31. Paige
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Paige
My fingers loosen around the purple rabbit vibrator, and it drops to the bed with a quiet thud. One hand covering my eyes, I try to get my breath under control. The orgasm was fine. It was great, in fact, but much like all the others, it was nothing compared to what I experienced with Ryan.
The Bahamas have turned me into a sex-obsessed heathen. I’ve run through all the sex toys I was previously afraid of, attempting to replicate the feeling of my night with Ryan. Well, all except the tentacle one. Safe to say, I was unsuccessful.
The waves crashing through me are there, but there’s no curling of my toes, no vision going blank, no out-of-body experiences. Just plain old orgasms. I let out a sigh, my chest finally back to normal.
Is it possible to get hooked after only a week? I know what they told us about hard drugs—not even once, but I thought that was more a figure of speech than an actual possibility. Yet after a week of being in Ryan’s presence, my body is now wired to crave him twenty-four seven.
My phone pings with a text, so I sit up to find it. The curtains are safely closed, hiding my newfound debauchery from any curious old-lady neighbors, so it takes me a second to feel my way to the phone. I locate it under a crumpled sheet, unlocking it with a press of a finger.
It’s an email. From Martha.
“Shit.”
As if she’s able to see me, I quickly cover my naked torso with a sheet, clicking on the email.
Love the article, Paige. I’m so glad to see you’re back on the right track. Just keep it up.
A deep breath escapes my lungs, along with a hundred pounds of tension I’ve held.
I know it’s a good piece, but it’s also not fully what she asked of me.
After my conversation with Ryan, I realized he was right.
I had no desire to write cheap, review-style columns.
Especially not on the topic of sex toys.
So, just like I did the first time, I wrapped the topic up in a gorgeous, shiny piece of decorative paper and placed a giant bow on top of it.
I focused more on the comparison of sensations between the toy and the real thing.
I focused on the raised pulse, the swimming thoughts, and the burning belly that appeared each time I saw Ryan, and on how deeply the toys fell short in that way.
Thank God, my boss liked it.
Maybe I could do some work in the garden today. Writing my next piece would be the sensible option, but I deserve a day off.
I pour myself a thermos of coffee, tie my hair into a messy bun, and exit my house through the back door.
The day is stunning, with bright rays of sunshine making their way onto my covered back porch, and birds chirping melodically from the trees.
I lift the bench where I keep my garden tools and extract a pair of gloves, a small trowel, and a pair of shears.
The ground is soft beneath my knees as I weed the flower bed.
The methodic movements, combined with the warm glow of the sun on my skin, empty my mind.
It was one reason Jordan and I relocated here.
The peace, the quiet. The sound and the smell of nature.
Something that was foreign to us while we were in the city.
Even though my mind is in a better place, my body still reminisces about my time with Ryan.
I know it by the tingle in my core and my pulsing nipples.
I know it by how my chest heaves with more than exertion.
Soon, my empty mind fills with not quite thoughts, but images and visions of slick, naked skin, taut muscles, and hazy, hooded eyes.
I convinced myself I don’t want anything resembling a romantic relationship, but even a mere taste of him was enough to put my resolutions to the test. Can I really condemn myself to a sexless life?
“Shit,” I whisper as I realize I’ve just pulled out a flower instead of a weed.
The poor California Goldenrod deserves more than to fall victim to my distractedness, but she’ll get to live another life in the compost. I sit back on my heels, running a forearm over my damp forehead, before taking a glove off and sipping coffee from my thermos.
It’s a beautiful day, but since my neck is already burning, it’s time to get out of the sun.
Slipping the other glove off, I return my tools to the bench and take a seat on my lounge set.
Just as my ass hits the thick cushion, the doorbell rings.
My ears perk up, trying to discern if it’s my doorbell, but another ring lets me know it is, in fact, mine.
With a huff, I lift from my newly found seat.
Who the hell is it?
There’s a thin sheen of sweat covering my face, and my hair is a mess, but I’m also not expecting any guests.
My eyelids blink in place when I open my front door. I’m fairly certain Ryan is standing there, in that attractive delivery guy uniform, but it’s best to blink a few more times, just to be sure.
“I didn’t order anything.” Is the first thing my mouth blurts out when I realize it’s really him. Have his eyes always been that gray?
“Hello to you, too.” He smirks, holding a regular brown box in his hands.
“Hello.” My lips pull into a smile. “I still didn’t order anything. And, as you can see, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Despite the fact that my attire of dirt-covered yoga pants and t-shirt couldn’t be less ready for guests, my lower parts are ready to welcome him in.
“You’re not going to invite me in?” He leans in my doorway, and the flex of his biceps makes me bite my bottom lip.
“I…”
“Paige, darling,” a shrill voice booms out. “You got a delivery?”
I jump away from Ryan as if he’s on fire, noticing Linda waving at me, dressed to the nines. “Erm, yeah. I ordered something.”
Ryan’s eyebrow rises, saying, “Did you?”
I shoot him a panicked look, hoping it conveys, “Please don’t let her realize we know each other, I’d never hear the end of it.”
By some miraculous force, my message works. “Don’t worry, I just came to drop this off for you.” His voice is quiet enough that Linda doesn’t hear, and I let out a relieved breath.
She exits her own driveway, making her way into mine. With a parting smirk, Ryan tips his cap to me. “Ma’am. Hope you have a nice day.”
“Y-you too.” I take the package from him and watch him get into his truck and drive off.
Why was he here? What the hell did he bring me?
“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.
Ryan
Sorry, was that too far?
I’m an idiot.
Me
I was just… surprised.
I’m still not sure what the gift was for.
Ryan
Well, I hoped to explain it in person before the sweet old lady interrupted us.
Of course. He thinks of her as a sweet old lady, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Except for the old part. Unless that is part of her cover, too.
Ryan
I enjoyed spending time with you. It was just what I needed. And I think it was just what you needed.
Maybe we should do it some more.
Me
You know I don’t date.
Ryan
Who said anything about dating?
We could just have fun.
Oh! Oh. He’s proposing a friends with benefits thing.
Ryan
It sounds awkward over text. Can we meet up for drinks?
Tonight?
The taste of copper hits my tongue and I realize I chewed right through the thin skin of my lip. My stomach is brimming with butterflies, and even though I know there are about a thousand things that could go wrong with this idea, I don’t have it in me to say no.
Me
Fine. Let me know when and where.
Despite the casual, barely interested text, the way my body reacts to his attention is concerning, yet my mind is currently occupied with bigger issues.
Like what am I going to wear. He texts me the location of a touristy place downtown, one that locals don’t frequent much.
He said drinks, and the place is a bar. Not a restaurant.
This is not a date. The thought sends a wave of relief through me.
Still, I try on three different outfits before finding the right one, not allowing myself to overthink why.