How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,7
across the room. “Why is your granny climbing out the window?”
Granny slung one leg over the sill and shimmied out into the night. “I guess she needed fresh air.”
“Logan!” He turned just in time for his fake cousin Nela to throw herself at him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and peppered his face with kisses. “Oh, God. It’s been so long.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Alexander said. Logan slyly winked at Nela as he set her down, sending her off for more beer.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Logan threw an arm around Alexander’s shoulders and yelled across the room. “Mike! Come over here, and bring your friend with ya.”
Mike dragged a beefy guy in a leather vest toward them.
Alexander’s gulp was audible. “Who’s Mike’s friend?”
“Big Danny. I was thinkin’ he’d be perfect for ya!”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just guessin’. But I think he’s the type you’d dig.”
“The type I’d dig?”
“The designated driver.” Logan flashed all his teeth. “Flash him your dazzling blues. He’s coming.”
“Good lord.” Alexander lunged for the drinks Nela returned with and downed Logan’s beer.
* * *
Thursday
Logan’s alarm buzzed early, before Alexander left for work. He scrambled to ensure his surprise was in order and darted back to his bedroom. When Alexander walked downstairs, he trundled sleepily out, rounding the mounds of his friends in their sleeping bags.
Alexander was showered and dressed for work, fueling himself on instant coffee. His anguished gaze beheld the snoring symphony orchestra. He took a long drink.
Logan padded into the kitchen. “What a night.”
“I expect this to be immaculate by the time I get home,” Alexander said.
Logan hid a smirk in the fridge and pulled out a red plastic cup of apple juice. “For sure.”
“You’re drinking?”
“Best way to beat a hangover.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Big day at work?”
“Yes. I should . . . go.”
Logan leaned against the counter. “Don’t forget last night’s spaghetti leftovers.”
“Thank you.” Alexander pulled a Tupperware container from the fridge. “What the—” He dropped the container onto the counter.
“Wrong container,” Logan said, snagging the correct one for him.
Alexander didn’t take his eyes off the one on the counter. “What’s moving in there?”
“Sorry about that. Brett wanted to go fishin’ later. Told him to put his bait in there.”
Alexander kept his eyes shut a long time.
Was this finally it? The straw that broke the camel’s back?
Alexander opened his eyes. “You’ve got a large presence, Logan.”
He winked. “I’ve got a large something else, too.”
Alexander’s mouth dropped open a half-inch. “Excuse me?”
“A large heart.” Alexander relaxed, and Logan added, “And if my dick was lard, I’d have enough to grease all your pans.”
Alexander pinched the spaghetti container from his hands and smiled. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Chapter Six
ALEXANDER
* * *
Alexander had been bravely—horrifyingly—saying yes all week.
But this was not okay.
Alexander peered over the rim of his morning joe.
Logan was working out in the sunny glow of the living room, lycra shorts clinging to the firm globes of his ass, sleeveless shirt emphasizing flexed muscles.
All that glistening sweat . . .
Alexander was having a quarter-life crisis. His twenty-seventh birthday, and he’d lost it.
He shouldn’t be eyeing Logan. He should be halfway across Inglewood, running from the insanity Logan was quoting him from Breitbart News Network.
How would Alexander survive another week, let alone two?
He drained his lukewarm coffee.
Logan stretched his arms overhead, lifting his shirt. Alexander knocked out a deep sigh.
A lazy smile quirked Logan’s lips. He lowered his arms slowly and Alexander made for the bathroom. For a cold, sanity-inducing shower.
“Hold up.” Logan cut off his path. Humor and warmth filled those gorgeous brown eyes—and that was quite enough of that.
“Happy birthday, Alexander.”
“Thank you. If you’ll just scoot to the left.”
Logan cuffed Alexander’s wrist, fingers pressing lightly into his skin, and tugged him into his patriotic shrine.
Good Lord.
He had MAGA bed linen. Was that a tealight candle at the base of that picture?
Logan released Alexander, and Alexander shook the tingles off his wrist.
“I’ve got something for you.” Logan yanked off his T-shirt, and Alexander’s peripheral vision got the workout of its lifetime.
His chest was broad, his dark chest hair matted slick with sweat. His nipples were hard in the cool air, and those abs were pointing a path toward—
Clearly Logan stayed in shape. There was a certain jockishness about how defined he was. Like a six pack on a tapered frame wasn’t enough.
Yet there below his ribs, two moles.
And there, on his collarbone, a rough, reddish mark. Maybe a scar?
Not flawless.
Alexander had an unexplainable desire to brush his fingers along it.
Quarter-life crisis.
“What exactly have