How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday
Chapter One
ALEXANDER
* * *
“Trust me, this gallery is the only thing working for him.”
Alexander Kress—owner of said gallery—halted at the hushed conversation, a room divider obscuring his presence. He was used to hearing disapproving words about the art, but he was not used to hearing negative words about him.
“He’s cold. Frigid.”
Two years ago, he’d heard that croaky voice on a weekly basis. Over dinner. Panting in his ear during sex. Daniel.
“Picky too. Can’t let anything go. Never says a kind word.” Daniel snickered. “Hell, I bet he’s never thought a kind one, either.”
A tight ball swelled in Alexander’s throat.
“We only lasted so long because we kept our own places. I’m ashamed to admit it wasn’t my idea.”
It’d been Alexander’s idea.
He yearned to fall deeply in love and forge a life with someone special, but he’d never meshed with Daniel.
Never meshed with anyone.
Alexander straightened his shoulders and clacked his dress shoes against the herringbone parquet flooring as he rounded into the main room.
His ex and the other man immediately shushed.
“Alexander,” Daniel said, smiling. “How wonderful to see you.”
Alexander wrinkled his nose at the cloying miasma of Daniel’s aftershave. It had always turned his stomach.
He smiled tightly, fighting to hide his distaste. “How can I help?”
Daniel pulled a frame from his tote bag. “Can you fix this?”
The cord of the elegant floater frame hung in a loose tail, and one corner was wobbly. “A missing screw and a couple staples—I can sort this out right away.”
Two minutes later the issue was fixed, but the sting in his eyes took longer to manage.
The entrance bell dinged as they left. Alexander retreated to his office, slumping behind his large, neatly arranged desk.
He loved being responsible for the small gallery. He wrote brochure copy for the exhibitions, maintained the shop, hosted virtual tours for out-of-state clients, ran one charity event a year, and made sure the artists got paid before he did.
It was busy work, but he loved overseeing every part of it.
Only, as the years went by . . .
He sighed.
He was lonely.
A noise from the doorway startled him. His stomach dipped. Daniel again?
Movement at his office door. His head shot up, and he leaped from his seat. “Nico! Where did you come from?”
“I always wondered if Mom forgot to tell you. Once upon a time, when you were already critiquing their booyah, Mom and Dad got giggly together, and—”
Alexander yanked his younger—and taller—brother into a hug. He smelled like polished wood with a touch of cinnamon waffle, and he felt like home. Those strong arms and softly uttered words of brotherly love refueled Alexander.
“You usually call before you drop in,” Alexander said, pulling back.
Nico’s darker blue eyes twinkled, “Maybe you need a few surprises in your life?”
He hated surprises.
“Am I picky and cold and unlikeable?”
Nico’s brow lifted. “Where did that come from?”
“Am I?” Alexander’s stomach dropped to his knees as Nico chewed on his answer.
“I love you, Alexander.”
“But?” Alexander cleared his throat. “Tell me.”
Nico made him close shop early, and they headed to Luscious Café, Inglewood’s most popular.
They sat overlooking the quaint town, its small streets lined with trees, brightly painted mom-and-pop businesses, large potted plants, and plush flower baskets hanging from lampposts.
Nico scrubbed his jaw.
“Say it,” Alexander urged.
“Sometimes it seems like no one is good enough.”
Alexander frowned. “Of course they are. I’m staring at proof.”
Nico jolted, eyes filling rapidly with warmth. “You think I’m good enough?”
“Perfect. Yes.”
“Wow, you’re making me cry. But here’s the problem, Alexander. You can’t marry me. Not in any state.”
Alexander rolled his eyes.
“I do wish you had another me in your life, though.”
Alexander ignored the fear that weighted his gut. “I’m that fussy?”
A gentle laugh puttered out of Nico. “You have ditched five roommates in two months.”
Alexander picked up his cappuccino. “None of them survived the trial period.”
Nico cocked his head. “What was wrong with what’s his name? Mike?”
“He kept using my shaver.”
“A little weird, but—”
“He had a beard.”
“Oh. Ew. Fine. Melanie?”
“She played the ukulele.”
Nico sighed. “So?”
“She wasn’t good and it strummed through the house all weekend.”
“Side note, you need to escape your house more. Dave?”
“He brought girls home every night. The walls didn’t stop shaking until three in the morning. Couldn’t sleep a wink.”
Nico begrudgingly accepted that. “Cornelia?”
“She looked at me the wrong way.” Alexander winced. But she had stared at him like she wanted him or wanted him dead.
“Dare I ask what criminal act your last roommate did?”
“He listened to techno.”
Nico jerked his finger at him. “See? Picky.”
“He also tried to make me eat his dinners when