khaki pants, and smelled of tuna and cheese. Baboo looked like he was about to throat punch me with his paw; he wasn’t having any of it. This was going to be one hell of an interview.

  ***

  “Thank you so much for your time,” I said to Baboo’s people. “Baboo is such a friendly feline,” I said, using the magazine’s tagline. I gagged saying it, since it was a requirement. My boss thought it was a good way to connect with the owners of our “stars;” I thought it was a load of crap.

  “We can’t tell you how happy that makes us. I feel like we’ve been lifelong subscribers and can’t believe that our little Baboo is finally going to be a featured friendly feline. I can literally die happy.”

  And I believed the woman who was staring at me with crazy in her eyes and rabid foam in the crease of her mouth. Only the cat people could really draw you in with their crazy, convincing you they were kind people, when in real life they just wanted to take you back to their place and use you as a scratching post. I wasn’t falling for it.

  “I’ll be sure to email you the pictures and article for you to keep. We appreciate your time.” I looked over at Baboo, whose ears were flattened and his lip quivering, as if saying, “If you don’t get me out of here soon, I’m going to go feral feline on you.”

  “Safe ride home,” I patted Baboo, who was seconds away from slitting his own throat with his claws.

  The couple left, practically floating away on cloud nine. It always fascinated me how much people were obsessed with their animals. I liked a good four legged friend every now and then, but not to the point where I thought they were my child, and if I could, I would be breast feeding them three times a day…that’s the impression I at least got from Baboo’s parents.

  As I packed up my notebook and recorder, I felt Lance’s gaze land on me a few times while he packed up as well. He should have left a while ago, but he took a long time gathering all his things. He actually stayed and looked through the pictures with the couple, something he didn’t do at our last shoot, but then again, it’s not like he was going to share his pictures with the different sized litter boxes starring in the last article.

  “Are you leaving now?” he called out to me as I swung my purse on my shoulder. “Without even giving me your number?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance,” I said, as I turned and smiled at him.

  He was sitting on one of his bins with a crooked smile on his face and his arms crossed over his expansive chest. He looked divine, and I wasn’t sure if it was my newfound ambition or the fact that my vagina could now see past the cloud of curls, but I was starting to get all tingly inside just from an interaction with a man. Did this mean my sexual being had awakened? Was that even a thing?

  I walked over to him and put out my hand. He looked at it in confusion, wondering if he was supposed to put his hand in mine.

  “Hand it over.”

  “Hand what over?” he asked, still confused.

  “Your phone, so I can put my number in it and you can do the same,” I said, while holding out my phone.

  “So, you’re not a tease?”

  “Why would you think that?” I asked, actually surprised he would consider me a tease.

  He shrugged while he typed into my phone. “You have this whole pin-up girl vibe going on. I thought you might be just playing with me.”

  Pin-up girl? It took everything in me not to snort in laughter. Yes, I had a retro style, but I wasn’t a pin-up girl. At least I didn’t think I was.

  “You’ve got that wrong,” I said, while handing him his phone back. “I’m the farthest thing from a pin-up girl.”

  “You sure as hell don’t look like it. You’re sexy, Rosie. You have some amazing curves, and your eyes…I just can’t stop looking at them.”

  Okay, so I could see a clam from a mile away. I wasn’t that dense when it came to men, but right now, looking into Lance’s eyes, he spoke sincerely, and it actually blew me away. I wasn’t an ugly, rabid beast by any means, but I wasn’t supermodel perfect, which I knew was the kind of woman Lance dated.

  But I wasn’t going to overthink it; if he thought I was pretty, I was going to accept the compliment because hell, I was pretty, and just because I didn’t get much male attraction, since I was always the friend, never the lover, I was going to soak up this moment. It was time I started appreciating my curvy body, my muted brown hair, and my unorthodox style. If I wanted Virginia, my vagina, to get some love, then I needed to love myself first.

  “Thank you,” I accepted his compliment, feeling good about myself. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday?”

  He nodded, while giving me a devilish look. “Do you like bowling, Rosie?”

  “Sure, not very good at it, though.”

  “You don’t need to be. A group of my friends goes cosmic bowling on Saturday nights. I know what you’re thinking, total teenage hangout, but I promise, you’ll have a good time.”

  “I’m in. Should I wear white?”

  “Ah, girl after my own heart. Yes, wear white. I’ll text you the details.”

  “Sounds good, I’ll see you then, Lance.”

  “Bye, Rosie,” he smiled as I walked away. Even though I thought I might possibly break a hip from not really knowing what I was doing, I put an extra sway in my hip as I retreated away from him, hoping I didn’t trip and fall over all the cables in the room.

  I rushed back to the office, making sure to ignore all of Jenny’s text messages that were begging for details. I wanted nothing more than to talk to her face to face, because she would never believe what I had to tell her.

  When I got to my office, I was instantly greeted by Sir Licks-a-Lot, who was sitting in my chair, cleaning his paw, and looking less than thrilled that I’d showed up.

  “Get out of here,” I said, while waving my purse in front of him. Instead of moving from the oh so scary purse wave, he sighed and licked his other paw.

  “Pssssst!” I hissed, trying to get him to move, but all that did was cause him to stretch and then scratch my white leather chair.

  “Stop,” I cried, as I pounced at him. Like a ninja, he jumped up, launched off of my head, and flew to the top of my filing cabinet, where he perched himself and sneered down at me, as if I was a mere peasant, disturbing his excellency’s private time.

  “Don’t you have better things to do than hide out in my office? Maybe go torment someone else,” I said, while I dropped my things and sat down in my chair. I shook my mouse and woke up my computer, but when I went to type in my password, I noticed the B on my keyboard was missing.

  Holy crap, he really was trying to say, “Die bitch, die.”

  Growing angry, I turned toward him, and right there, sitting on my filing cabinet was Sir Licks-a-Lot with the B in his mouth and a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “You son of a bitch,” I said, while getting up, but I was too slow as he jumped off the filing cabinet, bounced off my chest, and ran out the door. The force of his weight against me had me flying backwards into my chair and into the bookcase behind me. A couple of books fell down on me, as well as a dried-up furry lump, which landed in my lap.

  “What the hell?” I asked, as I lifted it up.

  The minute I saw a beady eye peak out from the fur, I screamed and tossed it clear across my room, where Sir Licks-a-Lot popped out of nowhere, caught the damn thing in his mouth, and ran off without missing a beat.

  “That cat be crazy,” Jenny said in my doorway, as she watched Sir Licks-a-Lot jumping off of other humans, like we were his personal trampoline zone.

  “I hate that cat. He hid a mouse in my bookshelf, a dead mouse, Jenny!”

  “Hey, he must like you. He hid a pigeon’s wing
in the boss’s office a month ago, and we know how much they get along. Look at that, he feels safe in your office.”

  “No, he’s just messing with me, I know it. And he took my B.”

  Jenny peeked over my desk and looked at my keyboard. “Yeah, maybe he really is plotting your death. Hard to tell with that one, but enough about the demon cat; tell me all about Lance.”

  “Well, he asked me out on a date.”

  Jenny slammed her hands on the desk and looked me dead in the eyes.

  “No, he did not.”

  Nodding, I replied, “He did. We have a date planned for Saturday.”

  “Holy shit! Oh, my God, I’m so jealous. You know how hot he is, right?”

  “Jenny, I have eyes. I can see.”

  “Just making sure. Oh, my God, I can’t believe this. You have to have sex with him.”

  “What?” I said, blushing to my toes. The only people who knew I was a virgin were Delaney and Henry, so for Jenny to say such a thing had me turning bright red. “I’m not going to just have sex with him, Jenny.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  I was about to open my mouth, when I realized I didn’t have an answer. Why the hell not? Maybe because he didn’t look like the kind of guy who wanted to have a fumbling girl trying to undo the button of his jeans and then just stare at his penis, wondering what she was supposed to do next.

  “Um, I don’t like to jump into things so fast.”

  “Oh, who cares about that? You’re going out with Lance McCarthy; you need to give it up.”

  “Maybe,” I said, not really meaning it.

  “Hey, what about Atticus?” Jenny asked.