Hairy, Horny, and Over Here
By JL Merrow
“Be vewwy, vewwy quiet, we’re hunting—” Ethan broke off as a shotgun, held in a pair of unusually beefy hands, swung toward him and took up position about 3 inches from his left nostril. “Joke, okay?” He swallowed, and tried to ignore the chill tap-dancing down his spine. “Sense of humour failure, much?”
Logan, his heavy black brows casting his dark eyes in even darker shadow, very noticeably didn’t move the gun away. “Joking like that is what gets a guy killed, out in the bush.” His voice, with its American twang, was a low rumble which reminded Ethan equally of Clint Eastwood at his meanest and the roaring of the lions in the local zoo. Ethan had always liked to lie in bed and listen to them of a summer’s evening. Apparently Logan had spent so
