Page 31 of Special Delivery

The tension in my head starts up again, so I drop my phone on the bed before massaging my temples with the tips of my fingers. It’s a futile attempt. I know it won’t help, but at least I feel like I’m doing something.

Unlike me, John actually enjoys our job. He loves being the merciless executioner, cutting down people’s benefits, salaries, and jobs. He finds sick pleasure in being the one in charge of other’s destinies. In the beginning, that part of our job made me sick to my stomach. Over time, I became used to it. While I wasn’t enjoying it like John did, we would joke around and have drinks after work.

Then came my headaches. The therapist I saw for a month before relocating back home told me the headaches were my conscience’s way of communicating with me. My stomach may have grown used to it, but my head was showing me exactly what it thought of it. I asked her if there was a way to stop them.

She rolled a pen between her fingers before throwing the question back at me. “What do you think?”

Two weeks later, I quit my job and moved back to Fig Bay. Still, anytime I try to think about my old job, the headache starts up again. I consider it a warning. My head’s way of telling me, “Don’t you dare go back.” I’m inclined to listen.

Giving up on the head massage, I grab Parker’s book. It would be a great way to pull my mind away, but the letters are blurry and my nose scrunches in pain. Ultimately, I lie back, closing my eyes. Instead of darkness, images of Paige’s soft, though damaged, skin flicker behind them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Paige

Last night was torture. Even though the gel’s cooling abilities were pleasant, finding a comfortable position was downright impossible. I didn’t manage to fall asleep until the early morning, which is why the clock shows one PM when I wake up.

Just to check, I attempt a movement in my shoulder, readying myself for the wincing pain, but it doesn’t come. I do another roll, to be sure, and once again, the burn doesn’t come. I don’t know what the hell was in Kim’s magic gel, but I’d kiss her on the mouth if she were here.

Practically jumping out of bed and into the bathroom, I turn sideways to the mirror. My skin is still burned, but the difference is astounding. After doing my business and brushing my teeth, I enter the open-plan living space.

I quickly type out a thank you text to Dad’s number, addressing it to Kim for being an absolute lifesaver before opening a text from Jordan.

We couldn’t wait for you to wake up any longer, and we’re guessing you won’t be seeing the sun today, so we took a day trip on scooters. Get some rest.

“Hello?” I call out. “Anyone here?”

No one answers. Huh. I guess I have the villa to myself, which is perfect because I need to start writing. This could be my only opportunity to try out that toy.

My chest deflates as a voice sounds out from outside. “Housekeeping.”

I reach it just as the housekeeper uses her key to enter.

She startles, her warm brown eyes widening. “I can come back later.”

“No, it’s okay. I just need a minute, and I’ll get out of your hair.” I plaster on a smile to make her more comfortable.

“I only need half an hour.”

In my room, I throw on a pair of shorts and a loose shirt that covers my shoulders. Within a few minutes, I’m walking toward one of the restaurants in the resort. I need coffee and food.

The villa is still empty when I get back, my roommates nowhere to be found. It’s a relief considering I got distracted and Googled three different plants I found on my way from the restaurant, wasting precious alone time. I chew my bottom lip as I reach my room, steeling myself for what I obviously need to do. I only have five more days to write and edit my newest column. The first step to doing that is trying out the little toy that sits inside my nightstand drawer.

The room is almost unrecognizable as I enter. The bed is made with all the pillows spruced and the curtains are neatly organized. The clothes that were strewn around from my sunburnt frenzy yesterday are all neatly arranged on top of a dresser. Fuck, I’m a slob. I grab the pile of clothes and place it into a drawer, the least I can do.

Enough stalling, Paige. Time to try out a sex toy.

I let out a huff of agreement with myself and lock the door to the room. A black pouch awaits inside my nightstand drawer, spiking my heart rate.

Lube, I need lube.

It takes me a second to remember where I put it, before I realize it’s in the bathroom with all my other liquids. Making sure to close both doors to the bathroom, I dig around my toiletry bag, finding a soft pink, unmarked bottle. It’s one of those travel kit bottles that I bought specifically for this.

Holding everything I need in my hands, I exit the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I’m so distracted I bump into a lounge chair on my way to close the curtains the housekeeper so neatly arranged. Finally, I find my place on the bed.

The toy I’m trying today is supposed to imitate oral sex. It’s purple and shaped like a rosebud, with a hole in the middle and an opening at the top. The top hosts a small appendage, one that, I guess, acts like a tongue. Not that I remember the feeling. Thinking about my past relationship is no way to get in the mood, so I let out a sigh and take all my clothes off. The cool sheets are a godsend for my back and shoulders, which are better, but definitely not fully healed.

Dabbing a generous amount of lube onto the small purple tongue, I spread my knees wide, hoping the position will give me some courage. I place the top of the bud onto my clit and click the button to turn it on.