Too Much Information (Awkward Love 3)

Chapter One

LauraI take a deep breath and glance at the courier e-mail again. It’s well past their allotted “four hour” time frame, and I’ve got better things to do than stand around my apartment waiting all day. Okay, so maybe that’s not true. Maybe I’d be here regardless, but for the love of God, put me out of my misery and deliver my damn sex toy. My heart pounds as I repeat that sentence in my head, because I’m already wishing I’d never ordered the stupid thing.

I blame Becca for this.

When I complained to her that she never puts enough thought into my birthday gifts, she presented me with a gift card for Diddle Me Softly. It had been sitting in my drawer for nearly six months. It was only last week when I decided to do a spring clean that I found it. I was all alone in my apartment, so naturally, my mind began to tick over. I’m a twenty-six-year-old single woman with a healthy sexual appetite who was experiencing somewhat of a drought when it came to men. So why did looking at toys and vibrators make me feel so embarrassed? I mean, who was going to know what I got up to in the privacy of my own home? So long as I didn’t whip it out in the middle of the local coffee shop, I thought it was a pretty safe assumption that nobody would ever know.

One glass of wine was all it took for me to load up that site and have a look.

The first thing that surprised me was the sheer variety of toys available. Was there really that big a market for this kind of thing? Maybe I’d gone into the wrong profession with medicine because obviously sex toy development was the way to go.

As I ran through page after page of toys, I became more overwhelmed and curious at the same time, until I stumbled across the Clitmaster7000. Despite its slightly terrifying name, it actually looked pretty tame compared to some of the other things on offer, so I thought it was a safe option for a beginner like me. I mean, forgive me for being a prude, but the idea of something bigger than my forearm going anywhere near my vagina was not getting me all hot and sweaty. So, I took the plunge and ordered it.

I unlock the door and peek outside. A thought hits me as I glance down the hallway and my gaze falls on my neighbor’s door. My eighty-year-old widowed neighbor.

God, please don’t let it have been delivered to Iris by mistake.

The number of times she brings me my half-opened mail, because she didn’t think to check the name on the label before opening it… Well, I wouldn’t put it past her to have signed for my package, opened it up and assumed it was a toy for her cat, Milton. I cringe as I picture him swatting that bad boy from one end of her apartment to the other. I slam the door closed and lean against it.

I cringe because how would I explain that?

I feel like I need to put it all into perspective because I’m probably coming across as that annoying, whiny girl that nobody wants to be friends with. While there may be an element of that, panicky and jumpy isn’t who I am.

I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. I deal with situations that push me to the edge on a daily basis. I can handle a medical emergency any day of the week, but a situation that I can’t control? Even something as simple as a potentially embarrassing package arriving, I struggle with. I’m the first to admit I have flaws and worrying about what other people think of me is probably my biggest.

The knock on the door comes so suddenly that I jump about a meter in the air and nearly give myself a heart attack. This thing is already trying to kill me, and I haven’t even tried it yet. When the thudding of my heart has subsided, I brush myself off and stroll over to the door, casually opening it like I’m expecting a delivery of toilet paper.

The delivery guy stands there, smiling at me as he cradles the brown wrapped box like it’s a new baby. I frown, my paranoia kicking into overdrive. Is he looking at me funny? He glances down at the box in his hands, and then back at me.

“Package for a Lauran Black,” he says.

“Laura,” I whisper.

I go to snatch it out of his hands and fumble, then we both watch in horror as it falls to the floor—well, I’m horrified; he looks mildly amused.

“Hope there’s nothing breakable in there,” he says leaning down to pick it up. “Underneath all that brown paper. I always try to guess what little treats people have bought themselves.” He winks at me and my heart stops beating. “And you know what they say about brown paper.”