Page 61 of Special Delivery

“Oh, Paige, I noticed you working in the garden today. Would you be a dear and help me prune and mulch a strip of my garden? My knees aren’t what they used to be, and my bougainvilleas need some TLC.” Her gaze is stuck to the box in my hands, trying to figure out what I have. Good luck to her, since I don’t have a clue.

“Sure, Linda. I can come by in the afternoon.” I smile politely.

“Afternoon? Can’t you just do it now? I’m not sure if I’ll be home in the afternoon.”

Yes, you will, I want to tell her. She never leaves the house, if you don’t count snooping around the neighborhood. “Sure, Linda. I’ll be right there.”

I hoped to at least open my surprise package before leaving, but she stares at me with a bright smile and an expectant look. Placing the box on my hallway table, I quickly lock the door and head to Linda’s.

Two and a half hours later, because Linda had to make me lunch and question me on both my frequent deliveries and my recent trip to the Bahamas, I’m finally back in my house. Avoiding her hard-hitting questions exhausted me more than gardening.

I have no idea what she did before she retired, but my bet would be that she was a spy. She’s a natural. She has an appearance no one would expect, her eyes are trained to notice every miniature detail, like the fact that the delivery guy was standing quite close to me, and her questioning pierces through even the strongest armor. I should thank my stars she hasn’t noticed my nipples protruding through my gardening shirt, because she’d definitely want to know why that happened, and if the handsome delivery guy had anything to do with it.

But now I’m here. My breath quickens as I stare at the box in my hallway. My teeth chew on the inside of my cheek before I release a sharp breath.

I’m being an idiot.

Just open it.

Finally, I rub the sweat from my hands on my yoga pants and grab the box. It’s a typical, unassuming box. There are no shipping labels on it, which means this is definitely not something I ordered but something that my almost stepbrother, whom I kind of had sex with and can’t stop thinking about, got me.

I grab a pair of scissors and slice through the tape. The seal breaks, making the cardboard flaps spring back. Inside, there is another box, this one more familiar. It’s nice to see they do discreet shipping because the first two deliveries I got were anything but.

It’s another sex toy. My brow lowers as I study it. The picture shows a pink device in the shape of the letter C. The captions boast about the battery, the multitude of settings, and that it can be used for both his and hers pleasure. Together.

I swallow around the lump in my throat before finding a note underneath.

Dear Paige,

I hope your boss liked your column. Here is something if you need more inspiration. In case it’s not enough, you know where to find me.

There’s more scribbled below.

Shit, you don’t. Here’s my number. I hope you use it.

My lips turning up, I tap out a quick text on my phone.

Me

A sex toy? Really? How original.

Ryan

I figured it was our thing.

Our thing. I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from grinning.

Me

You like using them?

I taunt, proud of my remark. I’m nowhere near as witty in real life.

Ryan

I can use them on you any day—if you’d let me.

A pulse starts in my core, rendering me speechless for a minute. My phone freezes in my hands as I stare at it, my mouth hanging open like a trout.