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

that looked like they could be used as murder weapons.
    He avoided the curious stares and got in line. Hopefully, it would move quickly. They were already pushing the limits of making a fashionably late entrance.
    “Julian Wallace and Michael O’Leary? Hell must have gone and froze over.”
    The bouncer at the top of the stairs waved at them, his arm a meaty appendage that Julian would recognize anywhere. It was Eric Peterson, another Scottish athlete. He was a burly six-and-a-half-foot bear of a man who sported a Mohawk and several faded tattoos along his neck, arms and legs. He didn’t do much in the professional circuit, mostly local Games a few times a year, but Julian had known him for years. They’d done their first weight toss together back when they were thirteen.
    “You’re the last two I’d expect to see here. Come on up!”
    Julian and Michael moved clumsily up the side of the stairs, muttering apologies along the way. He felt like a third-grader taking cuts in the lunch line, but no one said anything. Oversized friends had a way of compelling people to silence.
    It was funny, though—as much as Peterson glinted with steel and menace on the outside, Julian knew for a fact the man wouldn’t hurt anyone. He had two little girls at home and had been known to don a tutu and crown for a tea party on more than one occasion.
    “I didn’t know you were working in security,” Julian said, taking Peterson’s proffered hand and shaking it with considerable force. Michael went straight for a huge bear hug.
    “Oh, you know. I gotta pay the bills somehow. Both Sammy and Pris are in ballet this year—you know how much that shit costs?”
    “Er…a lot?”
    “Let’s just say if this keeps up, they may not get to go to college. But what can you do? They cried.”
    Michael and Julian nodded knowingly. Feminine tears were so much more powerful when they came from tiny eyes.
    “So, I hear you’ve got the coordinator spot this year,” Peterson said, changing the subject. “Can I put in a request right now for a bigger closing ceilidh? Last year, they ran out of single malt before most of us even finished the ceremonies. That was one dull party.”
    “I’m already on it.” Julian laughed. Although running the administrative side of the Games had never been a goal of his, he’d been elected to the position of local SHS president last year after the other candidate injured his back. It was mostly a nominal title, since the Spokane members were pretty laid back and didn’t adhere to the monthly meetings, but it did mean he was in charge of coordinating the Highland Games this year—a much bigger task than he’d anticipated, and one that was already cutting into his schedule. But hard work and obligation had never stopped him before.
    “I’ve managed to convince the Rockland Bluff Whisky executives to come up for the events,” Julian added, not even trying to hide the pride in his voice. It had taken months of phone calls and negotiations, but he’d done it. “They should be bringing plenty of samples with them.”
    Peterson nodded. “Good. Good. They coming up to look at anyone?”
    “Hell, yes, they are,” Michael interjected. “They’re coming to see Jules.”
    Peterson gave a low whistle.
    For most people, the SHS was a hobby, a passion. Making a living from it was almost impossible, since the Games ran only a few weekends out of the summer, and the prize money wasn’t always enough to even cover travel expenses. During the season, Julian spent most of his time on the road, driving between different cities hosting SHS Games, mailing whatever money he managed to win home to his mom. To make up for it, he had to spend the winter somewhere in the southwestern states, where construction jobs were easy to come by and the pay was high.
    Julian always tried to come home to Spokane for a few extra weeks during the Games to spend time with his mother and sisters and to refocus his energies on what