“Professor Gregoire?”
The dark haired man lifted his head from a
notebook he was studying. “Yes?”
“Can we have a minute?” Izzy gestured to
himself and Owen. “We… uh… found something.”
Interest flickered in the dark eyes. “What is
it?”
Izzy nudged Owen, who cast him a mutinous glare
before dropping the shoebox on the professor’s desk. “This. Letters.”
“I’m afraid that letters aren’t going to be
very helpful to me in creating any exhibits.” Thick lips curled in a sneer.
“These letters… We took them home. Read through
them. I’m sorry, I know we shouldn’t have.”
“My dear boy, take as many musty letter boxes
as you please home to look through. They hold no interest to me.”
“This one is about a collection that a man
wanted to donate to the library. A collection of Egyptian artifacts.”
The professor’s thick black brows rose. “Does
it say that the items were donated?”
“Not… exactly. This correspondence is
inconclusive.” Owen interjected.
“Well, we don’t have time to waste on
possibilities. Find me something concrete that I can use.” He didn’t hand back
the box though, and Izzy couldn’t help but be a little disappointed by that.
“Yes, professor. We won’t let you down.” Izzy
nodded, furiously, tugging on Owen’s arm. “Thank you for not…”
“Shut the door behind you.” The professor
dismissed them quickly, returning to his ledgers.
In the hallway, Owen yanked his arm away from
Izzy. “What the hell was that? You apologize for me like you’re my mother?”
Izzy stamped out the flame of anger. He knew
about Owen’s pride, had stumbled over it often enough in the last few years.
“This isn’t about you, Owen. It’s about keeping these jobs so I can quit cutting
grass and still pay the rent.”
Owen frowned a little, then nodded abruptly.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. But hey… he didn’t fire us. So let’s go see if we can
find these things.”
“I thought it was inconclusive?”
“The arrangements were made. He was leaving the
items in question to the museum in his will. There is no actual document in
that box indicating that he ever really did so.”
“You lied to the professor?”
“Not at all. I just told him the strictest
interpretation of the truth.” Owen ducked his head, as though acknowledging the
truth of his lie, then muttered. “I just want to find this… We found those
letters, he’s not even… trying to find anything.”
“He’s taking a different approach, going
through the donation logs. Other stuff.” Izzy defended the professor, though to
be honest he too felt the burden of their labor. “Anyway, he kept the letters,
so there’s not much we can do.”
Owen glanced left and right down the hall, then
grabbed Izzy’s hand and half pulled half dragged him to the stairwell that led
to the musty, dusty basement storage rooms they’d been searching through
diligently for the past week.
“That’s not strictly true, either.” He held the
door open impatiently for Izzy to precede him.
“What did you do?” Izzy demanded, trepidation
slowing his footsteps. It had been awful having to go confess their sins to the
professor, to face the prospect of disappointing the man and losing their jobs.
“So help me, Owen…” Unable to think of a threat or consequence to complete his
sentence, his voice trailed away.
Their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty
stairwell as they continued to descend, into the dimly lit basement. Ahead of
them a single bulb, dusty and dim lit the central hall. Izzy shivered a little,
fancying he saw a shadow flicker. Shaking off the hallucination, he picked up
his pace a little. At the bottom of the stairs was a switch that would
illuminate the hallway… most of it anyway.
“Hmph.” Owen walked so closely behind him that
he could feel his friend’s breath on the top of his head. Some of his anger
dissolved. Owen was a warm, reassuring presence that tempted Izzy to lean back
and seek comfort. How could he be mad at Owen for wanting something he’d kill
for himself? He just didn’t have the guts to break the rules, and that would
probably hold him back his whole career.
Damned ethics and manners.
What a legacy his parents had left him.
Too bad they couldn’t have left him an
adventurous spirit, or a taste for danger.
“I didn’t do anything. Just snapped some pics
of some of those letters.”
Owen reached over his shoulder and hit the
switch, exhaling loudly. Izzy smiled. He wasn’t the only one who found the
basement and its warren of halls and tiny rooms creepy. “Good thinking.” For
just second he let himself do it, sway back and rest against Owen’s sturdy
frame- not long, just enough to warm himself in the fire of his friend’s
spirit… and just enough to feel that unmistakable ridge hidden by Owen’s black
athletic pants.
Owen’s breathing hitched, and Izzy knew that
spontaneous reaction wasn’t about the creepy hallway, and his insides went all
soft and warm as his blood thickened, and arousal threatened.
“Well,” Owen sounded a little breathless. “We
finished the first hall last night.” He pointed to a dingy brown plaque on the
wall that indicated the hall they’d finished was A 1-12. “Should we tackle B?”
Izzy glanced down the long hall. There were at
least six more wings, each containing who knew how many rooms, closets, and
cubby holes. “Maybe we should split up.” He offered reluctantly. The last thing
he wanted was to be alone down here. The place had serial killer written all
over it. As soon as they split up they became targets. He shoved his hand in
his pocket and closed it around his phone. Targets without cell service.
“Nah. It’s boring enough as it is, without you
I’d go nuts down here.”
Stupid. Stupid to feel so happy about such an
awkward, back-handed, not quite compliment. “Okay, so we stick together.”
Owen’s blues flicked over him, his gaze almost
a tangible caress, rough and hungry. “Always.”
Izzy blushed… which given how long he and Owen
had known each other… been intimate with each other, was kind of … well, he
wasn’t embarrassed but that glance made him think longingly of their upcoming
lunch break. “Okay. So B wing it is.” He started forward, but Owen caught his
shoulder, spinning him around. Heart tripping, Izzy glanced up at his friend,
curious. “What?”
“This.” Owen muttered, glowering a little. Then
he lowered his head, blocking out the dim overhead light.
Instinctively Izzy’s eyes closed, throwing him
into darkness. Owen’s cologne… some cheap Axe or Old Spice variety he bought at
Walmart teased his nostrils. He didn't have time to think before Owen’s
mouth settled over his, as hard and stubborn as Owen himself, unyielding,
insisting on having this kiss his way, sucking Izzy;s lower lip, biting down,
stealing his breath and giving it back.
Izzy clutched at Owen’s shoulder with one hand,
grabbed for his ass with the other.
Yeah. Owen had a great ass, firm
and muscular…
“Ahem.”
The loud cough startled Izzy, and he jerked
away from Owen to lean dazedly against the wall and hope that his erection
wasn’t visible through his chinos. “Professor.” He managed to acknowledge the
man’s presence but his voice was horribly husky and that one word was the most
he could compel his scrambled senses to produce. He flicked a desperate glance
at Owen.
“Can we help you?” Owen seemed to recover
himself much more quickly, and didn’t even seem to care that his athletic pants
clung to the outline of his cock as though they were made of latex.
“That is what you’re being paid to do, isn’t it?” The
professor’s thick black brows scrunched down over his nose, becoming an almost
solid disapproving line. “Do I have to separate you?”
“No!” Izzy found his voice. His chest was tight and tension made
his stomach churn. “It won’t happen again. Sorry, Professor.” Somehow, the
professor, whom he’d found quite handsome and attractive in an urbane,
sophisticated way, made the threat sound not just punitive but downright
dangerous.
“I will be locking the doors at five, as I have an important
engagement with the dean. Please make certain that you are out of the building.
That is all.”
His footsteps going up the stairs were so loud, Izzy wondered how
he’d managed to not hear them coming down. When the professor was out of sight
he sagged into the wall, shaking a little.
"This is perfect."
