That Look

... By Hathor



"Come in!" I heard that voice, Jon's voice call to me. Wiping sweaty palms on my jeans, I opened the door, and damn, there they were. The pair that the residents of Joviland call the "Dynamic Duo". The two most beautiful creatures on God's green Earth. They were sitting in a matching set of leather high-backed chairs, legs carelessly draped over the arms, so they were sitting back-to-back. They were looking at something, but turned their attention to me when I closed the door behind me.

I saw what they had been looking at. Jon had a small notebook in his hand. It looked like my notebook. Shit. That was definitely the notebook I use on the train to capture my blognotes. You know what those are? The very explicit notes I use to write my stories. Complete with a list of URLs and photo ideas. Holy Hell. My blood turned to ice, and I flushed to the roots of my sun-kissed brown hair.

Jon was looking at me from under that messy mop of long light-brown hair, with a "really?" look and a twinkle in his glacier blue eyes.

And Richie? Jesus, Richie was staring right through to the core of me. His arms were crossed over his chest causing his biceps to bulge enticingly. The look on his face was part way between "what the hell were you thinking" and "take off your pants".

Kill me now. Someone. Anyone. Please.

I cleared my throat, and tried for a confidence I didn't feel, unable to tear my gaze away from that notebook. Jon kept riffling the pages with his thumb, making the only sound in the room. Oh God.

Richie spoke first. "So, darlin', we found something interesting, come and have a look."

Richie unfolded his large frame from the chair and stood, motioning me to sit. Jon dropped his legs to the floor, and held out the notebook. On shaky legs, I crossed to take the now dreaded sheaf of paper from him, and sat hard in a chair that still held the warmth and scents from Richie's body. Richie moved to stand next to the chair, and leaned over so that his necklaces were dangling inches from my face. He waited for me to open the notebook, and chuckled softly as I read my words.

I closed the notebook, and my eyes, and took a deep breath. When all else fails, bluff your ass off. "So," I said. "What am I looking at?" Please don't let them recognize my handwriting. Please don't let them recognize my handwriting. I've only worked here for a month. They can't know my writing yet, can they?

"Someone around here is writing stories about us," Richie said softly. His trademark black Stetson was tilted slightly over one eye, making him almost unbearably sexy.

"Incredibly dirty, deliciously raunchy, wonderfully sexy stories," Jon added. "Do you recognize the handwriting?"

Gulp. Shit. Uh, yeah, I do. I sure as hell am not going to admit it, though. "It looks familiar," I hedged, "but I can't place it."

"Really?" Richie said, crowding me in the chair now. "That's funny. You see," he said, leaning in closer, to whisper directly into my ear. "This writing is familar to us, too."

"In fact," Jon cut in, taking a folder from under his chair, "it seems to match this note you attached to the latest stack of mail you sent up."

I swallowed hard, and tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. I stood quickly, making Richie jump back to avoid getting head-butted. "I'm sorry you saw that. Really. Shit. Sorrier than you know." With as much dignity as I could muster, I walked toward the door. "I'll have my stuff cleared out within the hour. Sorry."

I was nearly to the door when a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I looked down to see a tiny star on a large, strong hand. I looked up into chocolate brown eyes that were incredibly hard to read. "What?" I said. "What else could there possibly be to say?"

Richie laughed and looked over at Jon, then gave me a soft, slow kiss on the lips. Swear to God, I creamed myself right then and there. Jon smiled, and stood up, coming over toward me. He put an arm around my waist and nibbled at my neck.

"We want to know if you can write a story about a threesome."