Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

“Not his package.” I didn’t need outside opinions on that. That was phenomenal. “The package he just sent me via bicycle deliveryman.”

“What, is it flowers or something? That seems a little aggressive.”

“It’s not flowers.” The box was the wrong shape. I had

no idea what it could be.

“Well, what is it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it’s weird, right? Isn’t it weird? I’ve never had a guy send me a package hours after we hooked up. What if it’s something psycho? I will be really sad if Grant turns out to be psycho.” That would kill the afterglow, which, I wasn’t going to lie, I was still enjoying hours later.

“Does it smell like a severed head? Because I think you should just call the police instead.” Dakota didn’t sound particularly concerned. Clearly, she thought I was overreacting.

“I don’t know what a severed head smells like.”

“I don’t either, but I mean, I’m sure it smells bad. Like death.”

I bent over the box and sniffed. It smelled like cardboard and a hint of something floral. Maybe it was flowers. “It might be flowers.”

“Oh my God, just open it. Grant isn’t being weird, you are. I’m downstairs, by the way. Buzz me in.”

I hit the button to let Dakota in, relieved she was going to be there when I opened the box. I was intrigued, yes. Unnerved, also yes. Grant said he had a question to ask me. In person. I was never involved with guys like Grant. Confident, wealthy, demanding. I had no clue what to expect and I’d been very tempted to tell him I couldn’t see him the next day, out of pure preservation, but at the same time I was too damn curious to say no.

Dakota swept into my apartment the way she always did, with a booming voice and swinging blonde hair. “Open that box before I die of curiosity.” She followed me into my room as I hobbled carefully on my sprained ankle.

The delivery was on my bed so I held it up and then said, “I’m going in.” It felt maybe a little dramatic. Dakota was right—I was probably super overreacting. I ripped it open. Inside was another gift box. Inside that were some drugstore supplies meant to help with my ankle.

Not weird at all.

There was a note that was printed, not handwritten. “Hope you feel better soon.” It was just signed “G.”

“It’s a bandage for my ankle.” I pulled that out, along with a gel pack that was meant to go in the freezer for swelling. “That’s sweet and very normal.”

“See? When are you so paranoid? That’s totally normal.”

And then it got not normal. Because under the initial ankle assist aids was another aid entirely. “Um. Wow. Like, just wow.”

“What?” Dakota crowded me and peered into the box. “Is that a vibrator?”

It most definitely was a vibrator. In a box, brand new. Sparkly. Hot pink. Very large. “Yes. Why the hell would he send me a vibrator?” I didn’t even know how to comprehend that. “Who does that after one afternoon together?”

“I have no idea but look at this thing. This is top of the line. I’m jealous. I could use this.” Dakota picked up the box and studied it. “Seven speeds and a remote. Nice. Hey, there’s something else in here too.” She pulled out a velvet rectangular box and gave it to me.

I flicked it open, my brain telling me the box was suggestive of a fancy pen. Like the kind my father got when he logged in thirty years at his company.

It definitely wasn’t a pen. It was a diamond bracelet. “Holy…” I instinctively lifted it up out of the box and stared at it as it dangled in front of me.

“Is that real?” Dakota asked.

“I don’t know, I’m not a jeweler.” It sure looked real though. Panicked, I dropped it, tossing it back in the large box, not the jewelry case it had come in. “Dakota, I think I’m a hooker and I don’t know it!”

She let out a crack of laughter.

I glared at her.