Take

1.

When Logan woke in a bedroom other than his own, it was usually for one of two reasons. Either he’d had too much to drink and gone home with someone he shouldn’t have or he’d purposely gone home with someone, fucked their brains out, and been too tired to creep out at dawn. But neither of those two reasons applied this morning as he sat in the small loveseat by the window.

No. The reason he was still there was simple—or perhaps not that simple at all. Tate Morrison.

The sun was just beginning to rise and slip through the curtains, streaming over the honey-toned skin of Tate’s back. Logan had the intense urge to climb into the bed, kiss his way up Tate’s spine, and then nuzzle in under those brown curls he loved.

Wait…love?

But he didn’t move. Instead, dressed only in his work pants, he stayed where he was, paralyzed by his own thoughts, and watched Tate where he lay between the white sheets, sleeping peacefully.

Last night had changed the dynamic between the two of them, and Logan knew there were decisions—big decisions—that needed to be made.

Rubbing his fingers along his jaw, he found himself smiling. Tate Morrison, where the hell did you come from?

As the thought entered his mind, Tate’s legs shifted under the sheet, and his head turned on the pillow so his face was now angled toward Logan. His eyes were still closed, but Logan knew it wouldn’t be long before he woke, so he took a moment to really study him. Tate had somehow managed to change the way he thought about relationships. So it was time to push aside insecurities and move forward if he really wanted to make Tate his.

As Tate’s warm, brown eyes opened and locked with his own, Logan found himself standing and smoothing his palms down his legs. He walked toward the side of the bed and crouched down so he could be closer to the sleepy man staring up at him. Reaching out, he brushed aside an errant curl and leaned down, touching his mouth to the spot by Tate’s ear.

“Call your mother. Tell her there’ll be an extra person on Sunday.”

Tate rolled to his back and stretched his arms up over his head before he sat up so they were face to face with only inches separating them. “Are you sure?”

Logan shook his head and placed his hands on the bed. He pressed his lips to Tate’s and then laughed. “Fuck no. But I’ll be there…for you.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Tate started, fingering the unfastened button of Logan’s pants, “but you almost sound like a real boyfriend.”

Logan pushed forward, reconnecting their lips as Tate lowered back to the mattress. “Imagine that.”

He felt Tate’s hand smooth around to his ass as he nodded. “Yeah. Except the Logan I know sure as hell wouldn’t be in my bed with his pants on.”

Moving back until he was kneeling, Logan slowly unzipped his pants as he held Tate’s avid stare, and when he backed up off the bed to drop them to the floor, Tate kicked the sheet off his naked body. The low groan that left Logan’s throat couldn’t be helped as he shifted back down between Tate’s thighs and knew right then—with this man, he wanted it all.

All he’d once dreamed of was right there within reach. All he had to do was reach out and take it.

Later that morning, Logan stepped off the elevator and made his way across the marble-floored lobby of Mitchell & Madison.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell,” their perky receptionist greeted him.

“Good morning, Tiffany.”

With a briefcase in one hand, he found himself whistling as he pushed through the large glass double doors. He was in a fantastic mood.

“Oh good. There you are.”

Cole.

Not even a foot in the door and already his brother and business partner had an expression on his face that did not bode well for him.

“Good morning to you too, Cole,” Logan replied as he walked between several desks and stopped in front of Sherry.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it, Sherry? Could you possibly give him the memo?” He pointed to his brother. “I think he missed it.” He grinned at his middle-aged paralegal as he took the envelopes she was holding.

Without bothering to ask Cole what he wanted, Logan turned away and pushed open his office door, stepping around the formidable man. He walked inside and put his briefcase on his desk then unbuttoned his grey suit jacket, shrugged out of it, and hung it on his coat rack.

“We need to talk,” Cole finally spoke.

“Well, yes, I gathered that since you’re hovering.”

Logan turned back to see Cole walking slowly to the center of the office, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh for God’s sake, Cole. Spit it out.”

“I got a call this morning.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Logan got out the papers he needed and then placed the case down on the floor before sitting. With his arms on the desk, he clasped his hands and not-so-patiently waited.

“And?”

“It was from Ms. Cline.”

Logan glared at Cole, unmoved by the announcement.

Letting out a deep breath, Cole sat in the chair opposite him and propped his ankle up on his knee. “Tate’s ex-wife.”

At the mention of Tate, Logan’s heartbeat sped up.

“I know who she is.”

God, just remembering the look on his face this morning when he’d told him he’d meet his family—

“Hello?” Cole waved his hand around. “Earth to Logan. Are you listening to me at all?”

“Not really,” Logan admitted, busy thinking about this coming Sunday. “Would you say that I’m a people person?”

“Excuse me? I just told you that Diana Cline, your boyfriend’s ex, called to pull her case from us and that’s what you ask me?”

Logan contemplated Cole’s question with tight lips and a serious expression. “As if we didn’t know that was coming. Let her pull the case. Good fucking riddance, I say. And he’s not my—”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes. We aren’t using labels. They make everything so…”

“Real?” Cole hazarded a guess as he tapped his knee.

“Complicated,” Logan was quick to correct him.

“Whatever. Tate will have to go through all this shit again now, and this time, she will definitely mention that you two are together.”

“So fucking what? We were together after the fact, not before. Although, let’s face it, she never would have stood a chance against me. I give really good head.”

Cole frowned at him but said nothing. Logan thought about the stuck-up woman from the day before. That, of course, made him think of Tate’s sister and her reaction, and he felt a shiver race up his spine.

“So…would you say that I’m a people person?”

Bringing a hand up, his brother scratched the side of his head and finally smiled. “This is about meeting Tate’s family, isn’t it?”

Rocking back in his chair, Logan tapped his fingers on the arm. “Just answer the question.”

“You answer mine.”

“I asked first, and mine is more important.”

Cole studied him for a moment. “Are you a people person? Sometimes.”

Coming forward on his chair, Logan questioned, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that sometimes you can be charming.”

Logan felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Shoving his hand inside, he pulled it out to see Tate’s name on the screen.

“You can leave now,” he said as he answered the phone and brought it to his ear. Then he added, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!”

Cole opened the door and gave a blasé wave of his hand. “As were you with my problem. Have a good day, brother.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, asshole.”

Two hours.

It’d been two hours since Logan had left his bed and Tate was already missing the guy. How is that even possible?

That arrogant, smart-mouthed lawyer had pushed his way into Tate’s life and managed to take a tight hold of his heart—which was currently jackhammering at the thought of talking to him.

Why am I so fucking nervous?

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d spoken to Logan today. It wasn’t even the first time they’d woken up in the same bed together. It was, however, the first time he was acknowledging things were dramatically changing—especially since Logan had agreed to meet his family.

Last night had been…incredible. Logan had been incredible.

He’d been so controlled and gentle but then fierce and passionate when he’d told him he was ready for more. He’d taken everything Tate had feared and made it acceptable. In fact, he’d made it desirable.

Tate couldn’t even begin to explain to Logan how he was feeling, so he’d been lying there instead, remembering the way they’d rolled around in the same bed only a couple of hours ago. Now, he was left between empty sheets that smelled of Logan, and he had a raging hard-on that was a throbbing reminder of how much the guy had gotten to him.

Reaching across to the nightstand, he lifted his cell and dialed Logan’s number, needing to hear his voice. After several rings, the phone connected and he heard, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!” and found himself smiling.

“And what exactly do you need help with this morning, Mr. Mitchell?”

Tate could imagine the humorous look on Logan’s face as his deep voice filtered through the phone.

“Well, well. Look who finally woke up…again.”

Leaning back against his headboard, Tate rubbed a hand through his hair. “I was awake when you crept out this morning.”

“I wasn’t creeping out. I thought you might need a little extra sleep to recuperate.”

Tate’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a laugh. “Are you trying to say that I can’t keep up with you?”

“Are you trying to say that you can? Because if so, we should definitely test that statement tonight.” Logan’s voice was smooth. So smooth that, as it settled over him, Tate slid back down under the sheet.

“You do know that you’re older than I am, right?” he joked, feeling more at ease now that they were back to their usual sparring.

“Am I? And how would you know that?”

“I saw your driver’s license on the counter the other day, old man.”

Logan chuckled, and Tate gave up and laughed along with him.

“So how old are you? Since you know that I’m practically ancient…”

“Thirty-four is hardly old. Except to someone in their…twenties,” he pointed out.

The line went silent, and then Logan said, “Please say you’re older than twenty-five.”

“Why? What would you do if I’m not?”

“I’d be fucking shocked for starters,” Logan informed him, sounding surprised already.

It was funny how something like age had never come up between the two of them before, and he was having too much fun with the fact that it had never even occurred to Logan to ask.

“Tate,” Logan warned, his voice dropping down an octave or three.

Tate couldn’t help himself from continuing the tease. Plus, it was distracting him from more serious matters, like the two voicemails already on his phone.

“I mean, I’m obviously over twenty-one since I can sell you alcohol. And what we did last night would still be legal even if I wasn’t twenty-one. So why does it matter?”

“Tate.”

“Yes, Logan?”

“How old are you?” he practically growled.

“Twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty next month.”

He heard a relieved sigh through the phone.

