6. Paige
CHAPTER SIX
Paige
My index finger clicks the send button, and I let out a deep sigh of relief.
The last time I sent in a column, my stomach was in knots, and it had every right to be, but this time…
I know I knocked it out of the park. The words flew right out of me while I described, in every embarrassing detail, the events of the last few days.
It’s a captivating start to the series where I, a shy, awkward girl, try out sex toys for the first time. Of course, it will, at some point, require me to actually try them, but for now, I’m thankful for the present.
I do another reread of the draft, my chest racing with excitement.
It’s good. More than good. There’s humor, humiliation, and tension.
There’s a clumsy FMC who embarrasses herself in front of a smoking hot MMC, and even though that story will go nowhere further, it’s truly one of the best pieces I’ve written.
With a quiet squeal, I close the laptop and bring it inside, abandoning the corner of my patio lounge set. It’s my favorite writing spot, and I love it even more when the writing muses bless me.
My phone pings with a text, and I look to see who it is.
Jordan
Picking you up in 30.
“Shit.” Time got away from me while I was working, and I forgot about the tiny fact that there is an event Dad invited us to. It’s a formal event, which means I’m already running late.
I rush to the closet, looking for something to wear. The fact that I have no idea what the event actually is doesn’t help one bit. Finally, I find a dress I like and grab it with urgency.
Thirty-three minutes later, my phone rings. “Coming right out,” I say, not waiting for Jordan’s response.
Slipping my nude heels on, I take one last look in the mirror.
For a last-minute effort, I look pretty good.
My pink dress dips low in the front, tightens at the waist, and flares out to just above my knees.
The cleavage would be crude if I had any, but the two mosquito bites I call breasts make it look elegant.
My hair is styled into a messy bob, my curtain bangs falling over my face.
My makeup is minimal, with some dark accents around my eyes, blush on my cheeks, and warm plum lip gloss on my lips.
It’s been a while since I wore anything remotely dressy, and I don’t mind the way it looks. A car honks outside, and I rush through the door, hoping to avoid my sister’s rage.
I practically jump into the car, Jordan’s lips pulling into a smirk in the driver’s seat. She’s wearing a black button-down with the top two buttons undone, and a couple of chains around her neck.
Emma, on the other hand, has her long brown hair styled in loose waves, and she wears one of her signature floral dresses. The bangles on her wrist clink as she moves her hand to lower the sound of the music. “You look nice, babe.”
“You, too, Ems.”
“So, what do you think this is? Another engagement?”
“I hope not. We don’t even know he’s dating. But yeah, my guess is we’re meeting a very special someone tonight.” I emphasize the words we’ve heard a million times before. Jordan lets out a chuckle.
Well, five times. We’ve heard them five times, but it’s still a lot. Counting our mom, who left when Jordan and I were little, our dad has been married four times. He was engaged five times, though, but one of them hadn’t made it to the altar. Can’t say we were sad about it.
Dad is a wealthy man and a hopeless romantic. Unfortunately, that’s the perfect combo in the gold-digger department. I’m pretty sure there’s an alert set up for when he’s single because women flock to him like crazy.
“I hope she’s older than us,” Jordan mentions, which is fair. Emma winces, trying to hold in her laughter.
“Come on, they were all older than us. Some of them just barely, but still, older.”
“God, that reminds me of Jessica,” Jordan continues. “We were eighteen and Jessica was twenty-two.”
“At least she tried to be nice to us.” I shrug, stifling a giggle.
“She did. Because she couldn’t even fake being interested in Dad,” Jordan explains to her wife. “She tried to invite us to every date, hoping to avoid being alone with him. She ended up running away with our pool boy after a month.”
“Honestly, from the stories you two told me, she sounds like one of the good ones,” Emma says.
“That’s what I’m saying!” I exclaim. “She didn’t even try to ship us to boarding school.”
Jordan rolls her eyes, and Emma’s laughter bubbles out. “Should we make a bet?”
Jordan raises her hand, the other one holding the steering wheel. “I say he’ll call her a very special someone.”
I slap her shoulder playfully. “Not fair. I said it first.”
“Not when we were making the bet.”
“I say she’ll be blonde,” Emma adds.
I groan, my options depleting. “Fine. I say she’s over ten years younger than him.”
“Deal,” Emma says.
None of us end up right.
