put it to my face and smeled it, that inexplicably delightful
scent of fresh paper.
Miriam had been right about my need for this paper, how
if I bought it I'd find something important to write on it.
She'd been right, too, about the pen. The writing
instrument, I reminded myself with a smile. I wasn't a
surgeon or even an artist, but that pen was perfect for this.
Its weight shifted just right in my fingers as I put it to the
paper. The ink scroled every stroke without blots or skids
or spots left blank. Now I only had to find the perfect
words to write.
I knew I should do what my high school English teacher
had caled a 'sloppy copy.' None of the letters that had
passed through me first had contained scratch-outs or
misspelings. They hadn't exactly been poetry, but they had
been neat and clean. My pen hovered over the paper as I
thought of what I needed and wanted to say.
I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of
I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of
responsibility had pushed back even my arousal. I'd
actualy bitten down on my lower lip hard enough to sting
as I thought.
I put down the pen and pushed back in my chair. I got up
and poured myself a glass of orange juice that I sipped as I
leaned against my counter and stared at the paper and pen
on the table.
One thing I knew that Eric's previous unseen mistress had
never seemed to grasp. He had a sense of humor about al
this. It might also satisfy him sexualy, and he might crave
the hand of command as much as I briefly had, but in the
end, he was no leather-masked pussy boy slavering to lick
a woman's boots. He was not a cliche, and I couldn't
make this one. I wouldn't. It was already more than that,
to me, and had been from the first moment I'd taken the
words meant for him as my own.
Juice finished, I paced. The first note had been easy,
written on a whim. The second hadn't been much harder.
Now, though, now…I wanted so much for it to be perfect
I was paralyzing myself. In the end, I thought of his sense
of humor and the list he'd written. I took my pen, and I put
it to the paper.
it to the paper.
Have tacos for dinner.
'Paige!'
I'm not the blushing sort, but heat flooded me when I
turned and saw Eric waving at me from the elevator. I
paused at the Manor's big glass front doors to hold one
open for him, and he folowed me out into the spring-
breezy morning. 'Hi, Eric.'
'Going for a jog?' He wore black track pants and a tight
