The Randy Romance Novelist

By: Meghan Quinn


This book is dedicated to all the wonderfully beautiful book nerds out there. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel bad for reading and getting lost in an imaginary world.

I hope you find your inner Rosie in this book. Much love and boob squeezes. B>>


Thank you to Debra Anastasia, Katie Ashley, Helena Hunting, Katherine Stevens, and Tara Sivec for letting me use your books and personalities in this crazy story.

I adore you.

Special thank you to all the fans of The Virgin Romance Novelist. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your love of Rosie and Henry. You’re the reason their story has continued.



It happened to me. I lost the big V, and I don’t mean Virginia; she was still intact. No, I lost my virginity . . . finally!

I had sexual intercourse, I did the dirty, I performed the sexuals, I horizontally twerked it.

Basically what happened was penis met vagina and had one hell of a party down at pleasure palace.

I did this all with my best friend, Henry, now the love of my life. I never thought I would find such an all-consuming love with someone I’ve known forever. It seemed like a fairy tale. I was finally able to hand my heart over to someone who would care for it as if it were their own.

Life after the big V was handed over wasn’t what I expected it to be. I’d watched several movies and I’d read thousands of books that faded into black after the big magical make-up kiss; none of them prepared me for what I was going through now.

In fictional stories, couples were catapulted into their happily ever after. In my mind, they were frolicking across prairies filled with daffodils, while they walked hand in hand, gazing up at each other through rose-colored glasses. The outside world was non-existent. Couples were trapped in a cocoon of love for the rest of their lives, never seeing a dark moment ever again.

This theory was rudely destroyed after I experienced the big kiss that faded into black. No one stopped to congratulate us on finding the person we were meant to spend the rest of our life with. There was no one to film us during our big kiss. Cameras didn’t travel in circles around us, our mouths melting into each other, sealing our love, like every epic romantic movie I’d ever watched.

No, the pretty picture I had in my head was a far cry from the real life one, which consisted of kissing Henry on the streets of New York with no film crew racing around us in a circle, playing catchy music like “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” Instead, there was a wheezy old man kicking us in the shins to get out of the way so he could throw out his expired coffee cup that carried pee in it rather than the day’s dark roast special.

Life as I knew it returned. I was forced to go back to work and write about litter boxes and clumping formula, while trying to hide from the man who’s chin I farted on, hoping and praying I didn’t run into him in the elevator. No one offered you discounts for being in love or finding your perfect soulmate. There was no spontaneous combustion of brilliant fireworks following me around every time I thought of Henry.

There was combustion all right, but it was the subway smell filtering up through the street grates mixed with yesterday’s trash simmering on the streets. Not the kind of epic love I expected.

Life after the mind-altering, scene ending, proclamation of love was just that . . . it was life. It traveled around like clockwork.

But there was one change, one single thing that shined like a beacon through the mud-filled day-to-day monotony. Instead of going home to an empty home, I went home to a pair of wide open arms and a smile designated only for me.

Love was waiting for me. Love was patiently and excitingly waiting for me to come home.

Henry waited for me.


The person who got a vibrator stuck in her vagina.

Life after the monumental confession of love wasn’t easy; it was only the beginning of the crazy up and down rollercoaster adventure we were embarking on together. Situations weren’t pretty; there were misunderstandings, fights, sleepless nights, and moments that were so electrically charged with stubbornness that I couldn’t think of one possible way we would get over our disagreement. But we did.

We said stupid things, and we did stupid things. Everyone was human, a lesson I learned rather quickly after the first time I forgot to tell Henry something important.

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