His eyebrow lifted.
“Personal?” he echoed, as if savouring the word.
Oh God. He knew. He so knew.
“It’s nothing bad,” I blurted. “Just boring student stuff.”
“Boring?” he asked. Still not giving me the box.
I could feel the heat crawling up my neck to my face.
“I mean, like… shampoo. Pads. You know. Girl stuff.”
Oh my God. Shut up, Callie.
He studied me for a second longer. Then—finally—he handed it over.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Nothing exciting in there, I’m sure.”
I took the box, trying not to snatch it like a lunatic. It felt heavier now. Radioactive.
“Right. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” he murmured, his voice a little too amused. “Enjoy.”
I bolted before I could make it worse, the box clutched to my chest like a sacred artefact. I didn’t dare look back.
But all the way home, with my heart still pounding and his voice echoing in my head,
I kept thinking about the difference.
Not the toy.
Him.
What he might feel like—warm, real, rough in all the right ways.
Not buzzing silicone. Not cold plastic.
Him.
And that stupid little thought followed me through the door, past Dottie, and straight into the part of my brain I couldn’t shut off. I closed and locked my door like I was hiding from the law.
My bag hit the floor.
I made a beeline for my desk and tore into the parcel like it might somehow reassure me.
White label. My name. A barcode.
No company name. No brand. No clue what was inside.
I turned it over.
Nothing.
Then I saw it—the strip of clear tape.
Sitting awkwardly on top of the standard brown paper seal.
