How To Evict a Hot Jock in Three Weeks - Anyta Sunday Page 0,3
nothin’.” Logan broke his accent, cringing. “MAGA voter? I’ll scare off my roommate.”
Callum snorted. “A good sign you’re doing it right. Remember how Inglewood’s Hollywood hero got famous.”
Logan sighed in admiration. “He got evicted while method acting an alcoholic opera singer.”
“He nailed his audition after that.” Logan, Luci, and Callum turned to the incoming voice. Jane sauntered into the kitchen with her personalized mug—herself, framed by a golden star. “I was there.”
Disappointment reared its head again. He swallowed. “I’ll do it.”
Callum nodded. “You ready for a rundown of the role?”
Logan grabbed a Paragon notepad and flipped it open, aware of Jane eavesdropping from the kitchen as she boiled water for her chamomile tea. “Tell me everything.”
Callum gave him a lengthy rundown, and Logan sweated. What if he couldn’t do this?
What if Jane was right?
Callum finished, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Logan. And Luci?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t replace Jeb.”
Luci left the room to answer her phone, sparing Logan an apologetic look. Callum thumped his back and left for another meeting.
The air grew painfully taut between Logan and Jane.
The boiling stopped with a click and Jane poured water into her mug. “It’s good you’re trying, Logan. But a main role?”
Logan’s stomach twisted. “I’ll method act the hell out of this—and if I scare off my new roommate? He can evict me.”
Her sweet laugh bounced around them. “You’d never commit enough to risk eviction.”
“Sure I would.”
Jane sipped her tea. “Do it then. Get your roomie to evict you while engrossed in your role.”
Logan nodded tightly. “Yeah, I will.”
“Let’s make it interesting. Don’t manage, and stop hanging around Paragon. It’s awkward, and Peter doesn’t like it.”
“Hell no.”
Jane shrugged and started for the door. “Good luck at auditions.”
The scoff in Jane’s voice cut.
“Wait.” Logan sucked in a breath. “If I fail, I’ll stop coming here. But if I succeed, you quit.”
Jane laughed drily, and stopped. She took another long sip. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Jane shrugged. “I’ll write up a contract.”
She swept out of the room, and Luci shuffled back in. “You okay?”
Logan slicked on a reassuring smile. God, he’d never wanted to get kicked out of a place so badly in his life. “How do you feel about a Beverly Hillbillies marathon?”
Chapter Three
ALEXANDER
* * *
He trusted his brother. He trusted him. He trusted—
A surge of worry hit Alexander’s stomach.
It was only Monday evening, and his star artist had pulled out of the upcoming summer showcase, Luscious had been out of his favorite quiche, and he’d come home to an exceptionally attractive man leaning against his house.
Jock-framed. A dash of rough-hewn. A chest that filled out his sleeveless woodchip flannel shirt. Tight calves that flexed below jean shorts . . .
His brother had skimped on details.
Not about him being straight, though.
A breeze picked up his woody aromatic cologne. Herbaceous and addictive.
Alexander tripped on the stone path and quickly righted himself.
Great. Just what he needed.
Logan donned a half-cocked smile under a red cap and a surprising Southern drawl. “Hello, there.”
Alexander scrolled through the few pitiful details his brother had shared. The accent wasn’t one of them.
Logan adjusted his cap. “After meeting Nico, I thought you’d be taller.”
“And you less give-me-your-lunch-money.”
Dark brown eyes glittered, and Alexander commanded himself to stop gaping.
“Do you always measure your roommates like that?”
Like they posed a threat? “Yes.”
“Have at it.” Logan slipped a stick of gum into his mouth and chewed loudly. Cinnamon-laced words breezed over Alexander, accentuating Logan’s woodsy aroma.
The faint ache between his legs was sheer madness. Alexander did not tremble at a man’s beauty. Especially a straight one’s.
“Gonna let us in?”
Reluctantly, Alexander showed him around, and Logan started unpacking.
Alexander leaned against the open door to Logan’s room, and Logan winked as he upended his suitcase onto the bed. “Unpacking my stuff. Quite the party.”
Alexander pushed himself upright. “Excuse me. I shouldn’t be prying.”
“Pry all you like. What better way to get to know me? Before you ask me lots of questions, I should”—Logan wrapped his chewed-up gum and stuffed it in his pocket with a pat—“save this for later.”
Well, that should help the pheromone problem. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”
Logan smirked. “I’m teasin’. I’ll throw it out when I find the trash can.”
Alexander eyed his belongings cautiously. Thank God, no ukulele. He let out a semi-relieved breath, and then Logan opened the crate.
Logan positioned a giant flag on a stand. A breeze from the open window billowed it across the wall, pushing that intoxicating scent Alexander’s way.
He blinked in disbelief. “What is that?”
“The American flag—you can tell by the stars and the stripes—”
“I know