Jason escapes into the magic of a Broadway play every weekend. Musicals always have a happy ending and for a few hours he can believe there’s a happy ending waiting for him, too. When the tall drink of water who works on the top floor of Jason’s building, wants to take him on a date, Jason is surprised. After all, Jason is awkward and skinny, and sees himself as a boring accountant, while Paul is tall, dark, and incredibly hot.
Despite Jason’s reservations, Paul and Jason start dating and attending the shows Jason adores. But if Paul likes musicals as much as Jason, why does he always doze off? Is Paul leading a double life? Does he have a wife tucked away somewhere?
Jason knows Paul is hiding something and when the secrets come out, Jason finds his fantasy comes to life, right there on the stage.
LIKE CLOCKWORK, the tall, dark, and unbelievably hot guy stood waiting for the elevator. I saw him nearly every morning at 8:55 a.m. I didn’t know what floor he went to but it was somewhere above my third floor, shoe-box-sized cubicle.
I tried not to look at him, I did, but my eyes had a mind of their own. I drank in the sight of his polished black dress shoes, his muscular thighs, and slim hips covered in a gray pinstripe. Today he wore a crisp, salmon-pink business shirt finished off with silver cufflinks. His matching gray jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders had my mouth drying up like the freaking Sahara.
When I reached his chiseled jaw and lush, perfectly formed lips, my dick twitched and I was pretty sure I was drooling. Our eyes met and tall, dark, and drop-dead-gorgeous grinned and winked at me.
Oh my god! What the hell was wrong with me? I’d been beaten up for less. I averted my gaze to the floor and willed the elevator to hurry the hell up. Mr. Gorgeous chuckled quietly next to me. What was he doing? Baiting the queer, awkward accountant?
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator arrived and about a thousand people tried to enter. I could feel the warmth of his body through my shirt as he pressed up behind me in an effort to get into the elevator. My knees almost buckled and he chuckled again, right next to my ear.
Did he just sniff me?
Surely not. The man could have anyone he wanted, why would he be sniffing me?
I tried to ignore the hand on the small of my back as he guided me to the rear of the elevator, but the heat from it seemed to be connected to my cock. My heart thundered in my ears. The elevator was too small; I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs, and I was pretty sure I’d pass out from lack of oxygen before I got to my floor. Maybe I should start taking the stairs.
God, even his voice was perfect. At least I knew where he worked now. Connor and Markham was the only company on the top floor but I couldn’t remember what they did. Lawyers, marketing? Something that suited his designer suit, anyway. I’d never belong to those lofty heights.
“Isn’t this your floor?” A deep grumble in my ear brought me back to the present, and I realized people were waiting for me to exit the elevator. Jesus, why did he always have to be in my elevator? I think my cheeks matched the color of the crimson carpet. As I stepped out, I could finally breathe again.
THE NEXT morning he was there again, and his lips quirked in a small smile when he saw me. I looked at all the people milling around the elevator, then headed for the stairs. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder. Mr. Gorgeous was staring at me, his brow furrowed and his smile gone. At least I could breathe in the stairwell. I took the stairs for the rest of the week, successfully eluding another encounter with Mr. Way-out-of-my-league.
Friday morning came, and I looked toward the elevator, expecting to see him waiting with the hordes, but he wasn’t there. I didn’t always see him, and I presumed he traveled for work or maybe had breakfast meetings on the days I didn’t see him. Heading for the stairs, I pushed the door open as I tried to fit my Encore magazine into my messenger bag.
“Why are you ignoring me?”
My heart felt like it had flown out of my chest. I grabbed the railing to steady myself with one hand; the other clutching at my chest like it was possible to stop my heart from flying away.
“Jesus, holy… Are you trying to kill me? I’m sure it’d be less painful to throw me down the stairs.”
“Sorry, but you’ve been avoiding me all week. Short of stalking you on your way home I thought this was a better, non-psychotic way of getting you to talk to me.”
“And scaring someone to death in an empty stairwell is less psychotic?”
“Would you prefer me to follow you home?”
“There are enough crazies in this city. I’d prefer if you weren’t one of them.” Why was I still talking? I really needed to shut up.
“Can I walk with you?” He nodded toward the stairs.
“I guess. I mean, I can’t stop you from taking the stairs. Do you plan on walking all the way to the forty-second floor?” I thought of his ass taking all those stairs and how tight it would be afterward. Not that he needed to, he filled out his suits perfectly, front and back. Oh, God, I was drooling again. I picked up my tongue and headed up the stairs, Mr. Perfect close behind.
“No, I was hoping to walk you to your office, then catch the elevator from there.”
“You want to walk me to my office?”
“Yes—are you always this difficult?”
“Yes, especially when I’m confused.”
“Why are you confused?”
“Why are you talking to me?” My toe caught the top step and I stumbled. Mr. Too-hot-for-his-own-good grabbed my waist and steadied me, preventing me from making a bigger fool of myself and falling flat on my face. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
His hands still on my waist, he spun me around to face him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” I headed for the next flight of stairs and his hands dropped away, leaving a tingling sensation that made its way to my dick.
He picked up the conversation again. “I’m talking to you because I wanted to ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.”
I couldn’t answer him. I tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as I sucked in large gulps of air. I couldn’t get enough, and my head spun from lack of oxygen.
“I have tickets to Wicked tomorrow night, and I know you like musicals. At least I think you do, judging by the magazine you always carry.”
I stopped dead in my tracks and spun to face him. He stood two steps below me and I was taller than him for once. I still couldn’t speak, my brain had short-circuited. Was he asking me on a date, or offering the tickets to me because no one else wanted them? Was I his good deed for the week? My heart plummeted.
“Sorry, I’ve got plans.” I turned around and took the stairs two at a time, leaving him staring after me.
R.J. Jones started as a reader and eventually made the progression to reviewing. It wasn’t until two men popped into her thoughts, insisting on telling her their story that she started to write.
It started with one scene. A hot and dirty one in the shower…
R.J.’s initial thought was if she could write their scene then they’d shut up and allow her to concentrate on other aspects of her day. Not so. That shower scene ended up being 3000 words long and three hours of work. And still, they didn’t shut up. They told her their entire story and she didn’t sleep for days. Sometimes she couldn’t keep up with what they were telling her and she had to keep a notebook by her bed.
Whilst she was writing their story a side character decided he needed his story told too. Then other characters followed suit.
You see the problem? If she ever wants to sleep again then she needs to write.
R.J. is a wife and a mother to two boys. She is surrounded by males. Even her dog is a boy.
R.J. Jones can be found at: