How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,24
was not as busy as I’d have liked.”
“But Essence is well known. Nico told me Clover featured you.”
“Did he also tell you I paid to be featured?”
“No. How many people showed up last year?”
Alexander straightened a portrait and mumbled. “A few dozen.”
“Alexander?”
Logan’s gaze, patient and unwavering, made Alexander’s skin tingle. He dropped his hands from the frame. “Perhaps just a couple of dozen.”
Logan’s brow hitched a fraction. Alexander had the feeling Logan would continue the torture until he gave in.
On cue, another shiver raced through him.
“Fine. Eleven,” Alexander admitted. “Three were family. You know what, enough work-talk. I’m ready to get home.”
Logan frowned gently and his eyes flickered away for a beat. When they landed back on him, the cocky guy who’d swaggered into his gallery with a playful smile had gone. This Logan was serious, genuine. This Logan flooded Alexander with dangerous warmth. This Logan was standing heart-poundingly close.
Alexander gulped.
What they had was a lie. Wasn’t real. Wouldn’t last. Once Logan got what he wanted, he wouldn’t make annoyingly regular visits to his gallery every day. He wouldn’t be leaving messages on latte cups for Alexander to shake his head at once he was through pretending to be on work calls.
When this was over, Logan wouldn’t be in his life anymore.
Alexander stepped back. “What brings you here this evening?”
Alexander kept his expression carefully neutral, and Logan rocked back on his heels. His gaze sharpened, as did his posture and his accent. “You keep runnin’ away when I git home. I think we might ought to spend more time together.”
Alexander did not like that twinkle in Logan’s eye.
A cheeky grin dimpled Logan’s face; he brushed a thumb over Alexander’s cheek. “We got mighty good chemistry . . . in the kitchen.”
He blew away a stray eyelash.
Alexander shivered. Well. This evening would be interesting. He slicked on a grin of his own. “I’ve got the perfect idea for dinner. Follow me.”
“That’s some luscious-lookin’ trash panda, darlin’.”
“How poetically put.”
“I especially like how you visited three butchers to find it.”
Alexander especially liked how big Logan’s eyes grew when he’d prepared it. Almost as big as they were now, staring at the roast as Alexander temperature-checked it. Logan wrinkled his nose at the rich aroma, and Alexander fought not to do the same. It was all in his head—it was just meat. Tasted like lamb, apparently. It’d be fine. Alexander could do this.
He stared at the headless frame of possum meat, and his stomach curdled.
He would do this.
“Another five minutes will do it.”
He shut the oven door and set the timer.
Maybe Logan would give in before then. Admit the hoax and plead Alexander not to make him eat it.
Alexander studied the way Logan’s muscles bunched and flexed as he scrubbed the kitchen counters. His tight expression indicated he was giving himself a pep-talk before eating dinner.
Logan dropped the washcloth and leaned against the counter. He folded his arms and stared at him. “I’ve noticed you’ve not been sleeping well at night.”
Not where Alexander thought this was heading. “Hmm.”
“Why?”
“It’s absolutely not because I’m afraid of dark, enclosed spaces.”
Logan sidled along the counter and hip-checked him.
“You slept like a log in my arms last Saturday,” Logan said. “A snoring log.”
Alexander’s cheeks burned. “Nature must’ve gotten up my nose.”
“I loved the vibrations. Put me right to sleep.”
The glee on Logan’s face was worrisome. Alexander narrowed his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“Maybe we should share a bed.”
Alexander stilled. “Tonight?”
“All our nights.”
“Are you out of your—” Alexander roped in his disbelief. And his body’s interest.
The timer dinged. Saved by the bell. “Dinner’s ready. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Why, I’m positively starvin’.”
Alexander served him an extra-large portion of meat atop his sweet potatoes.
“Yer too generous,” Logan said blandly, eyeballing his plate as he carried it to the table.
Alexander prepared himself a modest portion and joined him.
They both reached for the bottle of breathing merlot. Logan filled their glasses and made a long-winded toast.
Was he hoping it tasted better cold?
“. . . and here we are, two weeks since we first met, sharin’ this wonderful dinner together.”
Alexander raised his glass, and Logan continued, “I hope it’ll be one of many to follow.”
Alexander lifted his glass again, and Logan burst into another addition.
Alexander tapped his glass against Logan’s. “To all that. Let’s eat before this gets cold.”
Logan gulped half his wine, and Alexander did the same.
They adjusted their plates and picked up their silverware. Logan prodded his possum.
“Did I cook it right?”
Logan’s eyes glittered stubbornly, but one eye glowed brighter thanks