“You fucker.”

Tate busted out laughing. “What would you have done if I’d said twenty-one?”

“I want to say that I’d have walked away—”

“Bullshit,” Tate cut in. “You can’t walk away from me any more than I can from you.”

As Tate realized what he’d just admitted, he shut his mouth. Then Logan’s voice surrounded him in his room that now felt empty.

“Tate?”

He swallowed and placed his palm on his chest, trying to calm the thumping. “Yes?”

“I didn’t even stop to think how old you were. I just had to have you. That should tell you everything.”

Jesus, talk about a wake-up call. It was clear to Logan that it was time the two of them started getting to know one another. He hadn’t even known how old Tate was. That was pretty fucking bad, even for him.

There was more going on here right now, and Logan wasn’t anyone’s fool. He could tell by Tate’s tone that something else was on his mind, and if he were a betting man, he’d guess it was—

“About Sunday…”

Yep, he’d guessed right.

“I don’t want you going because you feel obligated.”

As Tate fell silent, Logan turned his chair so he was staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling window. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that last statement.

Am I only going because I think I have to?

“I mean, this thing between us is really new, and I was pissed off after everything that Jill—”

“Tate?” Logan interrupted.

“Yeah?”

Logan pictured the serious look Tate was probably sporting and felt the side of his mouth turn up. “Do you want me to go with you on Sunday, yes or no?”

He knew that if he was direct about it the man at the other end of the phone would always be brutally honest, and Tate didn’t let him down.

“Yes. I want you there.”

The smile that stretched across Logan’s mouth at that admission surprised him. “Then that’s where I’ll be.”

As the silence hung between them, Logan noted the shift in the mood.

He was busy thinking about Sunday, and he wondered if Tate was too. He could hear him breathing and wanted to ask if there was anything else on his mind, but like always, Logan fell back to the usual when he was uncomfortable—sarcasm.

“That doesn’t mean I have to go to church, right?”

Tate’s chuckle echoed through the phone, and the sound eased his mind somewhat.

“Heaven forbid. Logan Mitchell in a church? You may get struck by lightning. I wouldn’t want that.”

Logan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. “Well, I never claimed to be an angel.”

Tate’s rumbling laughter continued. “No. You most certainly did not.” He paused and then asked, “Are you religious at all?”

The fact of the matter was that Logan wasn’t in any way, shape, or form religious, but he wondered how Tate, a good Catholic boy, would feel about that.

“Ahhh, here come the big questions. You do realize that, until only minutes ago, I didn’t even know how old you were.”

Logan heard a knock on his office door as Tate stated, “And you still don’t know my real name.”

Sherry stuck her head around the door, and Logan felt his mouth fall open as Tate’s words penetrated his brain.

“What do you mean I don’t know your real fucking name?”

“Just what I said,” Tate stated matter-of-factly, and Logan could tell he was enjoying himself at his expense. “Well, would you look at the time…I gotta go.”

“Where do you have to go? Don’t you dare hang up on—”

It was too late. Tate—or whoever the hell was on the other end of the phone—had hung up on him, leaving him curious and really fucking confused.

It was definitely time they started talking to one another.

Tate was still amused hours later when he strolled into work and made his way out the back to punch in. Logan must have called and text him a dozen times, each sounding slightly more annoyed than the time before.

Logan: You think you’re real funny, don’t you?

Logan: So, you don’t go by TATE?

Logan: I don’t sleep with people whose name I don’t know. I’m reformed. Keep that in mind, Morrison.

Logan: Where the fuck are you?

Tate knew the minute Logan could get away from the office he would be down at the bar to interrogate him, and honestly, he was looking forward to it. He’d had too much time to sit and think about the shit storm that happened yesterday, and all he kept coming back to was his sister’s disgusted face.

Logan’s brand of annoyance would be a welcome relief, not to mention he’d developed quite the fantasy revolving around Logan in full lawyer mode.

Forty minutes into his shift at the bar, the door to After Hours opened and Logan stepped inside. As predicted, he appeared irritated, and Tate could spot the frown a mile away. The shrewd blue eyes behind the glasses scanned the tables and chairs then found him standing behind the bar with his coworker, Amelia.

“Oh watch out. He is not happy. What’d you do?” the woman beside him asked tongue-in-cheek.

Tate turned to Amelia with an unrepentant grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

A smile touched the corner of her lips, but she seemed doubtful. “Sure you don’t. Should I leave? Or do you need the backup?”

Tate glanced back to where Logan was muscling his way through the customers and across the hardwood floor toward them. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I can handle him.”

“I have no doubt about that. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need me, just yell.”

Tate agreed absentmindedly as she moved away, and Logan finally reached him on the opposite side of the mahogany bar. The lighting in After Hours was muted and low, making the surroundings cozy and private, and as Logan stared across at him, the other word that came to mind was…intimate.

“Good evening,” Tate started, but before he got any further, Logan placed his hands on the bar and angled his head.

“Cut the crap, Morrison.”

“Morrison, huh? That’s the second time you’ve called me that today. Have to say, I’m not a fan.”

“Tough shit. That’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Apparently, it’s the only thing about you that I know is real. Did your phone break?”

Tate was having a hard time being serious in the face of Logan’s irritation. “I’m pretty sure you had access to my file at your office. My name was on that. Or did you forget, old man? And no, my phone’s not broken.”

“Then you’re ignoring me?” Logan questioned, his eyes narrowing. “As well as insulting me.”

“Nope. I’m talking to you and stating the facts.” Tate waited several beats and then leaned a little ways across the bar. “What’s bothering you the most? That you didn’t know my age or my name?”

Logan looked him over before he accused, “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

Taking a seat on one of the barstools, Logan placed his phone on the counter. “Okay then. Fair enough. I didn’t bother to ask many questions, I get it.”

“Well that’s not true. You asked a lot of questions. They usually just revolved around getting me naked and in your bed.”

Logan raised an agitated hand and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, shaking his head in disbelief or disgust—Tate couldn’t tell which. He’d wanted to play, not upset him, so Tate reached across the bar and placed his hand over Logan’s.

“Hey, I’m just having some fun with you.”

Just like that, the tables turned as a sensual smile split Logan’s lips and he tugged Tate forward across the bar, promising quietly, “Oh, I know when I’m being fucked with. But by the end of tonight, you will tell me your full name.”

Tate knew right then that Logan wasn’t angry. He was challenged and annoyed that he couldn’t remember, and Tate had no doubt that he would cave and tell Logan anything he wanted by the end of the night.

“Well, I like your confidence, but I have to tell you, I’m not going down without a fight.”

As his own words echoed through his head and Logan’s brow rose, Tate was hit with the full impact of what he’d said.

“A fight can be arranged if that’s all that’s needed.”

Laughing now, Tate pulled away and asked pointedly, “Do you want a drink? If not, can you please leave? I have work and you are distracting.”

“If I leave, will you come to me after?”

Tate wondered if the word yes had ever been easier for him to say, and as Logan waited for his response, he knew the answer to that particular question was never. He nodded and began to walk away, but at the last moment, he turned back to see he was still being watched from behind those sexy-as-hell glasses and simply said, “Yes.”

2.

Several hours later, a knocking on Logan’s front door woke him. Opening his eyes, he watched the infomercial for hair implants. He reached up and ran a hand through his own thick hair, which immediately made him think of—knock, knock, knock—Tate’s curls.

With a yawn and a stretch of his arms, he removed his feet from the glass coffee table and made his way through the living room and down the hall to the front door. As he unlocked and pulled it open, he saw Tate standing on the other side with his hand raised as if he were about to knock again.

Wearing only his glasses and grey sweatpants, Logan held the door ajar and scratched his naked chest. His cock twitched at the way Tate’s eyes tracked down over him, but before he took up the invitation in them, he wanted something.

“Can I help you?” he asked, as if greeting a stranger.

With his red motorcycle helmet in one hand and his leather jacket unzipped over his After Hours uniform, Tate was fucking hot. His mouth curved but he didn’t step forward. He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and continued to silently check him out.

Logan could feel the blood racing to his hard-on under the heat of Tate’s stare, but instead of doing what he wanted and reaching out to touch, he waited. It felt like minutes, not seconds, before Tate finally spoke.

“I don’t know. It seems maybe I could help you out.”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly and shook his head. “That may be, but you see, I don’t take that kind of help from strangers. Not anymore.”

“We’re hardly strangers. But then, you might have forgotten all the dirty details at your age.”

Asshole.

“I remember all the details, thank you very much. But I think you may have left something important out while you were busy being dirty.”

Tate’s tongue swiped his lip as he leaned forward and informed him confidently, “Pretty sure I left nothing out of you whenever we’ve been together.”

Halfway between arousal and pure frustration, Logan caved. There was no way he was going to get anywhere when Tate was in one of his cock-tease moods.

“Fuck you, Morrison. Just tell me your goddamn name.”

“Guess.”

Logan’s eyebrow winged up as Tate pushed off the jamb and stepped forward. He didn’t bother asking if he could come in—he already knew he was wanted. The scent of cologne and leather hit Logan as he shut the door and watched Tate move toward the living room.

“Guess, huh?”

Glancing back, Tate smirked. “Sure. Guess.”

Logan made his way barefooted to the couch he’d been sitting on and took a seat as Tate removed his jacket.

“Harry.”

With his jacket in his hand, Tate froze. “Do I look like a Harry?”

“How the fuck should I know? To me, you look like a Tate.” Logan paused and ran his eyes down Tate’s black vest, tie, and white shirt. “My Tate.”

After tossing his jacket over the back of the couch, Tate kicked out of his shoes. “Don’t try and charm it out of me.”

“Are you saying I’m charming?” Logan questioned for the second time that day, turning on the couch to face the man behind him.

“No. I said don’t try to be. It’s just not right. You do better when you’re quiet and unassuming.”

Logan scoffed, “Smartass.”

Unbuttoning his vest, Tate agreed, “Maybe so, but better than being a dumb one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of the name I want to shout while you’re—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Tate interrupted.

Logan closed his eyes and ran through several names, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the name on Tate’s file, and it was pissing him off.

When the couch beside him dipped, he rolled his head so he was looking at expectant eyes and stubble he wanted to trace with his tongue.

“Sorry, I don’t give a fuck what anyone else calls you. To me, you’ll always be Tate.”

With his tie and vest removed, Tate had undone the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his unbuttoned pants.

“I like that,” he admitted as he settled into the couch and closed his eyes, beat from his shift.

Logan fought back a yawn of his own, reached over, and tugged on Tate’s arm, pulling him in so he was pressed up against his side.

“You like what?”

“That you don’t give a shit what others think.”

Logan started playing with the curls tickling his shoulder. “Bullshit. You hated that when we met.”

“No, I’ve always liked it.”

“Just not when it applied to you,” Logan joked. “Okay, what about David?”

Tate shook his head. “Nope. You really don’t remember?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously. How about Lance, Blake, Todd?”

“No, no, and no. Come on. Do you really think my mother would call me Todd Tate?”

Logan twisted his fingers into the waves he was stroking and tightened them as he lowered his mouth down to Tate’s. “Tell me. Your name,” he demanded.

Logan loved the way Tate responded to him with parted lips and challenging eyes.

“Make me.”

He tumbled Tate down on his back and cupped the sides of his face before lowering his mouth and pressing their lips firmly together, tracing his tongue across the seam. As Tate opened to him, Logan slipped inside and tasted.

Ahh. There was the cinnamon. There was the hint of tobacco. And as Tate pushed his hips up grinding against him, Logan groaned. There is Tate.

Before it went any further though, he pushed back and made himself move away to stand beside the couch. Tate slowly got up onto his elbows and crooked his head with questioning eyes.

“I told you,” Logan explained. “I don’t have sex with someone whose name I don’t know.”

“Ohh, morals. You’re right. They’re very important.”

Tate flopped back down onto the couch and made sure he kept his eyes on Logan’s as he unzipped his pants. “So you’re telling me that you’re going to lie in bed all night and not touch me? Not have sex with me?”

Logan placed his hands low on his hips and nodded. “I am capable of self-control, you know.”

He followed Tate’s movements as he sat up, unbuttoned his shirt, and then stood, shrugging out of it. Once he’d thrown it on the couch, Tate stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest.

“I never said you weren’t.”

“You don’t think I can do it. You don’t think I can resist you?”

Tate’s fingers traced down to the top of Logan’s sweats. Then he fingered the elastic as he gave him a smug-as-fuck smirk and admitted, “No, I don’t. But I guess we’ll soon find out, won’t we?”

Logan watched silently as Tate stepped around him and walked farther down the main hall to his bedroom. Tate stopped in the doorway, pushed his pants and boxers off his hips, and stepped out of them.

Logan winced and rubbed the hard-on he was sporting. He knew the fucker was going to drive him out of his goddamn mind before he gave in, because when Tate set his mind to something, he was stubborn as hell.

Tate was feeling pretty fucking good as he climbed into Logan’s bed and looked at the doorway. It was always a thrill to get the better of Logan. It didn’t happen often, but when finally rendering the man speechless, it always felt like an accomplishment of sorts.

That was, until he remembered his day.

He’d ignored several phone calls from his family and put off the inevitable with the excuse he was giving himself a day.

A day to work out how to explain what exactly his sister had seen.

Tate wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he knew he had to do it, and soon. He couldn’t hide forever, even if he’d done a hell of a job pushing it aside.

As that unwelcome thought lingered in his mind, Logan stepped into the room and made his way around to his usual side of the bed. Stopping beside the mattress, he hooked his thumbs into his pants and regarded him.

“You look so damn good in my bed.”

Those few words made Tate realize, How can I ever deny what I’m feeling?

“Do I?”

He’d never been as strongly attracted to anyone as he was to the man currently eyeing him. But he had a lot on his mind, and shelving it wasn’t going to do much good. It was better to just face it…Well, maybe in a minute.

Logan pushed his pants from his hips and went to remove his glasses. Before he got them off though, Tate rolled to his side and said, “Don’t.”

Logan left them in place and pulled back the covers to get under, lying on his side so they were facing one another, his head propped up on his hand.

“I like them. You appear so serious when you wear them.”

“As opposed to not serious when they’re off?”

Tate rolled to his back and studied the ceiling. “No. When they’re off, you look…”

Logan lowered his head and nuzzled in against his ear. “Yes?”

Turning his head on the pillow, Tate caught the blue eyes pinning him with an intense stare. “Sexy. Like you could get into trouble in seconds. Stop,” he sighed as Logan’s lips touched his neck. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“So glasses on makes me less sexy and easier to talk to? Good to know. I’m thinking I need to buy some contacts.”

“No,” Tate groaned. Nothing about having Logan naked and pressed up against him made it easier to talk. It just made him horny.

“Then what?”

“They make it less likely that you will…I don’t know…do anything.”

The deep laugh beside him had Tate reaching over to shove Logan’s shoulder.

“I’m being serious.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Logan replied when he stopped laughing. “Your mood has done a complete one-eighty.”

Tate remained silent as he looked at nothing in particular.

Logan had left the side lamp on, and the room was quiet as they lay there, each of them understanding exactly what was on Tate’s mind.

“Did you call your mom today?”

The way Logan asked, Tate knew he was just as nervous to hear the answer as he was to give it.

Sure, when he’d arrived, playing around had been the first thing on his mind. Maybe they could say, “To hell with their issues,” and just fuck their brains out, but really, what it came down to was Tate wanted to get serious, and he wanted Logan to want it too. He knew, however, that wanting it and getting it were not going to be as easy as that, and he wondered how the fuck his life had gotten so complicated.

“Tate?”

Shaking his head, he admitted, “No. I didn’t call her.”

Logan said nothing. He just reached out to brush his hair from his forehead.

“She called me though. Several times.”

The silence in the room was palpable as they both lay there staring at each other. He couldn’t think of anything to say, but then Logan opened his mouth and suggested, “If it’s easier to deny it—”

“Shut up.” Tate knew that was not the answer.

“I’m just saying—”

“Well, stop. I won’t lie to them. I just need some fucking time to work out what to say.” Tate closed his eyes and tried to think.

In two fucking weeks, his entire life had been turned on its ass. How in the hell…But when warm lips pressed against his forehead and he was pulled closer so he was lying in the crook of Logan’s arm, he realized he didn’t give a shit.

“Take as long as you need.”

Logan was constantly surprising him as his whispered words of support found him in the room. Tate placed a tentative hand on Logan’s chest and felt the steady beat of his heart as he said softly, “It’s William.” Logan shifted away slightly, and Tate tilted his head so he was looking up at him. “William Tate Morrison.”

Without a word, Logan reached up and removed his glasses. He stretched out, put them on the side table, and switched the lamp off. When he came back and settled into the bed, Tate felt a hand stroke his hair again, a new, familiar habit of Logan’s.

“That’s a very proper name, Mr. Morrison. I like it.”

Tate grinned against Logan’s chest. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I do,” Logan murmured, and just when Tate thought he’d be rolled over and worked over, Logan shocked him again. “Now get some rest. It’s late.”

As he drifted off to sleep, Tate felt for the very first time that he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought.

The following morning, as Logan stood in the kitchen making his coffee, he kept thinking over the night before.

William. He never would’ve guessed. Such a dignified name, so…

“Logan?”

Sexy.

He turned to watch Tate stroll out of the bedroom with his jeans pulled on but left unbuttoned.

“Hmm?” was all he managed as he straightened his blue tie and Tate came to a stop beside him.

“You’re up early, even for you. It’s not light out yet.”

Logan pivoted back to the coffee maker and pushed the button on the stainless-steel appliance a little harder than was required.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, a little surprised at himself. He’d been tired as hell last night.

“A lot on your mind?”

Logan glanced at Tate. “Yes, William. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

Tate rolled his eyes and rested against the counter. “The only person who gets away with calling me William is my mom.”

Logan slipped his fingers into the loose denim at Tate’s waist and pulled him close. “And now me.”

Tate placed a hand on the counter he was leaning against. “I don’t think so.”

Logan forgot all about the coffee as he stepped in front of Tate, making him turn so his ass was pressed back against the counter. He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, and with their eyes connected, Logan pushed forward and ground his hips hard against him.

