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Elena
#1. He Carries a Large Package
When Nick Stafford brought the number two, best-selling dildo in the world to my door, I nearly died.
“Oh, Jesus!” I screamed—well sorta—it was more of a croak; a noise that shot out as I inhaled a screech that turned into a cough.
I tightened my fuzzy, pink robe, keeping it from flying open, eager to see Nick, but also berating myself for how ridiculous I looked: my hair dripping wet, falling into loose Puerto Rican curls that grazed my green, cucumber-melon face mask.
“Not Jesus, but Marty.” Nick smiled, an apologetic grin that was as sincere as it was breathtaking. He nodded down to his German Shepard—Marty—who sat squinting at me with old gray whiskers. “He probably thought it was his Chewy subscription… they just keep giving me your mail on accident. Sorry about that.”
“Well, you do live above me.”
“622 does look a lot like 522,” he winced, passing me the gnawed parcel with drool. Quickly, I took it away, stuffing it underneath my pit, ignoring the hot-pink, silicon balls that poked out.
“It happens so often, we might as well just move in together,” I smiled.
Then blinked.
Time suddenly stopped.
God, what the fuck did I just say?
Somewhere, far from the old Prince Street apartment in Manhattan where I stood, Chrissy Teigen felt a cold December wind down her neck and cringed in my honor.
“And save me the pleasure of coming to your door? I don’t think so, Elena.” Nick said my name under his breath, his confidence as alarming as Marty’s neon-green collar which rattled as he yawned.
That was Nick though.
Hot, but cool. Tempting, but intimidating, six feet and three inches of pure sun-kissed skin and striking olive eyes. He slung his tool belt over his bicep, diverting his stare to the tips of his boots.
“I’m sure it’s an inconvenience…” I fidgeted with my robe, double knotting it. He made me so nervous.
“Inconvenience is that sink of yours. Is it still on the fritz?”
“Leaking occasionally… but I put a bucket just below the—”
“Ah. No, no, no,” he grinned again. “I’m the super… this is my job. And I can’t have you leak, now can I?”
Too late, I thought.
I stared again, this time ignoring the blatant awkwardness that followed his question. The masculine scent of his labor swirled with the juniper warmth of his faded cologne, comforting me with the most insatiable sense of tingles. I shivered, and my muscles relaxed. Only a second passed as I dropped my shoulders, my partially eaten package slipping from my arms.
Marty barked, as all nine inches of pornstar August Falls’ molded penis tumbled to the floor, its base sticking to the glossy concrete with its vacuum-tight suction grip.
My skin melted below my face cream, burning red with a sudden sweat that took over my entire body.
Nick was always supremely cool, but me on the other hand, I was just as busted as the name smeared along the ruined postage on my package: Elena Maria Ortiz, the walking magnet of embarrassment to Nick Stafford. It had only been a year since I moved here from San Juan, but he’d already caught me with lipstick on my teeth, my dress stuck on my panties, and now a dildo at my feet.
“I am NOT a sex freak!” I shouted, bending over, yanking the toy from the floor with a pop. “This isn’t what you think. It’s for work.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s a lot to explain.”
“Honestly you don’t need to,” he assured, chuckling.
