First Class Package

Copyright

Cover artist: Garrett Leigh
First Class Package © 2014 Jay Northcote

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

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The sound of the doorbell jarred Jim out of the article on climate change he was working on. Having barely started his first draft, with a deadline forty-eight hours away, he wasn't too chuffed about being pulled out of the zone. Sighing heavily, he set his laptop aside. As he moved to answer the door, he realised how stiff he was. How long had he been sitting immobile on the sofa? It must have been at least a couple of hours. He was still wearing the ratty old T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms he'd slept in, he realised. But that often happened when he was writing. Getting dressed was just another distraction he didn't need.

He spotted the flash of a red and navy uniform through the frosted glass panel in the front door and opened it, expecting to see his usual postman Keith.

But on opening the door, he found himself facing a stranger—an attractive stranger with a cheeky grin and twinkly blue eyes under dark spiky hair.

"You're not Keith," Jim said.

"Um... no." Not-Keith's grin slipped a little. "He's off work for a few weeks. Had an op on his knee." He gestured down and Jim's eyes followed the movement, getting stuck on a delightful pair of muscular legs that emerged from beneath the postman's navy shorts.

Shorts, in the middle of December? Jim shivered at the thought of it. It was bloody freezing out there, but sunny at least, he supposed.

Jim realised he was still staring like an idiot at the poor bloke's knees. He quickly looked up again.

"I've got something you need to sign for." Not-Keith pressed a few buttons on his electronic signature gizmo and held it out. A rainbow braided bracelet slipped out from below his sleeve. "Give us your autograph then."

Jim squiggled something that looked completely unlike his signature, then took the parcel Not-Keith offered him. "Cheers."

Not-Keith flashed him another devastating smile that did funny things to Jim's belly. "You're welcome. Have a good day!"

He turned and hurried off.

Jim's gaze dropped back down those bare legs: furry, muscular calves over thick socks and boots. The sight of those did funny things a little further south than Jim's belly.

He shook his head as though to clear it. He didn't have time to indulge in dirty fantasies about his postman today. There was work to do.

The following day, the doorbell disturbed Jim when he was mid-flow again. His first draft was half done now, but he'd got stuck researching something for most of yesterday afternoon and had been up half the night working. He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair and was unable to suppress a huge yawn as he opened the door.

"God, sorry," he said as he met Not-Keith's half-amused, half-concerned expression.

"Another sick day? You look rough, mate."

"No. I'm fine." Jim hurried to reassure him. "I'm not sick. I work from home. I've just been working flat-out for the last couple of days."

Not-Keith didn't look convinced as his gaze roamed over Jim. But then his eyes snagged on Jim's groin, and Jim felt a hot flush crawl up from his chest to bloom on his cheeks as he remembered he wasn't wearing any underwear. These tracksuit bottoms didn't leave a lot to the imagination.