Page 64 of Special Delivery

“I’m in.” She focuses back on the sand. “If I’m being honest, you and Jordan were right. I am avoiding life. And while I’m definitely not ready for any drastic changes, I do miss having fun.” She rolls her bottom lip, glancing up at me, and my cock stiffens in my pants.

My throat clears in an attempt to regain control over myself. I wasn’t sure she’d actually agree to my proposal, but now that she did, whew, my chest fills with elation. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“How would it work exactly?”

Good question. One I’ve been thinking about ever since Parker and Wes encouraged me to continue this between us. “Let me handle it. I think you like me telling you what to do, so relax and let me take care of this.”

Her cheeks flush, but her lips part, a short breath whooshing out of her. “Ok,” she whispers, though I sense she wants to ask more.

“How did it go with the article?” Now that I know her on a deeper level, I should definitely look into her column. It might offer me a different glimpse of her.

She takes another sip of her drink and pats her mouth with a napkin. “Good. Great.” Her mouth pulls into a wide smile. “My boss loved it.”

The comfortable chatter continues until we finish our drinks. She shares how her neighbor guilts her into physical labor, and I tell her how I looked at another house today. Once again, it wasn’t a good fit. It was fine on paper, but it missed something, something I can’t quite put into words.

At the end of the night, I walk her to her car. There’s a magnetic pull between us, one that makes me ache to be closer to her. Her soft, pouty mouth calls me in for a kiss, while her eyes stare at me innocently.

A wave of desire crashes through me, ideas of what I want to do to her flashing through my brain. But I need to take this slow. Ease her into it. I place a chaste kiss on her cheek, eliciting a sharp intake of air from her.

“I had fun tonight. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” she responds before getting into her car and driving off.

Instead of sleeping, I spend my night researching her column and making plans for us. The columns date back three years, and reading them, my understanding for Jordan grows. Paige is incredible. She pulls the reader in effortlessly, hooking you within minutes.

The difference between her early pieces to the recent ones, however, is a stark one. You can see how she turned from a person enjoying life and looking forward to different things to a person avoiding it. Her pieces have slowly grown more detached, more clinical. There’s a mention of a breakup, which I guess is the reason for the change, but she doesn’t share the details of what happened. My mind itches to know more. What happened to her? Did someone hurt her?

My fists clench of their own accord, pressure gathering behind my eyes. A fierce protectiveness thrums in my chest. Whatever happened, it must have left a pretty big mark on her.

My mood doesn’t change until her last few pieces. Suddenly, there are tears in my eyes from laughing so hard, reading the way she describes the events of how we met. It’s vague enough that I don’t feel exposed, while still personal enough that you can’t help but empathize with the clumsy, shy heroine. There’s an entire part describing how hot she thinks I am, and though it warms my insides, it also makes me feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t.

It’s intimate. Somehow more intimate than what has already transpired between us.

Still, I’m not sorry for reading it. Instead, I’m even more motivated. I want her to get her spark back. I want her to get back to the woman who wanted to experience life.

For the first time in a long time, I have a goal. I’m going to make that happen for her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Paige

Regret sets in as soon as I come home from the bar. What a stupid, impulsive decision this was, and I haven’t made stupid, impulsive decisions in so long. My fingers are tight around my phone, preparing themselves to send Ryan a text stating this is a horrible idea I should’ve never agreed to. Still, each time I unlock it to do so, something stops me.

Maybe it’s curiosity.

My life’s been pretty boring the past few years. It was by choice, but it was still boring. This idea is anything but.

No matter how hard my mind screams at me to put a stop to this, that the danger isn’t worth it, my body doesn’t let me. My fingers refuse to type out the text; my body is positive it is indeed worth it. Maybe it’s the time spent depraving it of any human attention. Of touches, and pleasure, and sex. Or I’m just that horny that my rationale doesn’t matter. With a sigh, I place my phone onto my nightstand and drop onto my bed.

Two days later, I’m facing the opposite problem. Instead of debating whether I should call the whole thing off, I’m now deliberating if I should ask him when the hell our agreement starts.

My skin’s been tingling for two days straight, buzzing in anticipation of something I’m not even sure is coming. Was it some sick joke he played on me? Just to see how desperate I was?

No, he wouldn’t do that. I don’t know a lot about him, but I know he’s a standup guy.

I jump up from the couch at the sound of my phone pinging. I quickly grab the phone, praying it’s not Jordan, like it was this morning.

Breath hitches in my throat, noticing Ryan’s name on my screen. I count to three before opening the text.