“I do, William,” Logan grinned. “It’s like I’m with someone totally new. Someone…refined.”

As he pushed his hand into Tate’s jeans and curled his fingers around the hard-on he found, Tate’s lips opened and his head rested back against the kitchen cabinet. Unable to help himself, Logan leaned forward and licked a path up Tate’s jaw to his ear.

“Ahh fuck, Logan.”

Logan’s cock throbbed at the invitation as he bit the lobe and removed his hand.

“Maybe tonight. But for now, you may want to brace yourself.”

He kissed his way back down Tate’s neck to his shoulder and then lower to bite his nipple. Tate placed one of his hands on the counter behind himself as Logan gripped both sides of his jeans and tugged them down his legs, lowering to his knees on the kitchen floor.

He circled the base of Tate’s shaft with his fingers and flicked his tongue over the swollen head in front of him. The throaty sound that left Tate had Logan’s mouth stretching into a wicked grin as he peered up to see him braced, ready for the sensual onslaught.

As if Tate could feel him watching, he looked down and asked, “Why’d you stop?”

Logan kissed Tate’s hipbone and then scraped his teeth along the taut skin. “I wanted to make sure I had your attention, William.”

One of Tate’s hands came forward and then yanked his head back so he was forced to look up.

“I told you not to call me that.”

Unrepentant to the end, Logan knew his face was smug. “And I’ve told you there’s only one way to shut me up.”

“So you have.”

Tate’s other hand cradled his face and directed him forward to his stiff rod.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He nuzzled in and sucked the skin around the root of the hard-on that was brushing the side of his cheek. He tormented Tate with a flick of his tongue and a suck of his lips, causing Tate’s hips to shove forward, and when he finally moved to take the plump head into his mouth, a loud curse ripped from Tate’s throat. Logan closed his eyes and felt the fingers in his hair flex as he finally slid his lips down Tate’s steely length.

Fuck yes. Use me, Logan thought, and he couldn’t help the hum of approval he gave as Tate took over the pace.

He smoothed his hands up the back of firm thighs and clenched his ass as Tate continued to thrust forward to the back of his throat. Logan dug his fingers into cheeks that were tightly muscled and reveled in the way Tate now let go with him one hundred percent.

Tate had one hand at the back of his head now, and his other fingers kept stroking along Logan’s face, as if massaging him to make sure he didn’t get lockjaw, but he had nothing to worry about.

Logan’s jaw was nice and loose when it came to pleasuring Tate.

Logan was going to render him useless before it was even seven a.m.

Tate looked down once more, just to be certain he wasn’t imagining it, and no—he wasn’t.

There, kneeling at his feet in his pressed, white dress shirt, grey pants, and a light-blue tie, was Logan, and he was sucking him as if he had all the time in the world to be there.

Tate knew he’d messed up Logan's perfectly styled hair, but as Logan pulled away and freed his cock before swallowing it back inside, Tate didn’t give a fuck. He traced Logan’s jaw and then found himself running the pads of his fingers along his glasses just as Logan slipped a finger between his ass cheeks.

Jesus. As if what he was doing wasn’t hot enough, something about having Logan dressed for work yet still willing to say fuck it and get him off was pushing every button Tate had. The glasses were a nice touch also, and it was clear that Logan was proving his point from the night before. Just because he was wearing them, it didn’t mean jack shit when it came to taking what he wanted.

“Yes,” Tate hissed as Logan’s finger pushed against his back passage and then slipped down the taut skin between his balls. “Just like…ahh,” he groaned as Logan stroked and sucked him until he finally lost it.

He gripped Logan’s head between both hands and cursed his name out, coming in a rush into Logan’s greedy mouth.

“Oh God, Logan. Fucking hell.”

Without realizing he was doing it, Tate ran his hands gently through Logan’s hair.

“Mhmm. If you don’t quit stroking me, I’m gonna pull you down here and miss work.”

Tate stared down at the man peering up at him. He wanted to tell Logan how he was feeling. That ever since he’d come into his life, everything seemed more intense, more consuming. But as a sly curve hit Logan’s mouth and he got to his feet, pressing a palm to his erection, Tate knew now wasn’t the time.

“I really need to get going.”

Tate pulled his jeans up and zipped them as Logan kissed him quickly on the lips. He tasted a hint of himself there and wondered when that had become such a fucking turn-on for him.

He managed to pass Logan the traveler’s mug he used and watched him grab the coffee pot to fill it.

“So…” Tate started, trailing off as Logan pinned him with a smoldering look.

“Yes?”

“Will I see you tonight?”

Logan’s dark eyebrow arched. “Would you like to see me tonight?”

Tate trailed his eyes over the almost perfectly put-together lawyer and inclined his head slowly. “Yes, I would.”

“Then I think that can be arranged.”

Logan readjusted his tie as he brought the coffee cup to his mouth and backed away, eyes still on him. When he lowered the mug, he licked his lips and winked at him.

“This is the only way I like cream with my coffee.”

Tate’s mouth opened but then shut again. This raw side of Logan, the side he was beginning to crave, still managed to shock him.

He watched silently as Logan turned, bent to pick up his briefcase beside the couch, and walked toward the door.

“Logan?” he called out just as he reached his front door.

“Yes?”

“Should I do anything, you know, special to lock up when I leave?”

The expression that crossed Logan’s face was full of sex and promises as he asked, “Who said you had to leave?”

Tate said nothing as he tried to think of a response. This was the first time that Logan had ever insinuated that he should stay longer than the morning after, and it all felt very…right.

Luckily for him, Logan never had a problem filling the silence.

“Personally, I think it’d be a hell of a lot more special if you stayed.” Logan pulled the door open, and as he stepped out, he called, “But if you do leave, just pull the door shut behind you. See you tonight, William!”

Smart-mouthed fucker, Tate thought with a grin he couldn’t help.

How the hell did I ever think I could resist him?

He hadn’t stood a chance.

3.

Tate looked around the empty living room and thought back to Logan’s comment. “I think it’d be a hell of a lot more special if you stayed.”

What did he mean by that? Stay for the day? For the night? Forever?

Jesus. He needed to stop overanalyzing shit or he was going to go insane. He’d been fine before…Before his sister had caught them making out in Logan’s office, and before he’d let Logan have him—and he’d most definitely had him.

Ever since then, Tate had been feeling…anxious, off-center.

He knew that he wanted Logan, and he wasn’t one to lie to himself, so he was honest enough to admit the thought of telling his family about who he was with was making him feel slightly nauseated.

He poured a cup of coffee and made his way over to stand at the sliding door that led out to Logan’s balcony. The same balcony he’d stepped onto that first night he’d been there when Logan had blown his mind—among other things.

The sun was finally up and shining through all of the surrounding high-rises, and as Tate ran a hand through his hair, he was reminded of the way Logan now played with it.

Almost as if he couldn’t help it, Logan’s fingers automatically found their way into his curls whenever he sat down beside the guy, and Tate fucking loved it. Over the course of getting to know Logan, he’d discovered a few things about himself. First and foremost, it was okay to give in and hand the reins over to someone else. He even enjoyed it, not always being the one in control.

He’d always been accused of being stubborn, and he knew he was, but with Logan, he found himself wanting to give in more often than not. The man was persistent as hell and had an uncanny way of wearing a person down.

Some wouldn’t appreciate that, but to Tate, it was…kind of endearing.

Unlike his ex-wife, Logan wasn’t the type to give in and walk away from what he wanted. He was the type to stick around and fight it out to the end. One had to give him credit for that.

It’d been an hour or so since Logan had left, and Tate had finished his second cup of coffee for the morning. As he was dumping the mug in the sink, his phone began to ring with a familiar tune. He looked at his jacket, where the phone was located, and decided it was time to man the hell up.

He crossed to the couch and slipped his hand inside the pocket to locate the cell. Pulling it out, he looked at the name on the display and then slowly brought it up to his ear, not having a clue what he was about to say.

“William?” was the first thing out of his mother’s mouth.

Tate could feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he placed a hand on the back of Logan’s couch for support and inhaled a shaky breath.

“William? Are you there?”

Closing his eyes, Tate swallowed and nodded, and when he got no response, he realized he hadn’t actually said anything.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Yeah, I know. I got the messages.”

There was a pause, and then Tate heard some rustling. He wondered if his mother was moving out of one room and into the privacy of another.

“Then why didn’t you call me back?”

“Mom…” he started, but he didn’t really know what to say after that.

He turned around, rested his ass against the back of the couch, and rubbed a palm over his face. Nothing of consequence had been said yet and it was already awkward as hell.

“I need to talk to you and dad.”

The silence that stretched between them was strained as he waited for her answer, and when she finally spoke, he knew that Jill and Diana’s poison had already started to spread.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Tate grabbed his jacket, pulled out the pack of cigarettes inside, and flipped open the lid. “Why isn’t it a good idea? You just asked why I haven’t called you back. I assumed that meant you wanted to talk to me.”

Tate’s hackles rose as he heard his mother sigh, and then she asked something he’d never thought he would hear her say.

“Is it true, William? Are you dating a man?”

Fucking Diana. He couldn’t bring himself to think that his own sister would be this malicious, but Diana…Oh yeah. This has her fingerprints all over it.