The hostess ushers us to the private room of the fancy restaurant overlooking the ocean.
Three people occupy the plush, forest green, silk velvet chairs.
Friendly chatter fills the room as the sun paints the sky with warm colors on its descent.
Dad smiles when he notices us and gets up from his chair where he was talking to a woman.
The two of them reach us, and a déjà vu hits me when he wraps his arm around her shoulders.
Still, the motion is the only familiar part, because the woman our dad is hugging is nothing like the ones we met before.
She’s beautiful, yes, but instead of platinum blonde, her hair sports a natural gray color.
She must be somewhere around Dad’s age, which is a shock on its own.
Her makeup is unassuming, and she’s wearing a long, brown dress, showing off her figure in an age-appropriate manner.
Dad pulls her in even closer. “Girls, this is Kim, the love of my life.” He introduces her, stretching her smile even wider.
Wrinkles frame her smiling lips and eyes, making her look warm and inviting. Not once have I heard him mention someone as the love of his life, and I’ve met quite a few special someones.
“Kim, these are my girls. Jordan and Paige are my daughters. Emma is Jordan’s wife and a bonus daughter of mine.”
Emma grins and reaches her hand out toward the unfamiliar woman. Kim shakes her head and pulls her into a hug. “Any family of Roger’s is family of mine.”
I glance at Jordan, and the two of us roll our eyes internally.
We’ve experienced so many of these situations that we’ve developed a code of conduct.
We act polite but use the time to gather dirt on the subjects.
This time, our subject is a challenge. She’s nothing like we expected, so we’ll need to adapt our strategy.
Kim lets go of my sister and I’m next in line for a hug.
Even though my instinct is to be on guard, I can’t deny her hug is amazing. She doesn’t hover. No, she pulls you in as if you’re actually family. She also smells nice, and when the hug is done, it’s hard to remember I’m supposed to hate her.
It’s a pact Jordan and I made years ago, when we noticed Sandra, Dad’s second wife, acted differently when he wasn’t around. It didn’t take us long to figure out she was just after his money. Their marriage lasted four months, but it was four months too long.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, girls,” she says after hugging Jordan.
Her voice is sweet, just like the rest of her.
She wraps her hand around my wrist, pulling me forward.
“Come, let’s sit down and get to know each other.
” Just as I take a step toward the empty chairs, the remaining sitting figure stands up in front of me.
My neck cranes to smile politely at the now-standing figure, as Kim says, “This is my son, Ryan.”
A warm flush spills over my body as my eyes connect with his.
No, this can’t be happening. The light gray pools hide an imperceptible smirk as recognition crosses his face.
Fortunately, he starts by shaking hands with Jordan and Emma, leaving me ten extra seconds to pull myself together.
Still, as a corner of his mouth hooks beneath his beard, I know there’s nowhere to hide. This man saw more than enough already.
He knows my full name and address, and worst of all, he knows my house is now filled with sex toys. Including tentacles that have no business calling themselves sex toys.
A pause stretches before my brain catches up to what I’m supposed to do.
Eventually, I put out my hand for him to shake.
Even with sweat covering my palms, electricity zaps up my arm at the contact.
His shake is firm yet gentle, but it doesn’t help my embarrassment one bit.
My eyes catch on the way his dark blue button up hugs his defined chest and biceps and the way his thighs are visible under his tan chinos.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, waiting for him to mention something. To make a joke at my expense.
But it doesn’t come.
Other than the slightly higher tilt to his lips that others probably hadn’t noticed, there isn’t an ounce of recognition on his face. He introduces himself without a single mention of our previous, less than comfortable, encounters. A warm breeze of relief brushes over my shoulders. Maybe I’m safe.
Once the introductions are over, Kim shows me to a chair right next to her. The place might not be ideal, considering she’s a person I just met, but I’m grateful to get away from Ryan. Except, just as I lower my ass into the expensive chair, I notice him doing the same directly across from me.
Did someone put a curse on me? Should I hire an Etsy witch to clean my aura of all the bad juju?
Jordan and Emma are clueless to my internal struggles, giggling as a server pours them drinks.
I’m next, and I make sure he tops off my glass.
Taking a hefty gulp of the wine, I decide to at least focus on Jordan and mine’s mission—interrogating Kim.
Which, coincidentally, sounds a lot like chit-chatting.