Read Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 for Free Online

neighborhood children who stopped by a few afternoons a week to see if any of the SHS members were out practicing. This time of year, the kids were almost guaranteed to find someone—Julian, Michael, any of the other guys who lived in the city—since the local chapter of the Scottish Highland Society used this space quite a bit. The kids were going to be surprised when they showed up in a few weeks to find the entire field transformed into a carnival of human might, athletes from all over the country gathered to dance and compete, whisky and good cheer flowing.
    Although he’d seen almost every city’s version of the Scottish Highland Games, the Spokane one was Julian’s favorite annual event. It was where he’d first been introduced to the sport, the place he’d come every year with his mom and stepfather, a brawny Scotsman who taught Julian everything he knew about being an athlete.
    “Throw it already!” one of the kids yelled.
    Julian waved at them with a grin. “Okay, but stay very, very far back.”
    He loved the way a child’s eyes opened in rapt wonder when he landed a good throw, like he was hurling the giant hammer of Thor. Like he might actually be the god of thunder. It was so easy to get lost in this sport. Crowds of people came, eager to watch something barbaric and rustic, something so time-honored he could almost imagine himself standing in Scotland a thousand years ago, fighting for the right to lead a clan of warriors to victory. Or on the beaches of Guam, where he’d been born, an ancient Chamorro warrior about to prove his might with the throw of a single spear.
    He picked up the hammer. Rotating his shoulders and swinging his arms over and around his head allowed the hammer to pick up speed, each revolution pulling harder on his muscles until it was all he could do to maintain his grip. He focused his line of vision on a tall yellow weed a few hundred yards in the distance and released both the hammer and a roar that cut through the air.
    A few screeches of delight from the nearby children indicated he’d put on a good show. Michael’s low whistle indicated he’d put a good distance on the hammer too.
    “A few more feet and you might be able to beat Kilroy this year,” Michael murmured.
    Julian scowled. The throw was a good one, but Duke Kilroy wasn’t his favorite method of measurement. Julian had always done well in the hammer throw and weight throw competitions, but he was still a good dozen feet away from even touching Kilroy’s record. It wasn’t until recently he’d begun placing in the major competitions. He’d always been a bit smaller than the other guys—leaner and more focused on precision than power—and he’d finally reached the right balance. The wins, complete with prize money, came more easily now.
    Except when Kilroy was there. The bastard always managed to edge him out, and always with an entourage of cameramen right there to capture it. Ego and idiocy, wrapped up in a golden package of hair and teeth.
    Michael stepped forward to take his own turn, and Julian watched appreciatively as his friend planted his feet in a firm stance and let loose the hammer. Michael always had more muscle behind the throw than Julian did, but he could never quite get the right discharge, and his hammer tended to lose some distance on the angle.
    “If I do get a few more feet, I’ll be putting you to downright shame,” Julian said with a laugh as they went to retrieve the hammers. “Maybe you can try your luck at the sword dance this year. I think the same teenage girl wins every time. Maybe you can give her a run for her money.”
    Michael offered a few country dance steps and a hearty laugh, surprisingly light on his feet for a man of his size.
    They threw a few more times until the muscles all along Julian’s shoulders burned from the effort. As they walked off the field, he waved good-bye to the kids, stretching as he did.
    “We’re going to be late,” Michael said. Behind