Page 71 of Special Delivery

Not knowing what to say, I jumped off my bed and hugged her.

Today’s no different.

Clearing my throat, I decide breaking up this pity party would be best. “Martha loved my new piece.”

Emma gasps while Jordan says, “Of course she did.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if she would, after that whole plant propagating debacle, and the fact that I haven’t fully followed her instructions.”

Jordan lets out a sigh. “Paige, you’re a fucking amazing writer. You’ve been writing shit ever since you knew how to hold a pencil.”

My lips tip up. “I was scared I lost it.”

This time, Emma is the one to speak, “You can’t lose that, Paige. It’s ingrained into your very being. But sometimes we do misplace it.”

“I like that.” Maybe I have misplaced it for a while. Misplaced a big part of myself. Luckily, there’s still time to find it.

Determined to find that missing part of me, I sit down at my laptop as soon as I get home. Words pour out of me, faster than my fingers can type them. Within an hour, I have an entire column written.

I reread it, fixing multiple spelling and punctuation mistakes, while excitement courses through me. I bite my bottom lip to suppress a smile as I reread it for the third time. It’s amazing.

But it feels too personal for the magazine. Instead of despairing at the loss of time and effort, I click on a new document with a grin on my face. My keyboard clicks and clacks as I type out a new piece. Just a few weeks ago, I was so starved for inspiration that writing felt like pulling teeth. Now, I can type out two columns like nobody’s business. Funny what a few mind-blowing orgasms can do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Ryan

For two days straight, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. The noises she made, how her pussy felt wrapped tightly around my dick, how gorgeous she looked underneath me. I’ve also neatly catalogued the details I now know about her in my head.

Being in her house gave me a peek into her mind. Her home is warm and colorful. It’s also filled with plants, which all look very well taken care of. Her kitchen is full of character, with random pieces coming together in perfect harmony. It’s a beautiful space and exactly what I’d want from my own home. Coincidentally, I haven’t had a headache for two days straight, either.

I throw a pair of sports shorts into my padel bag and zip up my hoodie. On my way out of the house, Mom calls me from the kitchen.

“Have you got time for a coffee?” she asks, reaching out a cup for me.

I check my watch before responding, “Maybe a minute. What’s up?”

“Just a mom wanting to check on her son. I know I’m not around much these days.” She’s been spending most of her time with Roger.

“I’m an adult, Mom. I don’t need you to take care of me.” A sip of hot coffee makes its way down my throat.

“I’ll always want to take care of you. Speaking of, how is your head?” Her voice is casual, but the look in her eyes screams worry.

“Better,” I say, and this time I’m not lying. “I hardly ever feel it.”

Mom’s shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh escaping her. “Is it her?” The cup she lifts to her mouth doesn’t hide her smirk.

“Who?” I act dumb.

“My dear stepdaughter.” She purses her lips to let me know she’s not buying my shit.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” I check my watch again. “I should go if I don’t want to be late.”

“Mhm,” she hums, letting me get all the way to the hallway before adding, “Be a dear and let Paige know I’d love her help with choosing a wedding dress.”

I open my mouth to respond, but there’s nothing to tell. I could deny everything, which would be a lie. Or I could pretend I hadn’t heard what she said and leave. Walking out of the house is a simple decision.

An hour and a half later, Parker and I emerge victorious, though my chest heaves and my face is wet with exertion.