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

them, the sun was dipping to the horizon, splaying streaks of orange and pink in all directions.
    Julian sat and pulled off his shoes, a pair of cleats that helped him grip the turf and keep his balance, before checking his watch. Michael was right. He still needed to stop at his apartment to grab a shower and change, and Michael did have to be fed, or he’d start snapping the heads off anyone who talked to him. It would be rude to show up late, but maybe that would put Kate on her guard and save him from having to decide whether or not she was worth pursuing. His body screamed yes, but his reason said no.
    “Well, we’ll just have to be late, then, won’t we? Besides, we don’t want to look too eager.”
    “’Course not, bro, but a couple of girls like that? In a fancy bar? They’re gonna be covered in men like a shithouse in flies.”
    Julian reached over and punched his friend’s arm. He might not be sure what he was going to do about that woman yet, but he definitely wasn’t leaving her to his friend’s crudity. “Nice, Michael. Classy.”
    “Thanks, bro. It’s all part of my charm.”
     
     
    “Oh, shit. Are those dueling pianos?” Michael stopped on the sidewalk outside Vixen’s Gin and Juke Joint, a downtown two-story building with a sleek black exterior broken only by the flashing neon sign of a martini glass.
    Julian cocked his head. He could hear the thunderous pounding of a chord, followed by a lighter, musical tinkling. “I’m going to go with yes.”
    “We’re really going in there?” Michael stilled him with one hand and surveyed the building doubtfully.
    Julian couldn’t blame him. They were used to bars that served beer by the pint, ones that had union stickers plastered all over the walls and urinals caked with years of other men’s piss. A man’s bar, where the only pianists were the ones that existed in stale, dirty jokes.
    “Dude, I know those chicks were pretty hot, but I think we should call it a night and get up early for practice tomorrow.” Michael gave Julian a pointed look. “This is where men go when they’re too wrapped up in their girlfriend’s tampon strings to remember where their balls are.”
    Julian refused to rise to the bait, even though his friend was right. An early bedtime and an extra practice would have been a better plan under any other circumstances. But as he’d been getting dressed, he’d realized that, more than anything, he had to go meet Kate and see . Harold, his stepfather, always said that when it came to the right woman, opportunity didn’t knock or ring the doorbell—it battle-rammed in with a good, old-fashioned chunk of wood. Julian had been fourteen at the time, and the double entendre hadn’t been lost on him. Everything at that age had somehow been related to his cock.
    Harold, though dead these six years, hadn’t been wrong about anything in Julian’s life. Not the Games. Not women. None of it. Opportunity was tightening in his groin, and Scottish Games or not, he needed to see this thing through. He was willing to discover what Kate might offer him, if that shy smile and heavy breathing meant what he thought they did. Hopefully, she’d understand that for the next month, the Games came first. No matter what.
    And he’d be damned if he’d go into a piano bar alone. Julian offered a wide grin and slapped Michael on the back. “What? You? Fearing for your manhood? Whose balls are in question now?”
    Julian strode inside without looking back. His friend would follow. Julian might be able to resist the bait, but Michael wouldn’t. Not on an issue as important as the size or placement of his testicles.
    The bar itself was on the second floor, and the entryway contained only sleek marble pillars and a winding staircase leading upstairs. It was all very neat, simple and classy—a lot like Kate, actually. It was crowded, with a line heading almost all the way down the stairs, most of them women in short, glittery dresses and shoes