Two hours later, I balance my cell phone on my thigh, hiding it under my desk so that the client sitting across from me won’t know that she doesn’t have one hundred percent of my attention as I type out a message.

I keep waiting for Mr. No O to send me a text with more instructions, but so far there as been nothing but radio silence. Or in this case, cell phone silence.

I’m getting impatient.

Doing my best to keep my movements secret from my client, I start tapping out a quick message.

My undies are off. There’s a …

I glance at the clock.

Twenty-five minutes left before I leave for my dinner with Dan. Whatever ”further instructions” you have in mind, you’d better act sooner as opposed to later.

I hit send and direct my full attention to the tall, friendly woman on the opposite side of my desk.

“I really can’t thank you enough for all the hard work that you and Tracy have put into this project.” Donna Lackey, the client who owns The Sex Project, sweeps her eyes over the notes I gave her. “When I contacted you about the possibility of putting together some marketing material for my little charity event, I never imagined how much you’d end up doing.”

I smile reassuringly at her while trying to not think about the panties I locked in my desk. Since Donna walked into my office, I keep imagining that they’re like the heart in the old Edgar Allen Poe story. The one about the guy who killed his boss and buried the heart, only to have it keep beating until it eventually drove the murderer so insane that he confessed his crime to the police.

“Tracy and I have loved working for you,” I assure Donna. “This event has the potential to raise a lot of money for sex abuse survivors and looks like it’s going to be lots of fun.”

“But you and Tracy have already donated all the time and expenses you used promoting it.” Donna shakes her head and looks at me with damp eyes. “And your donating a gift certificate to the white auction.”

Her gratitude is making me uncomfortable. “We need to take advantage of some tax breaks just like every other business does.”

“Not every other business would do what you’ve done.”

“The community has been good to me., Donna says. “The least I can do is give something back.”

Any other client would call this the end of the meeting, but not Donna. She’s a friendly woman who makes an effort to get to know the people she does business with.

“Got any big plans tonight?” Donna laughs at herself. “Talk about a silly question. A pretty, smart woman like you, of course you’re doing something. You’re not the type to sit at home, alone, all night with a tub of Ben and Jerrys, are you?”

“Just a date,” I tell her. I don’t share the fact that it’s a date with a guy I recently dumped, to which I’m not going to wear any panties. Or that instead of going out with him, I’d rather sit at home, texting with the mystery guy who told me to drop my panties.

“Really?” her expression brightens. “How exciting. That’s the one thing I don’t like about being married. I love my husband, but I did love dating. The tension, the nervousness, the feeling of eventually settling into a nice ebb and flow with another person.” A far-away expression comes into her eyes and a soft smile curves her lips as she sighs happily. “Such good times.”

I grimace. Donna is currently on the back half of her seventies and has been married for more than thirty years. It’s been a long time since she was on the dating scene, and if she has fond memories of it, then clearly dating has changed a lot since she and her husband exchanged their first kiss.

“I’ll take over your role as a wife if you want to give dating a try,” I tell her. “I’m tired of constantly looking. I want to settle down, be a part of a long-term couple.”

Donna smiles warmly and comes around the desk, catching me close in a warm hug that smells of fabric softener and lilac perfume. “I remember there were days that I felt the same way, then I met Rich. With him everything just clicked into place. How many times have you been out with this particular young man?”

“Four.”

Donna’s brows climb towards her hairline. “Well, isn’t that something? In this day and age, that’s a fair number of dates. Maybe this will turn out to be the one.”

“Maybe,” I mutter. There’s no point in telling her how the last date ended. “Time will tell.”

“And if you need some toys that’ll help keep things interesting in the bedroom, stop by the shop. If I don’t have what you’re looking for, I’ll order it for you.”

Her words remind me of my panty-less state and the fact that I’ve been texting a guy who I think of as Mister No O. If she knew, she’d have a field day. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’d promptly run down a list of all the various items in her store and give me at least a dozen suggestions.

A knock sounds on my office door, distracting both of us.

“It’s open,” I yell.

