While the story had an engaging quality, I feel that the flavor of the sex was too vanilla for Bedtime Stories Press.

Pixie felt her blood pressure rising. Not a good sign. The main characters both had tails and engaged in gymnastic-style sex in a zero-G chamber! What more did the reviewer expect? The work in question was a 5K short, and a darn good one at that.

Pixie was a pixie, and pixies have notoriously bad tempers. She felt an evil smile curve her lips. Scrolling up, she found the reviewer's name, B. J. Smith. She snagged the e-mail addy from the program and began to compose a message to the hapless reviewer:

Dear Ms. Smith. What kind of frigging idiot are you?

No, too aggressive. Might tip the woman off to her mood. She hit the delete key and started again.

Dear Ms. Smith. As review coordinator for Bedtime Stories Press, I like to meet the various reviewers in order to make sure that we have a mutually supportive working arrangement. The current review you submitted suggests that we may be operating under different assumptions. I'd like to invite you to attend my office at your earliest convenience in order to straighten this out.

Sincerely, Pixie, Review Coordinator for Bedtime Stories Press

Satisfied that the message in no way hinted at the mayhem she planned to visit on B.J. Smith's head when she showed up for her interview, Pixie hit the "send" button.

The door opened and Willafer stuck her head through. An Elfish grin on her face warned Pixie that something was up. "There's a B.J. Smith waiting to see you. I've put them in the front interview office, so you'll have lots of room." A snicker escaped her lips. "The lock on the door is functional, and I'll be within earshot if you need any... erm... help." With a very unprofessional giggle, the Elf skipped away down the corridor to reception.

Pixie stood and sighed. Willafer could be such an Elf at times. Grabbing her tablet and stylus, she headed down to confront the unfortunate Ms. Smith. She paused at the doorway to plaster a pleasant smile on her face. It would be best to get past preliminary introductions before she ripped the hapless reviewer's self-respect to shreds.

Satisfied that she looked like a harmless pixie, she sashayed through the doorway. "Good morning, Ms. Smith..." Her voice trailed off and she stared in confusion. Two of the most mouthwatering men she'd seen in decades stood as she entered the room.

One dark. One blond. Tall. Muscular. Rugged. Those tight muscle shirts really didn't hide a lot, did they? And those faded jeans? Practically molded to the wide thighs and narrow waists. Pixie swallowed hard, all her righteous indignation evaporating in a rolling wave of lust.

"I'm sorry. You must be the new cover models Troll was expecting. I'll just go check with Willafer and see which room my party is in." With a sigh of regret, she turned to go.

The blond put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. "We're not cover models. We work for the construction crew down the road when we aren't busy reviewing books. We're B. J. Smith." He nodded at the dark-haired man. "That's Bill and I'm Jake. B.J."

Pixie tilted her head and tore her gaze away from the wide shoulders and six-pack abs. Damn, someone should put more clothes on these guys. Or maybe not.