Page 10 of Special Delivery

My hand runs through my hair, frustrated by my train of thoughts. Quitting my job and moving back home is one thing, but actually considering Parker teaching me about sex? I must be out of my goddamn mind.

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?”