Page 70 of Special Delivery

“No, she’s right to ask,” I respond. “It’s possible, uhm, that Ryan came over last night.”

Emma gasps loudly, and I glance up just in time to see Jordan’s smirk.

“What happened?” my sister-in-law asks.

For the first time, I share details about my sex-life with my sister and her wife. The words spill out of me, while my gaze is still locked on my hands. Once I’m done, I dare to look at them, both of them staring at me with parted mouths.

“Sorry. Was that too much?”

“What? Too much? That was fucking hot, Paige,” Emma says.

“We’re just surprised, that’s all,” Jordan adds.

“Yeah, I know.” I’m surprised, too.

“So, what’s next?” Emma places her feet beneath her.

“I have no idea. I think we’re having fun or something.”

“Paige having a fuck buddy, what a day.” Jordan shakes her head, wearing a proud smile on her face.

“Or maybe they could be something more than fuck buddies.” Emma sports a hopeful look, one that could only mean danger for me.

My lips purse, and I glare at her. “I don’t think so. I’m nowhere near ready to date.”

“Paige, not everyone is Bradley,” she says in a sympathetic voice.

I roll my eyes at the mention of his name. Yes, he wanted everyone to use his full name—Bradley. It should’ve been my first clue.

“How would you know, Emma? You’ve never dated men.”

“But I have dated people, and men are people, too.”

Jordan and I both wince. I point to my twin’s face, saying, “You see? How can you convince me I should start dating men while making that face?”

“Because we want you to be happy, Paige.” Jordan lets out an exasperated breath. “Is that so hard to understand?”

“But you’re the one thinking this whole thing is a disaster,” I protest.

“Yes, for Dad and Kim. I believe it won’t last. But you and Ryan are a different story. I think he’s a good guy.” She shrugs.

“Pfft. They all look like good guys at first.”

Their expressions turn into ones of pity, and a lump forms in my throat. “Look, Paige,” Emma starts. “What you’ve been through… I can’t even imagine. But what are the chances of the same thing happening again?”

Slim, but never zero. If anyone is going to beat those chances, it’s going to be me. After all, what are the chances of the guy delivering your indiscreetly packaged sex toys being that fucking hot? Or him turning out to be your future stepbrother? What are the chances of masturbating in his room instead of yours? It’s me. I beat those odds every single time. I don’t want to beat them again. Moisture forms in the corners of my eyes.

Jordan wraps her hand around mine, obviously noticing my inner turmoil. “Look, I won’t force you into anything…”

“Since when?” I taunt, but my voice lacks bite.

She huffs a laugh. “Since now. And I’m sorry. I know I’ve pushed you for a while. Maybe you weren’t ready.” She pats my knee with both our hands, stalling the conversation. “I won’t romanticize things like Emma”—she glances at her wife—“but I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself again. It’s been too long.”

The tears overflow, my eyes unable to contain them any longer. A single drop falls on my cheek. I don’t know what to say. Jordan and I aren’t used to deep, meaningful talks like this. So I wrap my arms around her neck, letting my actions speak. She returns the hug, and an indescribable sense of relief washes over me.

We’ve always been there for each other. Even though we didn’t know what to say most of the time, we always knew what to do to make each other feel better.

When we were thirteen, she walked into my room. Without knocking, of course. “I think I like girls,” she told me, her jaw clenched.