“Mom, why don’t I come over Sunday—”

“Is. It. True?” she asked again, cutting him off. Her voice was cool, her tone unrelenting.

Tate couldn’t seem to spit the word yes past the lump in his throat. If it had been the easiest word to say last night, then this was pure irony, because it was the hardest fucking word to utter this morning.

“William?”

“Yes, Mom,” he finally managed, but because luck wasn’t on his side right about now, she didn’t understand and asked again.

“I asked if you are dating a man.”

Finally, Tate found some of the backbone he prided himself on and replied, “I know. I answered you. Yes.”

As expected, he received no response. All Tate could hear was his mother’s breathing and the blood rushing around his head. He offered no more as he made his way over to the balcony door, slid it open, and stepped outside.

Fuck, it’s cold. Almost as cold as the reception at the other end of the phone.

Quickly, he moved back in until he was standing on the hardwood floor. Then he frowned at the cigarettes in his hand. He really needed one.

Choosing the only option he could think of, he sat down cross-legged in front of the sliding door and opened it a crack. He brought one to his mouth and lit up, and still all that remained was tense silence.

“Mom?”

“Why would you do this?” she asked, and before he could answer she continued, “I don’t understand, son.”

Now he knew she was pissed. William and son were only used when she was mad, and her voice had a slight tremble. He could actually picture her pacing back and forth.

“What do you mean, why? I didn’t plan it this way. It just happened.”

“It just happened? How does that just happen?”

“I don’t know…It just did.”

Tate closed his eyes and blew the smoke out through the crack in the door. As he sat there, he thought about Logan’s sensual smile and the thick, black strands he’d had his hands in this morning.

Tate was pretty sure if Jill had brought him home his mother would’ve fawned all over him, but the fact that he wanted to bring Logan home was another matter altogether. Then he got to wondering how he would’ve felt if Jill had brought Logan home. Would he have still had this intense desire to touch the man?

Hang on. Why the fuck am I thinking—

“William, you are not gay. You were married. To a woman!”

Tate rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the update.”

“Don’t you get smart with me. I just don’t understand what is going on with you lately. First, you divorce Diana—”

“Would you rather I stay in a miserable marriage?”

“Of course not, but this? This is just…just—”

“Just what, Mom?”

“Wrong. It’s just wrong. We raised you better than this, William. You were such a good boy.”

Tate closed his eyes and squeezed them tight.

Yes, the good Catholic boy who never disappoints his parents. Wow, what a fucking joke that is these days.

“I’m not a boy anymore, Mom. Why can’t you ever try to see my side of things?” Tate asked, immediately regretting it.

He’d told himself back when he and Diana had split not to count on his family for much. Apparently, it was okay to screw over those around you, as long as you went to church on Sunday to repent.

“And how am I supposed to see this?”

Tate had no idea and was pretty sure his silence relayed that.

“Well? What do you expect?” she demanded again, and this time, she sounded pissed. “First, Diana called me—”

“Why the fuck are you still talking to her?”

“Don’t you use that word with me.”

“Well, answer me. She’s my ex-wife. Why is she calling you?” Tate had wanted to ask his mother that for as long as he could remember and was fucking proud of himself for finally doing so.

“I’ve always been close to Diana. Ever since she and your sister were little girls.”

Tate took another deep inhale of the tobacco and tipped his face toward the open door to exhale. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the story.

Diana’s family had moved in next door when he’d turned eight. Almost instantly, his sister and Diana had become attached at the hip—best friends for life—and they sure as shit weren’t giving that up anytime soon.

He hadn’t really paid much attention to Diana back then. She’d been more like a sister to him until the year she returned from college. That was the first time his cock had gotten him in a whole shit-ton of trouble.

Logan was the second.

It was best not to think about that right now though—not with his angry mother on the other end of the phone.

Diana was a fucking problem, one that was still included in family affairs even though they were in the process of making their separation a permanent one. It was time his mother realized how much he didn’t appreciate their continued friendship.

“Don’t you realize how uncomfortable that makes me? You still talk to my ex-wife.”

“You know she’s like family.”

“And I am family! Jesus. Where the hell does she get off telling you my personal business?”

“She was hurt. She said you were kissing a man. That would hurt any woman who was once involved with you. Is this…this man the reason you two—”

“No!” Tate denied adamantly. “Is that what she said?”

The silence he was met with was answer enough, and it made Tate want to track Diana down and strangle the witch.

“I didn’t meet Logan until a couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s his name?”

“Yes. That’s his name.” Tate paused and then decided, What the hell. “He wants to meet you.”

“Excuse me?”

“He wants to meet you, and I want you to meet him.”

Tate lowered his arm outside the door and crushed out the cigarette butt. So what if he was imagining it was Diana’s face.

“I don’t think so. I don’t ever want to meet him.”

Tate bit back the snide remark he wanted to make and instead asked something he knew he’d regret. “Why not?”

And just as predicted, the answer wasn’t one he’d been ready to hear.

“Because he’s a pervert, and he’s corrupted my son.”

Logan strolled into the firm’s conference room and found Cole seated at the large oval table in the center. He had paperwork scattered all around him and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate to his left.

“You know, I hate organizing this kind of shit. Can’t we hire a party planner? I know we can afford it. Or better yet, your wife?”

Cole looked up from the papers in front of him and shook his head. “Rachel’s a pastry chef, not an event planner. Plus, she’s busy enough down at Exquisite.”

“Yeah, yeah. But I hate doing this stuff.”

“I’m so sorry that putting together a function for our clients is taxing on you. Are you done whining?”

Logan pulled out the chair opposite Cole, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and planted his ass in the seat. “I suppose. It just seems like there has to be someone better qualified.”

“All you have to do is approve the list. It won’t take you more than a day.”

Cole slid three pages across the table toward him, and Logan reached out to pick it up. He scanned down the first page and names.

Boring, boring, and even more boring.

“We need to make a set list from the three we have so we can give it to Jane to type up and get the invites out. There are VIP, current clients, and new,” Cole told him as he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Logan grabbed his fresh coffee, took a sip, and almost choked when his brother suggested, “You should invite Tate.”

It wasn’t as if he was ashamed of Tate. He wasn’t even worried about people knowing whom he was seeing. Hell, after the other day, everyone in their office now knew his personal business. It was the thought of really making that commitment, the announcement that, Yes, this is my partner, and introducing Tate to their biggest clients.

“You okay there?” Cole asked, wiping a cloth napkin across his mouth.

Pity it didn’t erase the self-satisfied look on his face.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Cole jeered.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Invite Tate. You know you want to.”

Logan glared at the immaculately dressed man across from him. “You don’t know shit.”

Cole laughed. “I know you. And you haven’t been monogamous since you were in college.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Except that I like sex and know I can’t commit.”

“It means you like him. A lot.”

Deciding there was no use in denying it, Logan shrugged, trying to play it cool. He did like Tate—more than a lot.

“So what if I do? I hardly think he’s ready to come to a work function as my date. He was just outed to his sister, which we still have to deal with. I’m thinking once this month is enough for him and me.”

Cole seemed to contemplate him for a moment and then asked, “What about me and Rach?”

Confused, Logan eloquently responded with, “Huh?”

“What if you come and spend some time with me and Rachel’s family as a couple. Get him used to the idea of being out in public with you.”

Logan mulled over the idea. “When you say family, exactly how many—”

“Six of us plus you two,” Cole finished for him.

Logan wasn’t sure. He’d heard about Rachel’s clan, but he didn’t know them enough to—

“Trust me when I say they won’t bat an eyelash at the two of you being together.”

“I thought you said her brother wanted to kill you when you first met. He sounds like a tight-ass.”

Cole leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “He did, but on the plus side, you haven’t just married his sister after a week.”

Logan sighed. “Would this be for dinner?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

With a shit-eating grin, Cole announced, “Game night.”

“Game night? Should we wear pajamas and braid each other’s hair too?”

Cole started chuckling and pointed out, “You could probably braid Tate’s.”

“I don’t do game night.”

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”

Logan leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t know since I’ve never had the desire to host one or go to one. Which begs the question, if you don’t think it will be that bad, why are you so insistent we come?”

Cole ran his palm down his tie. “I promised Rachel I would ask you both. I knew you wouldn’t be interested, but she asked, and she’s pregnant and…”

Cheap shot, bastard. “She really asked?”

Cole nodded. “She thought it would be good for Tate after everything that happened.”

Logan pushed back from the table and stood, hating that he now felt guilty and was giving in. “I’ll check these in my office. Call your wife and tell her I’ll ask him. What night?”

“Friday.”

Grumbling, Logan moved toward the door and opened it. “Okay. I’ll ask, but I promise nothing. Oh, by the way, what happened with Miss Cline?”

Cole shrugged. “She took her case elsewhere. Tate should find out in the mail sometime soon. Unless you feel like telling him.”

Fuck. As if their lives weren’t complicated enough…Let’s throw in an ex-fucking-wife, a real bitch of one at that.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

“And don’t forget—”

“I know, I know. Game night.”

Cole shook his head. “No. Don’t forget to ask him about the function. He may just surprise you.”