The door swings wide open, revealing a young man who’s probably about nineteen wearing the uniform of a local courier service. He’s holding a bouquet of roses and a brown box. He glances at the name printed on the top of the box.

“Erin Burkley?”

“That’s me,” I tell him.

He saunters across my office and sets the box on the table and thrusts the roses into my arms. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” I accept the offering and bury my nose in the sweet blooms, inhaling deeply. I love roses and don’t receive them often enough.

Free of his burden, the boy unclips his smart phone from his hip, hits a few icons, and passes both it and a stylus to me. “You’ve got to sign for them.”

I do and without another word, he saunters out of my office, failing to close the door behind him.

“Oh,” Donna coos, “roses.” She reaches out and lightly brushes a finger across a delicate petal. “From your date tonight?”

“Maybe.” I find the card tucked inside the bouquet and tip it open.

Donna unashamedly reads the card over my shoulder. “Oh, isn’t that romantic,” she breathes dreamily. “It’s been way too long since Rich sent me roses and promised me a night out. Time to light a fire under that boy.” She nudges me with her elbow. “What’s in the box?”

I slant a look at her. “You’re not very patient, are you?”

“Can’t stand to see an unopened box.” She grins impishly. “I’m hell to be around at Christmas time. Always begging and demanding to open presents early. Now snap to it.”

“Yes ma’am.” Laughing, I dig my letter opener out of my desk’s top draw and use it to slice the tape. Peeling back the flaps, I reveal a box within a box. The second one is high-quality white cardboard, the kind that doesn’t even feel like cardboard, and has fancy gold writing on it.

I lift the second box out of the first.

“Hey, that’s from my place,” Donna gasps.

Sure enough, the words ‘The Sex Project’ adorn the box top.

“Well, we know that your boyfriend has the sense to shop at the best stores in Tucson,” Donna says. “Now let’s see what his taste is like.”

I resist the urge to tell her that right now I don’t consider Dan my boyfriend, I don’t know what he is. I also decide that there’s no point in telling her that this package was sent from my anonymous sex coach.

I lift the cover off the box and fold back the pretty gold tissue paper, revealing a pile of goodies.

“Look at this!” Donna grabs a small, square packet off the top of the pile. “This stuff is amazing and one of our most popular products. I can barely keep it stocked.”

I look at the packet in her hand. It’s arousal oil. The packet contains a single use worth of the oil.

“Does that stuff really work?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Most arousal oils don’t, or at least they don’t work well, but this brand does,” Donna confirms. “It’s the real McCoy. Which is why it sells so quickly. And I’m Arizona’s only registered retailer of it. Rub this oil on your clit and labia and you’ll be squirming in no time flat. It’s a great turn on, and Rich doesn’t rub it on himself, but when we’re having sex, he notices when it rubs off of me and onto him. He likes the hot, tingly sensation.”

She hands the packetto me. “You’ll start to feel the results within about three minutes of applying it. The only thing you have to be careful about is condoms.”

“I can’t use a condom with this stuff?” My heart sinks. Just my luck. There’s an oil that might help with my problem, but it prevents me from protecting myself. Talk about a kick in the teeth.

“You can,” Donna says. “You just have to make sure it’s a polyurethane condom and not a latex one. There’s some speculation that this arousal oil breaks down latex.”

Whew, dodged a bullet there.

Donna turns back to the box. “Let’s see what else he got you.” She tugs the next item out and lets out a low whistle. “Oh, very sexy, and they’ll look great with that dress you’re wearing.”

She’s holding a pair of thin, black silk stockings and a matching garter belt.

“I’ve never worn anything like that in my life.” I whisper.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Donna’s grin encompasses her entire face. She tosses the pile of black material back in the box. “Well, I’ll get going now. I’ve taken up way too much of your time and it looks like you’ve got a big, fun date to get ready for.” She hurries across my office but pauses and turns back when she reaches the door. “You’re already getting a pair of tickets to my little auction. Tracy too. I expect you to bring that gorgeous hunk of a man so that I can give him a big kiss and thank him for his patronage.”

Without another word, she walks out of my office, leaving me alone with my new gifts.