7:10 pm. “Your package is out on delivery, “ the message said, “it should arrive at 6:45 pm.” “How long does it take for some pencils and paper to be delivered?” Melvin asked for the silence to answer. He turned on the TV, hoping it would distract him from his impatience. He changed the channel consistently before turning it off and taking a temporary interest in the radio. Affectionate Tale by Tyler Slow played, but it didn’t do the trick. Frustrated, as we all would be, he brushed his blond hair out of his face. Not long after, the doorbell rang. Melvin walked across the den and opened the door as far as the sliding lock would allow.
“Sorry I was late,” the delivery guy said, “Package for... Melvin Basso?” He pulled the package from his cross-body bag, the package now in his right hand. Each word delivered between heavy breathing, sweat making his pink work shirt cling to every crevice of his very defined abs and biceps. His tender honey-colored eyes locked with Melvin’s brown with mercy, as if he was expecting a scowling. Melvin slammed the door shut, unlocked the door, and swung it wide open. As the delivery guy caught his breath and stood taller, Melvin was able to read his name tag: “Rowan.” He took a deep breath and tried to maintain his composure as Rowan ran his left hand through his long, sweat-soaked brown hair. “Yeah, that’s me,” he sputtered, taking the package from his hand. “Sorry about that, I just…” he didn’t know how to finish the thought without sounding inexcusably horny. He averted his eyes, now wide with surprise and embarrassment. Rowan chuckled quietly, his broad smile stirring Melvin’s insides. “It’s alright, sir,” he said. “Have a good day now!” He added as he picked up his work hat, which fell on the ground on his way up to the porch. He smiled - and winked subtly - at Melvin as he walked off the property and onto the sidewalk.
Melvin watched until Rowan was out of view before quietly closing the door. He placed the package on a small table nearby before sinking down on the floor against the door, hiding his beet-red face in his hands. Affectionate Tale had finished playing. “Oh my Gods” were the only sounds that would escape Melvin’s lips for the next two hours.
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