Unwrapping His Package

“Olivia doesn’t keep shit from me,” he protested. “She just hadn’t told me yet.”

“Did you at least get the name of the agency they used?” I’d call and cancel the stupid thing.

“I’ll find out and text you.”

“But what if—”

“She told me he’s scheduled for tomorrow.”

That mollified me somewhat. Because a crazy plan had begun to hatch in my brain...and I didn’t want to reek of alcohol.

“Just get the name,” I grunted before hanging up. A second later, I felt a little bad about being such an asshole until I remembered what a bastard he could be when something he didn’t like involved Olivia.

Once I’d finished cleaning, I went upstairs and tossed my clothes in the trash before taking a shower. Another perk of my room was the en suite bathroom, and with the house empty, I didn’t have to worry about sharing hot water.

I scrubbed all the wet, sticky liquid from my skin, but it would take at least one more shower to get all that potent liquor out of my pores. After a second scrubbing, I dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, then sat at my desk, which was situated right in front of the window.

My phone was on the tabletop and had a text message from Leland.

Hard to Handle Agency.

Seriously? This was the name of the stripper agency?

I shook my head as I opened my laptop to search for their number. I’d practically stalked Delia for two years, but I’d never felt so skeevy as I did calling up a male stripper agency.

Leland had also texted the name of the girl who’d made the reservation, so when they answered, I quickly gave them the information and asked them to cancel it. Then I hung up as they were asking me if I wanted to reschedule.

With that done, I decided to get a jump start on some of my reading for next semester. I gave up half an hour later when the idea I’d been trying to ignore wouldn’t stop poking at me.

One semester. I’d vowed to wait until graduation. But I only had a couple of classes to finish, and my application was done and submitted...did I really need to wait? And what if the sorority sister saw the return charge and booked another stripper?

Waiting was too big of a chance. I needed to make Delia officially mine. Now.

The question remained—how did I approach her? I wasn’t sure if she even knew who I was since I’d avoided being close to her for so long. The idea began ringing like a bell, insisting I stop ignoring it.

After a few minutes of arguing with myself, I gave in.

Her sisters had ordered her a sexy Santa, so that was what she was going to get.

I looked up the closest costume shops and called to see if they had Santa costumes available. This close to Christmas, it wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. I ended up driving four hours away to pick up the outfit.

The light in Delia’s room was out when I returned, so I went to bed. However, with my plans for the next day swirling around in my head, it took a couple of hours to fall asleep.

Four years of waking up at six in the morning had instilled an internal clock inside me, so I was up before the sun. I threw the costume into the washing machine before taking a shower and dressing in a T-shirt and jeans until I needed to change.

I made breakfast, and after I ate, I changed over the laundry. Then I tried to do some schoolwork, but it was useless. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was just after seven. How early can a stripper show up at someone’s house?

The stripper the girls ordered had been booked for late evening. Although, the website touted that they were a twenty-four-hour service. And I knew Delia was an early riser…

My eyes strayed to the red suit I’d set out on my bed after taking it out of the dryer earlier, and I contemplated my options. I could stew over it all day and drive myself in-fucking-sane or hold out another hour and go get my girl.

Plan B won.

I showered again because the suit would be hot, even if I was half-naked under the coat. After doing my after-shower routine, I walked back into my room and went straight for the dresser. I pulled out my underwear drawer but hesitated before grabbing a pair. Don’t strippers wear Speedos?

I shook my head at myself. No fucking way was that happening, but I had no problem with commando, so I shut the drawer. When I put on the pants, they were a little big, so they hung low around my hips. But not enough that they wouldn’t stay up...unless someone gave them a half-decent tug.