Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Opening Microsoft Word, I review what I already wrote pre-ignominious incident. I consult the piece of paper by my laptop—I draft all my editorial letters by hand—then I tweak some of the initial text and finish off the last few lines.
* * *
The tension between archenemies Frog and Prince is exquisite, and the final battle scene on the rickety bridge over the roaring waters sent shivers down my spine as the antagonists parried. Could you tease out that moment even more on those pages? Just add a touch more oomph to the fight, and it’ll be *chef’s kiss.*
I can’t wait to see what you do with this amazing adventure tale!
* * *
Sincerely,
Veronica Valentine
Editor, McGee Whitney Books for Young Readers
* * *
That should do the trick. I start a new email and copy the letter into it. But since this letter might help me nab a promotion, I’m going to treat it like soup. Let my words simmer a bit before I hit send.
I set aside questions of oomph and dramatic tension between Frog and Prince and log in to my personal email. Scrolling through my messages, I save one from Peace of Cake about the new vanilla celebration special, and then I star a note from Just for Her advertising twenty percent off on its newest toy, The Wave 2.0, powered by sonic waves. Ooh, baby. Imma gonna need that too. Since The Wave 1.0 was a ten out of ten I’d use it again.
I’m about to close out when I spot a note from Bellamy Hart, who oversees my anonymous column at The Dating Pool. I open it at cheetah speed.
Love the ideas for your next column, V. I’m open to either “How to Break the News to Your Date” or “Assumptions People Make about Virgins.” I favor the latter, but I’m good with both. Let the muse decide. Can you send it in tomorrow morning so I can run it in the evening, as per usual?
Can I send it tomorrow? Please. How about tonight, Bellamy? Time to impress her too.
Especially since my mind is already wandering from thoughts of princes and frogs to other things that could be teased.
Like, say, me, by Mister Sexy Pants.
While StudMuffin adjusts himself into a tighter dog ball in his bed, my monster-sized Siamese leaps onto my lap. I meet his pretty blue eyes. “Which topic do you like better, Hot Stuff?”
As I stroke his soft fur, thoughts of the frog and the prince melt away entirely, replaced by vivid images of a man in tight pants, displaying a chivalry you rarely see anymore.
That run-in this afternoon did nothing to douse my crush after that fun, flirty convo from the cake shop a few months ago. Meeting him again today stoked the flames, thanks to his reaction. Most men would have scowled, reprimanded me, and rode off. I can’t stand rudeness. I went on a date two weeks ago with a musician who showed up twenty-five minutes late and he didn’t even apologize. But he’s a knight in shining armor compared to the guy I had dinner with a month ago. When the smoke detector at the restaurant bleeped during dinner, my date darted up, and rushed out first, pushing other diners aside like his pants were on fire.
So the chivalry of my main crush picking up my glitter tube when my dog wanted to devour his bicycle is delectable.
I step away from the table, set Hot Stuff down, weave through the tiny living room, then push open the doors to my balcony, drawing a deep inhale of the herb-y scent of rosemary and sage, kale and pole beans from the miniature garden. As I stare down at the scene of the glitter crime, words and ideas snap into place.
I replay the moment once again and imagine a new ending.
Then I open my dictation app and pace the tiny width of my balcony, talking into the phone as my next column takes shape.
* * *
Things We Assume About Virgins
I’ve never flown on a private jet with cushy leather seats and world-class service. Nor have I spent an evening in a penthouse hotel suite with a view of the Seine.
Likewise, I’ve never banged on a balcony.
Yet I can say with one hundred percent certainty I’d enjoy the hell out of zooming through the sky at thirty thousand feet, savoring strawberries and champagne, and reclining all the way in the leather seats. (Note: it’s my fantasy so the seats are magically made of vegan leather.)
After my flight, I’d relish sweeping into my deluxe accommodation and sinking onto the soft, king-size bed overlooking the Seine.
I bet you’re sure you’d love to travel like that too, even if you never have.
So why the hell does the world think a virgin doesn’t know what she wants in bed?
I’ve never had sex, but I sure as hell have fantasies. Oh boy, do I ever have them.