How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,9
them correctly.”
Logan hummed, cocking his head. God, Alexander should step away.
Also, shouldn’t Logan?
As if reading his thoughts, Logan jerked back, shoving a hand through his hair. “You gotta go.”
“Yeah, I have to . . .” Alexander hurried for the door.
Alexander breathed in the quiet of Essence Gallery, his steps echoing en route to his office. This was . . . better.
Of course it was.
He sat at his desk and thumbed through birthday messages from Mom, Dad, and Nico. His wristwatch ticked.
Alexander would have to embrace loneliness.
What would his grandfather say if he were alive? That Alexander had changed. Grown colder with every passing year. That he was saddened by how alone Alexander felt. He’d have encouraged him to open himself to new experiences. The possibility of friendships. Love.
God, Alexander missed him.
He would do better.
The store bell chimed, and Alexander rocketed to his feet. With an eager bounce in his step, he reached the gallery and came to a shoe-squealing stop.
“You.”
Chapter Seven
LOGAN
* * *
Logan turned around to face Alexander. Terrifyingly patient Alexander, who should have kicked Logan out days ago. Warmth from the takeout breakfast he’d brought with him seeped against his hands. He dragged himself across the room, halving the distance between them.
“Here. For you. From Luscious. A latte and this.”
Alexander blinked at the breakfast. “You bought quiche.”
A gentle smile tilted his lips. “I, ah, asked your brother. He said it’s your favorite?”
“You chat with Nico?”
“He called the landline. Guess he expected you to be home?”
Delicate slashes of pink brightened Alexander’s cheeks.
Logan gave Alexander a moment and circuited the showroom. Bright, vibrant, messy pictures. Messier than Logan thought Alexander might represent.
Kinda like him. Imperfect, unorganized.
Logan loved the work.
Alexander stepped to his side, quiche set on a stool, latte—or perhaps the silly Happy Birthday message he’d written on the cup—occupying his focus. Static energy rippled out of Alexander’s body, warm like a compact star whose uber-composure restrained its rays.
Alexander looked up from his doodle of balloons and his face mirrored the vibrancy and joy of the paintings. “I will have a ridiculously good day, thank you. The doodle is—”
“Good enough for displaying on your walls? I know.”
A snorted laugh. “God I love Luscious coffee.”
“In that case, I’ll add you to my daily coffee delivery round.” Something he loved doing for his theater friends.
Logan forced himself to study the strokes of color on the canvas before him. “So, what ridiculously good birthday plans do we have in store?”
“We?” Alexander threw him a panicked look. “My birthday dinner is a family affair.”
Logan grinned. “I know I’m not needed. I’ll make myself scarce. But let me cook—”
“No!” Alexander smoothed out the hem of his polo and lowered his voice. “I mean, I’m elevating old family recipes. Nothing you’re familiar with.”
Probably not, but Logan loved cooking. “Sounds interesting. What’ll you make?”
“Creamy chicken and potatoes, water-cress salad with my secret dressing. Boiled eggs and mayonnaise for Nico.”
“Sounds delicious but something vital is missing.”
“Hmm?”
Logan cupped his ear and whispered. “Cake.”
Alexander rubbed his ear on his shoulder. “I’ll pick one up at Tartsy,” Alexander said. “They do exquisite cake designs.”
“Tartsy? Hmm, them cakes are yummy, but nothing beats my famous red-velvet cake. Tell me you’re not allergic to cochineals?”
Alexander paled. “Cochineals?”
“The bugs that give it that vibrant redness?”
“I’m good with Tartsy’s cake.”
Logan’s phone vibrated to life in his pocket and he drew it out. Jane. His stomach dove to his feet. “Forgive me, darlin’. Gotta take this.” He answered. “Howdy, Jane.”
Jane jumped right to the point. “Peter will be at the theater today. Can you not drop in?”
“You don’t want your new honey to meet me?”
“I’ll be in late tomorrow,” Jane continued, “so you can clown around with Luci and your brother then.” She hung up.
His phone rang again, and Logan answered, hiding his surprise. “Ma?”
His mom sighed. “Ridiculous phone, I thought I was calling your brother.”
“Fascinatin’.”
“Well. While I have you, how did your audition go last week?”
Logan schooled his instinct to wince. “Not great.”
“Of course.”
Your mom apologized on your behalf that I took you as my plus-one to the Indie Stage Awards.
“I’ve another one in two weeks.”
Mom hummed dismissively, hurried a bye, and hung up.
A heavy lump weighted Logan’s chest and he avoided Alexander’s eye, hoping his neck wasn’t flushed.
“Is that right? You chased him away, I hope. . . .” Logan carried on the fake call.
Alexander’s sweeping gaze soaked his profile in. Hopefully he wasn’t counting all the times Logan’s cheek twitched. “You’ll look lovely for your party.”
Logan needed to end this one-sided pathetic conversation. “How