How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,18
looked down. “It’s working.”
“Yes, I believe it is.” Alexander lifted his head toward the twittering birds in a nearby tree; his chest rose, deeply breathing in the smoky smell of fish and fresh water. “I’ll enjoy doing things this weekend I normally wouldn’t.”
A shiver raced through Logan. “Doing things like . . .?”
Alexander turned his pack inside out, and their cooking essentials tumbled onto the packed dirt, along with tea bags, spices, and a few bell peppers. “Where’s the real food? The instant mac and cheese?”
Alexander shuddered. “First, I’d never eat instant anything. Second, I figured you could fish or hunt—or, you know, skin a possum.”
Logan blanched. “Really?” he squeaked.
Alexander’s smile grew. “I confess, I love your cooking. That stew your first night? Delicious.”
“Erm, yes, but . . .”
Alexander hefted a brow. “But?”
“What about my cake disaster? I might be having an off week.”
Alexander picked up a container and handed it to him. “Go nuts with the salt.”
Logan clutched the salt tightly as Alexander stepped within an inch of him.
“So, what will it be?” Alexander asked. He dipped his fingers into Logan’s pocket, brushing over his crotch and fingering the army knife Logan had made a show of putting in there earlier.
Logan could barely keep it together, lost in a war between terror and desire.
Alexander drew out the knife, slowly sliding it against Logan’s swollen shaft. “Hunting? Or fishing?”
Logan clasped Alexander’s hot palm. “Fishing. Definitely fishing.”
“Not interested in chargrilled possum?”
“That there is a treat,” Logan said, cheek twitching, “but I don’t have a valid hunting license, and this campsite here is for fishin’.”
Thank fuck.
“Is that right?”
“Yep.”
Their hands vibrated with energy. Their eyes connected. Logan let go and Alexander withdrew his hand. “I’ll set up our bed in the tent and stow our bags in the car.”
Logan nodded. “I’ll fish for dinner.”
Water rippled around Logan’s line and settled. Sunshine glittered hard off the surface, making him sneeze. He shifted on the rock where he leaned at the river’s edge. Silvery fish darted around his line, spinning and looping yet never biting.
He wound his line in and cast it out again.
How was this supposed to be fun? Relaxing? The damn fish were right there. He’d have more luck stabbing them with a stick.
In fact . . .
He set his fishing line on the bank, found a long stick, sharpened the end with his knife, and stole a few feet into the frigid water.
“Come a little closer, fishies. I have a point to prove.”
“Logan!”
Logan whirled around, raising his hunting stick. Water splashed up under his rolled pants. “Gah.”
“Sorry.” Alexander’s gaze moved over him with curiosity, wariness, and not a small amount of disbelief. “Am I interrupting something?”
Alexander clomped over the grass toward him. The tips of his boots rippled the water.
Logan lowered his stick. “What the hell? You don’t stomp over while a man fishes. All that ruckus scares away the fish.”
Alexander raised a brow. “Scares something. Not sure it’s the fish.” He nodded to Logan’s stick. “That the usual way you do this?”
Logan loosened and tightened his grip on his Neanderthal weapon. “Fishing rods are like training wheels. Dagger sticks is where it’s at.”
“It’s quite the sight.”
“It’s quite the experience, too,” Logan murmured.
Alexander grimaced and sighed before he bent over, undid his laces, and pulled off his boots. He snapped open his jean’s button and started shimmying his pants off. Logan’s breath lodged in his sinuses. “What’re you doing?”
“Joining you,” Alexander said, reluctantly.
“Why?”
“Maybe I’d like company or something.”
“Company?”
“Or something.”
Logan re-experienced the ache of seeing Alexander lying there in his bed, alone on his birthday, and a fierce need to introduce this wonderful man to all his friends overwhelmed him.
He bit it back and focused on his mission.
What did it take to scare a man off these days? “Okay, once we’re done with sticks, I’ll show you how to catch these slippery fuckers with your feet.”
Alexander halted. “Feet?”
“Stomp on them fishies the right way and you can feel them warm guts between your toes.”
Alexander, thank the Lord, looked suitably disturbed.
Logan smiled sweetly. “I reckon you wanna stay put on the bank. Better yet, the tent. No problem. Head on back.”
Alexander’s lips flattened, and he rolled his shoulders. “It’s fine.”
Logan gaped. “Are you insane?”
Alexander jerked his head up. “What?”
Logan caught himself. “I can’t see you ready to murder fish with your toes.”
“Oh, I won’t be murdering anything. I won’t even be thinking of murdering anything.” Alexander’s voice lowered, but a breeze tossed his words Logan’s way. “Well. Not fish, anyway.”
Logan smirked.
Alexander stomped out of