Logan opened the door, thinking about the time Tate had pulled away from him in the coffee shop. That had been a mild rejection compared to the kind of sting he’d feel from a “No, I don’t want to be your date in public”—and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that.

4.

Logan was out of the office and on his way home the minute the clock hit five. He used to be the one who lingered and enjoyed the quiet that came with the after-hours. He’d since traded that in after stepping in to the actual After Hours and spotting Tate.

He wondered as he took the elevator up to his floor if Tate had stayed the day like he’d suggested. The thought of him in his condo when he wasn’t there was incredibly appealing to Logan. Whether it was because it showed he finally trusted someone other than himself or it was just the thought of having Tate in amongst his belongings, he couldn’t be sure.

Hell, it’s probably a mix of both.

He knew Tate would’ve left for work already since his shift had started at five, but he was betting he’d have some company around one a.m., and he was eagerly anticipating it.

Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and dumped his briefcase down on the floor. He dropped his keys in the glass bowl with loose change and reached up to unknot his tie.

As he made his way down the main hall and into the living room, he was brought to a halt when he saw Tate sitting on his couch, dressed exactly as he’d left him hours ago.

There was no light on, just the muted glow from surrounding buildings filtering in through the balcony window and door. Tate’s jeans were still unbuttoned, he hadn’t added a shirt, and he was just sitting there, staring off into space.

Logan spotted the empty pack of cigarettes by Tate’s leg and a glass clutched between tight fingers, and he knew whatever had happened in the last ten hours was nothing good.

Deciding it was time to break the ice, he spoke. “Hey there.”

Tate turned his head toward him, and Logan could tell from the glassy eyes trying to focus that he was three sheets to the wind. When no reply came, Logan shrugged out of his jacket and held it in one hand.

“Whatcha drinking?”

“Your scotch,” Tate finally replied, holding up his empty glass. “But I ran out.”

The only scotch he’d had in the place was the Black Label that had been a little over a third full, and when he looked at his kitchen island and saw it now sat empty, Logan wondered how Tate was still awake.

He walked into the kitchen and laid his jacket over the counter before slipping the tie from around his neck. “So, what’s up? I thought you had to work tonight?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “I called in.”

“Hmm,” Logan mused. “So you’ve been here all day?”

Tate turned on the couch and rested his chin on top of it. “You told me I could.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Want me to leave?”

Logan unbuttoned his left cuff and then moved to the right before answering. “Not at all.”

“Wanna fuck me?”

Now he knew Tate was half gone.

There were many ways he’d imagined Tate saying those three words, but visibly upset was not one of them.

“I do want that,” Logan admitted, realizing that rejection wasn’t something that would help this situation.

He’d known after Tate’s first time he should exercise some patience, and he’d been waiting for him to get curious again, but not like this—not as a knee-jerk reaction to whatever the hell happened today.

When a drunkenly sensual smile stretched across Tate’s mouth, Logan cursed his own fucking morals. He would have sold his left nut right about now to go over to the couch and pound Tate into it.

“Then why don’t you come closer?” Tate suggested as he got to his knees and rested his hands on the back of the couch.

Ahh, Tate the tease—nothing was harder for him to resist.

Instead of answering, however, Logan pulled his shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it. That was when he was struck with inspiration.

“Why don’t we play a game?”

Hell, why not get into the spirit of game night?

Tate raised a hand and swayed slightly as he placed his fingers over his lips, and Logan had to remind himself to stay right where he was. He would get to touch…eventually.

“A game?”

“Yes. I’ll ask a question, and when you give me an answer I’m happy with, I’ll take something off.”

Logan felt his cock react to the intense sexual inspection he was given.

“And then?” Tate asked without raising his eyes.

Damn. He was more than aware that Tate’s eyes were zeroed in on the taut material now trying its hardest to conceal his hardening flesh.

“Then I’ll fuck you.”

When Tate’s gaze returned to his own, the arousal there made Logan’s semi turn to full-on rock-hard status.

“Deal?”

Tate lifted a hand from the couch, and Logan could do nothing but watch as he reached down and cupped the denim that was cradling his erection.

“Deal.”

Satisfied he would now get some answers, but frustrated he had to wait, Logan removed his glasses and placed them on the counter.

“What time did you start drinking?”

Tate rolled his eyes before he tipped his head back toward the ceiling, exposing his throat.

“What time, Tate?”

He watched Tate’s chest rise on a deep inhale and waited until he blew it out.

“Ten.”

Okay, so he’d been drinking for approximately the last seven hours. Fuck.

“Why did you—”

“No.”

Logan frowned at the interruption. “Excuse me?”

“I answered. So take something off.”

It wasn’t anything new that when Tate was drinking he got bossy, but Logan’s reaction was. It turned him the fuck on.

“Do you have a preference?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed and Logan waited—not so patiently.

“The pants. No, wait…the shirt.”

Logan chuckled. “Are you sure?” Then he started to unbutton his shirt. As he got halfway, Tate’s eyes found his and Logan asked his next question. “Why did you start drinking at ten in the morning?”

He shrugged out of the material and placed it on top of his jacket. When Tate’s teeth bit into his top lip, Logan knew he was getting closer to the truth and Tate was buzzed enough—and clearly horny enough—to tell him more.

“I was pissed off.”

That vague answer wasn’t going to cut it, so Logan placed his hands low on his hips and waited. He was positive he already knew the answer, but he wanted it from Tate. Logan wanted his trust with everything that was going on, and if he had to go to bed with blue balls for the second time in two days…then he would be a miserable fucker and crawl into that cold bed.

Tate stared through hooded eyes at Logan in a combustible stalemate. He didn’t want to discuss what had happened today but knew he’d get no further with the look on Logan’s face.

And fuck, I want to go further.

The picture Logan made with only his dress pants on and his hands on his hips had Tate’s cock pulsating inside his jeans.

After his mother had hung up on him, Tate had spent the next couple of hours inhaling his entire pack of cigarettes, and when those had run out, he’d hunted around until he found one of Logan’s men, Johnnie Walker, who’d left him feeling relaxed and very fucking horny.

“I spoke to my mom this morning after you left. Happy? Now take off your pants.”

Without a single word, Logan unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops. Tate watched avidly as he unzipped his own jeans and pushed them down his hips so he could finally grab his cock.

Yeah, fuck, it feels amazing to touch myself.

Logan removed his shoes, socks, and pants then pinned him with a molten stare as he added them to the pile. In that instant, Tate was reminded that all it took was one look from Logan and he was ready to go.

“And your mom, she pissed you off?”

“Yes. The boxers, Logan.”

Tate saw the arrogant rise of Logan’s left brow as he slipped his thumbs into the only thing left covering him—his tight, black shorts.

“You want something, Tate?”

“I told you what I wanted.”

Logan shook his head and pushed the snug material down his hip, allowing a hint of pubic hair to come into view. “No, you didn’t. You just commented on my clothing.”

Asshole is having a great time trying to make me talk.

But before he could say anything, Logan bent down and took off the shorts, causing all of Tate’s brainpower to focus on remaining upright—a problem his dick did not seem to have.

“That’s right, yes? You wanted them off?”

Why is he still talking?

The man was fucking spectacular, and Tate wanted to be touched by him—now.

When his mother asked him earlier how his relationship with Logan had happened, he’d had no answer. But as he kneeled on the couch, stroking his hard-on for this man, he knew.

How could it not happen? Look at him.

When Logan walked toward the couch and stopped directly in front of him, Tate tilted his head back to meet his eyes. Logan grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, leaning down until their lips were only inches apart.

“What did she say that was so bad it made you smoke a full pack of cigarettes and consume enough liquor that you smell like a cheap bar?”

Tate closed his eyes as Logan’s warm breath entered his mouth. He gripped his cock harder and got up on his knees, trying to get his mouth closer to Logan’s, but he pulled his lips out of reach, prompting Tate to speak.

“It doesn’t matter.”

When a tongue touched his bottom lip, his eyes flickered open and connected with the intense blue ones searching his face.

“It does matter. What did she say to upset you?”

Tate released his erection and swayed slightly as he moved his hand to Logan’s shoulder, steadying himself. “I don’t want to talk about my mom right now.”

Logan wasn’t having that.

Instead, he lowered his hand, and Tate felt him wrap it around his erection. As a hiss of pleasure left his lips, that persistent mouth moved across his cheek to his ear.

“Tell me so I can take you to my bedroom and have you.”

Tate’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the mouth and hand tempting him. “Yes.”

“Talk to me,” Logan coaxed. “What did she say?”

Tate didn’t want to say it. He was afraid to, he realized.

What if he said the words and Logan believed them? Worse, what if he said the words and he believed them?

But with Logan’s strong hand palming his cock and his warm lips now sucking his earlobe, Tate decided if he was going to find any release he needed to give Logan what he wanted, and right now, that was his final answer.

He pulled his head away and brought both hands up to Logan’s face. Touching his stubble-lined cheeks, he held him still. He wanted to witness any thought that flickered over the face looking back at him.

The hand around his hard flesh stopped moving and just held him until, finally, he spoke.

“She said you were a pervert who corrupted me.

5.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it certainly shouldn’t have come as a shock to hear, but as those words left Tate’s mouth and floated between them, Logan’s got caught somewhere inside his throat.

