How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,19
his jeans and waded into the water. Oh God, those beautifully flexed thighs and runner calves. The sunshine made his golden hairs glow. His legs were haloed.
Water lapped over Logan’s knees as Alexander neared. The soft scent of the man invaded his senses. Logan swore he felt Alexander’s warmth radiate into him despite the foot between them.
Anxiety pounded through him and he murmured to himself, “This isn’t going to work.”
Alexander’s blue eyes danced. “Pardon?”
Logan fiddled with his stick. “Ain’t you ever heard of performance anxiety?”
Alexander nodded gravely. “There’s nothing more awkward when you’re trying really hard and nothing tugs your line.”
Logan choked back a laugh. Fast tongue, Mr. Kress.
Alexander squeezed Logan’s upper arm. “There are two kinds of performance anxiety. One comes from an overwhelming desire to please someone.”
“That would be me wanting to please you by catching the perfect fish.”
“The other,” Alexander continued, “comes from having unrealistic expectations. Suppose one’s watched a lot of videos and it looked so easy, but when it came to do it . . .”
Logan gulped. “Definitely the first kind.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Warm fingers skated off Logan’s arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
God. “Prep the grill?”
Alexander cocked his head. “It’s okay if you don’t catch anything, Logan.”
“Please prep the grill?”
Alexander sighed. “Okay. You bring the fish.”
Logan brought the fish. Or better said, he bought the fish from a nearby fisherman on the sly.
He waved at Alexander from the fish-cleaning station and trundled over carrying the catch on a plastic plate.
Alexander did a double take.
“Fer you, darlin’.” Logan set the fish on the table beside the grill.
Alexander blinked. “Brilliant, honey. With your feet?”
“My stick.”
“Wonderful. Perhaps after dinner you’ll tell me more of your hunting stories.”
Hunting stories?
Fret picked at his gut. No way could he pull off any real-sounding MAGA hunting stories.
Logan brushed a stray leaf off Alexander’s polo. “I’ve a truckload.”
“Great. I’ve got all night.”
Fuckity-fuck, Logan had to avoid this inquisition. So he found excuses not to tell his stories: children within ear distance of the communal eating area, a sudden need for the toilet, wanting silence to listen for approaching wildlife.
The sun settled behind the horizon and the sky transformed to a deep blue canvas. They walked under it along a dirt path to their tent. Alexander breathed quietly next to him, his knuckles bumping Logan’s.
A few feet from their pup tent, Alexander turned toward him and Logan halted. The sky deepened, and its first glimmer of stars pushed through the night fabric. Soft moonlight caressed Alexander’s forehead, nose, jaw. His dark eyes were fixed on Logan, his voice husky. “I believe we are alone.” Tell me one of those hunting stories.
Logan sucked in his breath. He was supposed to be acting so well he’d turn Alexander off. But what if liberal Alexander was attracted to far-right conservatives who loved to hunt?
Did Alexander have a flaw?
It would explain the man’s immense patience over the last week.
Logan should test that theory.
He took Alexander’s hand and pulled him close. “We certainly are alone. I’m gonna answer your question from last night. Why I have that picture in my room.”
Alexander blinked, hand squirming in his as if warring between pulling away and holding on tight. Was Alexander turned on by MAGA Logan and struggling with that fact?
Alexander thrust closer. “Oh, yes, do tell me why you love that orange monster.”
Holy shit.
That’s fucked up, Alexander.
Gulping, Logan looped his arms around Alexander’s waist and drew him nearer.
Alexander’s chest hovered near his sternum, and those night-darkened eyes pierced his. He felt warm under Logan’s hands, tight and compact, and his breath puffed out a little too fast. Logan’s heart kicked up a gear.
Alexander adjusted his feet, stepping between his, a half-inch from branding Logan’s legs.
Yep, Logan was into this.
“The answer,” Logan grumbled, scrambling to find a reason he could live with. “Um . . .”
“Yes?” Alexander all but moaned.
Logan swallowed. “The answer is above us.”
Alexander craned his head back and beheld the sky. “You’ve lost me.”
His diction was elegant, his moon-soaked appearance stunning. But this kink of his . . .
Not perfect after all.
Logan had the sudden urge to hold him tight, to whisper in his ear that it was okay. That he maybe liked him anyway.
Logan breathed in the warm night. “What do you see?”
“The night sky.”
“Which is?”
“Made up of stars. Are you trying to tell me you love how famous he is?”
Logan refrained from snorting. He scrolled his palm up Alexander’s back to brace his neck. “What else do you see?”
“A half-moon?”
“Space, Alexander.”
“Space, like, how