How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,37
liability waiver—yet another reason for his list—they stopped at the blue-and-green-lit bar.
Alexander shivered at the array of mounted deer heads. Most of the clientele were brutish-looking men who wouldn’t know a smile if it was painted onto them.
Logan bought him a chilled chardonnay and Alexander sipped. Still very little eye contact, but Logan was aware of Alexander, he was sure. The way his shoulders rolled, the shift of his feet as he leaned against the bar, the darting glance at Alexander’s wine glass.
“What made you choose this place?” Alexander asked.
Logan downed three gulps of his drink. “Looked nice online.”
Alexander breathed in the mounting scent of testosterone in the room. “It has quite the atmosphere.”
Logan’s cheek twitched.
“Of course,” Alexander said, “if you feel like it, we can always go somewhere else?”
Logan twisted his glass, condensation smearing over the bar. “Nah, this place is totally me.”
Alexander curbed the urge to call him out on that lie and instead placed an intimate hand on the small of Logan’s back, stepping closer to him.
He heard Logan’s next gulp.
“Logan?” Logan’s soulful brown gaze met Alexander’s, the connection instant and deep, almost painful. “What happened today?”
Logan stiffened and threw out a nonchalant, “Huh?”
“What happened—”
“You know, I reckon our number was just called.”
Logan drained his beer and moved toward the back of the room. Alexander wisely abandoned his wine—too much dizziness to contend with already—and followed. Their number hadn’t been called of course, but a spunky blonde announced it as Alexander caught up with Logan.
She led them to their double cage that hosted those two again. Of all bars in the area. Logan exhaled roughly. “It’s our friends, Killed-Those-Bitches and Fucked-Your-Mom.”
Alexander murmured, “You have a knack for showing a guy a good time.”
The spunky girl reviewed the safety protocols. “Only retrieve your axe when both of you have thrown. Wouldn’t want to lose your head.”
Logan looked torn between leaving the bar and exacting revenge with their borrowed weapons.
While this wasn’t particularly Alexander’s taste in dates, he wouldn’t be run off by some impolite bastards.
He picked up his axe from the tree stump. Not quite as heavy as he expected, nor as sharp, but a dull knife made the messiest cuts.
“What did you say?” Logan asked, startled.
Said that aloud, had he? “Never mind.”
Logan looked from their neighbors to Alexander and raised his axe over his head. “What are we waitin’ for?”
That waitin’ grated.
Alexander tossed his axe with a grunt. It turned full circle and wedged into the outer middle ring. Not quite bullseye.
“Jesus, you’re showing them.”
Alexander raised a brow. “Who says that was for them?”
Logan nodded stiffly. He stared long and hard at the target, knuckles whitening on the axe handle, and shut his eyes. He reopened them to glare at the bullseye, and threw.
The thump as it hit the target seemed to reverberate around them, thick with tension.
Their gazes clashed briefly before they strode into the cage to collect their axes.
They didn’t document numbers or race toward fifty points.
Their game didn’t have rules.
Logan’s grunt carried a thousand bolts of frustration as his axe met the red mark on the outermost ring. He palmed his thighs, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded at his brow.
His expression crumpled, sucking some steam out of Alexander.
At some point their “friends” paused to watch their fueled display. Their time was running out, but the energy balled in Logan didn’t seem half spent.
Alexander swung his axe with a frustrated “Fun date!”
Logan missed his next shot by half the target. He stared at the overhead caging, Adam’s apple jutting with his swallow.
Alexander inched up to Logan, hooked a hand around his nape and made him meet his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Logan swallowed again. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Bringing you here. Not running the moment we caught sight of . . .” Logan’s gaze darted to their neighbors.
Logan’s frustration morphed into resignation and—hurt?
He lifted on his toes and brought their foreheads together. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know how to respond. He rocked back on his heels, and retrieved their axes.
The rest of the time, they traded glances and hints of smiles. When they were done, Logan offered to buy him another wine, and Alexander finished it this time.
“So,” Logan said, readjusting his cap. “Should we call that cathartic?”
“Oh yes, those axes provided tremendous psychological relief. To purge the rest of my pent-up issues, we should go home and play with your gun.”
“That won’t purge much,” Logan murmured into the last inch of his beer.
A gruff voice interrupted from behind. Alexander and Logan jerked toward it.