Did I corrupt him? No…we joked about it, but…no.

He blinked Tate back into focus and realized he was waiting for an answer, but for once, he didn’t have one. He was stunned into silence—stunned and hurt.

A pervert? What the fuck—

“Logan?”

He blinked again several times as Tate pressed their lips together.

Shit, the guy tastes like scotch and tobacco.

It shouldn’t have been a combination that was appealing, but as Tate’s lips parted, Logan couldn’t resist pushing his tongue inside. He threaded his hands into the hair surrounding a face he was becoming addicted to and held on as if Tate might vanish.

The kiss started out as merely a contact point, a way to reassure the other that they were there, but as their tongues tangled, Logan kicked it up a notch. He loosened the fingers of one hand and ran it down the back of Tate’s head to grip his neck and bring him even closer.

Tate went with it until his front was pressed flush against the back of the couch. When he groaned as if he were in agony and wrenched his lips away, Logan figured the friction from the leather against his cock felt pretty fucking amazing.

“Don’t you come all over my couch.”

The smirk that touched the corner of Tate’s mouth helped in easing the tension that had seeped into the room.

“Then take me to the bedroom, where I can come all over you.”

Logan was about to tell him, “You know the way,” but at the last minute stopped himself.

“Logan?”

As his name reached him, he watched Tate back off the couch, stand, and push his jeans away. He stepped out of them, and Logan looked him over.

From the leanly muscled body and engorged flesh, Tate was every wet dream Logan had ever had, a fact that was solidified when he gripped his erection and stroked it several times.

“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to, okay? I can say no.”

Inexplicably drawn to Tate, Logan moved around the couch and walked toward him. Tate stepped back and staggered slightly until he was in the bedroom. Logan came to a standstill in front of him, wanting to make sure this wasn’t the alcohol talking but was—

“I want you inside me.”

—Tate talking.

“If that’s what you want…” Logan let out a shaky exhale when Tate’s fingers found him and surrounded his length.

“It’s what I need.”

Logan nodded, understanding the need, the desire to make sure this was worth all the shit that would come with it.

“Then let me give it to you.” He brought his hands up to Tate’s face and asked, “Will you do something for me?”

“Yes,” Tate answered without hesitation.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Is that right? So now is when I should ask for everything I’ve ever wanted?”

Tate drew his fist up Logan’s shaft and gave him a smile that almost made Logan’s knees give way. He couldn’t remember anyone ever placing such trust in him.

“And what have you always wanted?”

Logan shook his head and bit back the simple yet complex answer of, “You,” and settled on, “I want to see you facedown on my bed, waiting for me.”

Tate’s soft sigh met his ears when he walked around to the edge of the bed.

Logan shut the bedroom door and watched as Tate climbed up onto the center of the mattress and then lay as requested—facedown, in his bed.

“Like this?” Tate asked as he turned his head on the pillow to watch him move to the left side.

Logan pulled open his side drawer and took out a condom and lube. He placed it on the bed before kneeling on the mattress and moving until he was lying on his side beside Tate’s body.

“Exactly like this,” he reassured, reaching out to run his palm down the smooth skin covering Tate’s back. He started under his hair and trailed teasing fingers down his spine to the dip of Tate’s lower back. When he got the rise of his ass, Logan leaned down and kissed Tate’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Tate’s eyes creased as he asked, “For?”

“Trusting me.”

Tate pushed up on his hands and brought his mouth to Logan’s, taking his lips in a kiss that spoke of complete trust. “I do.”

Logan closed his eyes, trying to keep a handle on his control, and told him softly, “Roll onto your left side so your back is to my chest.”

Tate nodded and shifted into the suggested position, and when he stretched out on his side, Logan knew he’d just created the most perfect visual ever for himself. Tate’s tan back was only inches from his eager fingers, his toned ass right there for him to touch.

With one finger, Logan drew a straight line down the tense spine and felt Tate arch back into him and start to relax. When he reached the crack of his ass, Tate shocked him by shifting so his right leg was angled forward, opening himself up to him.

Fuck. Logan had never wanted him more, but he knew this time was for Tate—not him.

Reaching behind himself, he grabbed the condom and lube and squeezed some on his fingers. When he moved back behind Tate, he lowered his mouth to his shoulder and touched lubed fingers to the top of his crack.

He heard Tate inhale as he slid two of his fingers down between the warm crevice of his cheeks, and as the pads of his fingers pressed the hot, little hole, he asked, “This okay?”

Sure, this wasn’t their first time, but it was only Tate’s second, and Logan needed to make sure he was good with everything going on. So when Tate turned his head and pushed his hips back, Logan figured that was as good as a yes.

He rubbed his fingertips over the small pucker and once again took Tate’s mouth. Logan couldn’t help the sound that escaped him when Tate greedily met him with parted lips and grabbed his head. He stroked slippery fingers along Tate’s crack and then removed them to smooth a palm over his ass cheek to his hip, pulling him back so he could line his own cock up against all of that bare skin.

“Damn, Tate,” Logan groaned as Tate’s lips slipped free and he jammed his hips back, pressing that round ass even harder against his aching flesh.

“Yes,” Tate moaned, and Logan caught a glimpse of him reaching down to grab his hard-on. “I want you so fucking bad.”

Logan was more than fine with that. He’d wanted Tate in this particular position since they’d met. He put a firm hand on Tate’s hip and pressed him down so his stomach was against the mattress.

“Jesus, I swear you have the most perfect ass in the world.”

Without a sound, Tate raised his hips up and pushed that perfect posterior toward him. Logan found himself grinning like a fool at the cheeky move, and he couldn’t help himself from moving all the way down Tate’s body and lowering his head to take a bite out of the succulent curve.

Again, Tate’s hips jackknifed up.

Logan traced his tongue in a circle over the firm flesh and then moved to the center of Tate’s body. He placed a kiss against his tailbone before ever-so-slowly trailing his tongue up over Tate’s spine. When he reached the top, he nuzzled his nose into Tate’s hair and fit his throbbing cock between the crease of his cheeks.

“I can’t wait to slide inside you again.”

Tate grunted and reacted with a quick shove of his hips, connecting their bodies more firmly as he worked his own flesh.

“Feeling good, Tate?”

Tate turned his head on the pillow and nodded.

Logan planted his hands on either side of his head and raised his upper body so he could drag his length back and forth between the tight globes now cradling it.

“Damn it, Logan. Come on!”

Logan repeated the move and lowered his mouth to Tate’s ear. “I’m going to, but I want you to be clear about something.”

“What?” Tate panted.

Logan snagged the condom, ripped it open with his teeth, and reached down to roll it on. While his hand was down there, his finger found Tate’s hole and pressed forward. He saw Tate’s jaw clench and felt his body jerk slightly up the bed.

“Breathe out. Come on. You can do it.”

Tate exhaled and, as he did, pushed his hips back.

“Yes. There you go.”

“Tell me,” Tate asked as his eyes closed, and Logan had trouble focusing.

He knew Tate was gorgeous, but right now? Here? He was exquisite to look at.

“This, what we’re about to do, isn’t just fucking. Not anymore.”

Tate’s eyes snapped open and found his as a second finger entered his body. His lips fell apart on a cry, and Logan swooped down to take them in a scorching kiss as Tate’s body rocked against his own.

When the shock of the invasion lessoned, Tate whispered against his mouth, “I know.”

Logan wasn’t sure if they each meant the same thing, but as he withdrew his fingers from the snug fit of Tate’s body and moved up over him, he felt like he was finally where he was supposed to be.

The lock that had kept his heart firmly shut away had finally found its key.

Tate’s breathing was coming fast as he felt Logan position himself behind him. He was incredibly turned on and surprised by how much he wanted Logan inside him again.

The first time had hurt, and he knew that this second time around—hell, probably each time—would hurt a little, but when Logan’s cock rubbed over his opening, Tate dug an elbow into the mattress under him and waited.

Logan’s lips were against his shoulder, whispering encouraging words, but by this stage, Tate didn’t need encouragement. He needed Logan—in him.

He stroked his shaft feverishly as Logan rolled his hips, and when a hand gripped his side and tugged him back, Tate moaned from all of the body-to-body contact.

The powerful muscles, the body hair, and the sounds coming from them both all combined to make their coming together blistering, and every time, it was that way.

Who knew sex could be like this?

He sure as fuck had never experienced such a need to be this close to someone, to have them inside him and be a part of his body. But with every kiss, touch, and word out of Logan’s mouth, Tate craved that intimate connection with him.

He lowered his body so he was flat against the mattress and humped the sheets beneath him. He saw Logan’s hand when he planted it by his head and felt his other fingers digging into his hip. Logan had one leg on the outside of his own and another firmly lodged between his as he moved against him in a way that was causing Tate’s mind to pretty much shut down to everything but the need to feel Logan inside him. He was trying to hold out, but he knew if Logan didn’t hurry the fuck up he’d come before he got to experience it.

After several heart-pounding seconds, Logan stopped, shifting slightly so he was angled behind him, and then the head of his cock finally found him. He halted his movement and then ever-so-slowly began to enter his body.

Tate closed his eyes and grit his teeth as the wide intrusion stretched him open, but when soft lips found his cheek and Logan praised, “You feel so incredible,” Tate didn’t give a fuck about discomfort.

