How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,49
throat and raised his drooping arm. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Logan asked.
“Looking at me like you wish I’d put the gun down.”
Logan chuckled. “Such an unreasonable request.”
“You’re looking at me like you hope calling me darlin’ once more will stop”—Alexander waved the gun toward the suitcase—“this in its tracks.”
“Would it, darlin’?”
Alexander stared at Logan. “Pack your things.”
“You sure, darlin’?”
“Don’t forget the flag.”
“As you wish, darlin’.”
“Logan.”
“Okay, okay. I’m packing.” Logan dropped his shirts into the suitcase. “Does this mean we’re not boyfriends anymore?”
Alexander’s voice came out gruff. “Were we ever?”
Logan tucked his shirts into the suitcase. “I think we were.” He looked over at Alexander. “I think we meant every kiss.”
Was there joy in Alexander’s expression, or was Logan just hoping there was?
Logan’s throat felt like he’d balled up that monstrous orange photo and swallowed it. He grabbed the offending picture off the dresser and stripped it from the frame. His hand couldn’t crunch it small enough. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be decided this second. Maybe we could be friends?”
The word tasted like mock flavoring, appealing but not the same. He’d gotten used to boyfriend.
“Friends,” Alexander sounded the word like he was tasting it for the first time too.
“Yeah, you know,” Logan said. “Two people who hang out because they like each other?”
“Friends,” Alexander said again.
“I think it’s a good place to restart.”
Alexander’s blue eyes glittered. Logan wanted to haul the man into his arms. He wanted to kiss him and keep him.
But that gun was still trained on him, a clear warning not to step closer.
The shrill tone of Logan’s phone broke their silence. Luci. Logan went to swipe the call away, and Alexander backed out of the room. “I’ll let you take that and finish packing.”
Logan packed methodically and, when he was done, he spent three minutes breathing in the memories they’d made in that room before dragging his suitcase to the front door.
Gun forgotten on the counter, Alexander followed him.
This was it, then. Logan slipped into his shoes.
“Don’t forget your cap.” Alexander held it out toward him.
Logan shook his head. “I won’t need that anymore.”
Logan opened the door; the cool, lake-scented air hit his nose. “Right. So,” he said awkwardly. “Off to begin the montage.”
“Montage?”
“You know, me poring over pictures of us and listening to sad music; me sobbing on the couch, blanket over my face; me gazing longingly out Luci’s window at your house; me balling up a thousand handwritten letters because nothing expresses my feelings perfectly and no apology is good enough.”
Alexander fiddled with Logan’s cap. “Will it help to know I’ll do that too?”
“Sobbing included?”
“Yep. Alone in your bed, smelling you on the sheets.”
“God, I’m jealous of those sheets now.”
They chuckled.
Alexander wrung Logan’s cap. “It doesn’t have to be such a sad montage.”
“It doesn’t?”
“It could be soft, hopeful music and cuts of us sending each other messages. It could be us staring from our beds toward the ceiling gnawing hopefully at our bottom lips, us waving good morning and night to each other. Us having coffee at Luscious.”
Hope spun through his veins like music. “What are you saying, Alexander?”
“I’m saying, friends is a good place to restart.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALEXANDER
* * *
The bell rang and Alexander peeked around the corner, praying it wasn’t—hoping it was—Logan.
Last night had been the longest of his life. He’d barely slept, torturing himself by curling up in Logan’s sheets.
He’d do it over again. Tonight, probably.
The UPS guy knocked on the gallery door and peered through the glass.
Alexander leaped out from behind the doorway, smoothed his shirt, and let him in.
“All your windows have been boarded up. What’s going on?”
“Only until Friday. The opening of my summer showcase.”
“Only one package today.” The UPS guy left with a wink.
Alexander crouched to the tall box and fumbled at the tape, his throat dry. Only one person might be sending him something.
He peeled back the flaps and sat back on his haunches. Dozens of long-stemmed white and yellow gerberas resembling giant daisies were beautifully arranged in a vase.
Alexander opened the attached card. Not Logan’s writing, but he could hear Logan’s voice.
Friends send other friends flowers because they’re friends. From your friend.
Alexander laughed.
“I’ve never heard a sadder sounding laugh in my life.”
Alexander’s head shot up, and Nico sank to his knees next to him. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I’d like to think I’m full of surprises, but”—he glanced into the box of daisies—“I think you were absorbed elsewhere. Fat daisies.”
Alexander dropped his head on Nico’s broad shoulder.
Without hesitation, Nico wrapped an arm around him. “What’s wrong?”
“I