The slight burn was worth the lingering warmth he got from the awe he heard in Logan’s voice. When he finally bottomed out and remained still above him, Tate opened his eyes and shifted his head slightly.

Their lips met, their tongues touched, and then Logan started to thrust.

Tate watched as long fingers gripped the pillow beside his head, and he couldn’t help but groan with pleasure as Logan withdrew. He didn’t leave his body, merely pulled back, and when he surged forward again, Tate was ready and met him eagerly.

The synchronicity between the two of them was flawless as Logan’s heavy frame moved above his own, and with every stroke, Tate got that much closer to his release.

He lowered his forehead to the pillow from the sheer pleasure of being used so well, and when one of Logan’s hands tangled through his hair, holding him in place, Tate felt his entire body tremble from the emotions he was feeling.

Lust and arousal were the driving forces in the room, but just under the surface was something much stronger—something he wasn’t sure they were ready to acknowledge.

No one had ever made him feel as centered as Logan did, even when his world was spinning out of control.

Logan didn’t judge him, didn’t expect something he couldn’t give.

As strong teeth sank into the flesh of his shoulder and Logan’s body tensed behind him and came, Tate shouted out Logan’s name and exploded all over the white sheets beneath him.

Logan wanted him, and if this was his fall into corruption, then he planned on making one hell of an impact.

6.

“You okay?”

When Tate rolled over, Logan wondered what was going on behind those eyes. Then a relaxed smile curved his mouth and he nodded.

“Mhmm. Are you okay?” Tate asked him in return.

He scooted forward so he was leaning against his headboard and watched as Tate automatically moved in closer to his side. Oh yeah. I like that—a whole hell of a lot.

“I’m pretty fucking fantastic. So thank you for that.”

Tate laughed, and the sound echoed throughout the room. “Glad I could help.”

Logan scratched his chest and informed the satiated man beside him, “You more than helped. You exceeded all expectations.”

Tate tipped his head up, and when their eyes connected, he raised a brow. “You no longer need to charm me, you know. I’m naked and in your bed.”

“Which makes you a lucky man, wouldn’t you say?”

“And you, as always, are a modest one. Arrogant ass.”

Logan couldn’t help touching the side of Tate’s mouth with the tip of his finger. “If I recall, you were the one demanding I remove my pants and—”

“Yes…I remember.”

“Do you? I’m actually surprised you’re still awake.”

Tate lowered his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep right now even if I wanted to.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Tate turned on his side to face him and shrugged. “Would you be offended if I said no?”

Logan wasn’t quite sure how he felt. “No. Not offended…”

“But?”

What was the word he was looking for? He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but suddenly, it felt important that Tate confide in him, let him share his burden.

“I guess I just want you to know that you can talk to me.”

Logan barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the grin that hit Tate’s mouth, and when he shifted up the bed and pressed his lips to his chin, Logan closed them instead.

“You know what? I think you care, Logan Mitchell.”

Tate was right. He did care. A whole fucking lot, but there was no way in hell he was going to be the one to lay open his heart after just a few weeks in.

He’d been there before, a long time ago, and look how that had ended.

“Nothing to say?” Tate pushed.

Logan opened his mouth and swore he was about to respond, but at the last minute, he grabbed Tate and rolled them over so he was lying on top of the guy.

“Shit, Logan!” Tate complained. “Right in the goddamn wet spot.”

“Hey, it’s your mess. Seems only fair you lie in it.”

Tate squirmed around under him until Logan ended up between his legs.

“Want to go out for dinner?”

“Do I have to move?”

Logan rolled his hips, brushing their cocks together, and kissed the corner of Tate’s mouth. “Yes, you have to move. I think it might be a good idea to get something inside you.”

“But I just had something inside me.”

Logan groaned and dropped his head forward to the crook of Tate’s neck and shoulder. “You get dirtier every fucking day I know you, I swear.”

Tate’s fingers gripped the hair he was playing with to pull his head back. “I was always dirty.” He wagged his eyebrows and shoved his hips up. “Just not as vocal as you.”

Logan shifted to kneel between Tate’s bent legs. His eyes surveyed the body spread out before him, and he couldn’t stop himself from trailing his fingers up Tate’s shins. When he reached his knees, he ran his hands under them and then yanked Tate down the mattress. As he lowered his head and angled Tate’s body up toward his greedy mouth, he drew a warm, wet path with his tongue across Tate’s cock.

“Oh Christ, Logan.”

Tate still tasted and smelled of sex, and as Logan sucked on him, he knew Tate was right—he was much dirtier. He hadn’t even scratched the surface of what he wanted, and he had a feeling the person he could share it with was the one currently shoving his hard-on in his face.

But for now, Logan had other ideas. “I think you need to eat something.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” he said as he lowered Tate back to the bed. “All you’ve had today is God knows how many cigarettes, which you need to fucking quit by the way, and too much alcohol. You need food.”

“I need you to suck my dick.”

Logan chuckled. “Good to see you no longer have an issue asking for what you want. But…I need you to eat first. Then, if you’re nice to me, I’ll eat you.”

Tate wrapped a hand around himself and stroked.

“If you keep doing that, you’re just going to be hard and miserable.”

Tate closed his eyes, rocked up into his fist, and groaned. “If I keep doing this, I’m going to come and be satisfied.”

Logan’s hand whipped out to still Tate’s as he promised him, “You have dinner with me and I’ll give you exactly what you asked for.”

“Before or after?”

Logan’s fingers flexed around Tate’s. “So this is a negotiation now?”

“That is your line of expertise, isn’t it, counselor?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Tate widened his legs and, fucking hell, pumped his pelvis up once more. The sight was almost too much for Logan as he lowered his eyes to watch the erotic performance. There was nothing he wanted more than to suck Tate into his mouth and swallow, but first, he was going to take care of him.

He leaned down until his mouth was back by Tate’s ear.

“If you eat, I eat,” he managed. “Your choice.”

Tate felt daring as he turned his lips into Logan’s neck and asked, “What if I don’t want it later?”

This time when Logan rose up over him, his expression was full of mischief.

Tate felt a shiver race down his spine to his balls when Logan’s mouth touched his and he whispered, “If you don’t want my lips around your cock and my hand down your jeans, then all you have to say is...” Logan trailed off as he teased his lips along his jaw, “...no.”

Tate swallowed, his dick automatically responding, and wondered if there would ever be a time he would or could say no to Logan again.

“Will you say no, Tate?”

Those wicked lips kissed their way back to his mouth, and when Logan’s tongue touched the corner of his lips, Tate pushed his entire body up to the one pressed against his. As their skin connected everywhere it could, Logan deepened the kiss.

Mouths parted, tongues twisted, and as a groan left one—no, both—of them, Tate tried to understand his emotions.

With so many jumbling together, it was hard to pinpoint the one that was making his heart race. All he knew was the man devouring his mouth had the power to hurt him, and wasn’t that a terrifying revelation.

I wonder if I have the same power?

He wrenched his mouth away and looked at Logan.

This new silence that settled between them lately wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Each of them knew this was moving faster than they had expected, but unless they called it off, there was nothing they could do but go with it.

It was like a giant wave—if you got caught in its pull, it was best to just surrender and let it steer you where it would. All you could hope for was to keep your head above the water and remember to breathe.

“Okay. Let’s go and eat then.”

The entire way to dinner, Logan was aware of the difference in Tate.

Gone was the relaxed flirt, and back was the man he’d found sitting in his living room an hour or so earlier. He’d retreated inside his mind, and Logan wanted in. His problem was he didn’t know if Tate was ready to let him in.

He pulled his Audi R8 into the small parking lot behind his favorite Italian restaurant and parked in the far back corner before turning off the ignition. When the quiet purr of the car silenced and Tate reached for the handle, Logan placed a hand on the man’s thigh.

“Hey?”

Tate glanced his way, and Logan gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“You do whatever you need to do with your family, okay?”

The eyes that narrowed on him made Logan aware that whatever he’d just said had not been the right thing. Tate was pissed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. I want you to do whatever you have to do for this to be right for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, for you. Don’t worry about how this will affect me.”

Tate’s lips tightened as he shook his head. “Fuck you, Logan.” He pushed open the car door and climbed out, slamming it behind him.

Logan sat where he was, stunned.

Fuck me? What the hell did I do?

He pulled the keys out of the ignition and pushed open his car door. After getting out, he shut it, walked around to where Tate was leaning with his ass up against the side of the car, and demanded, “What the hell is your problem?”

The irritated expression on Tate’s face should have warned him to back the hell off, but true to form, he ignored it.

“My problem?” Tate asked.

“Yes, your problem. All I said was—”

“I know what you said,” Tate interrupted, straightening and stepping closer to him. He jabbed a finger against his jacket and spat out, “I’m getting sick and tired of you giving me permission to walk the fuck away. If I wanted to tell you to fuck off, I’m quite capable of opening my mouth and saying the words.”

Wow, okay. Logan hadn’t even been aware that that’s how it had come across.

“First you tell me if I want to deny it, feel free. Now, Tate, do whatever you need to. You know what I need? I need you to eat dinner with me so I can tell you what happened and then suck my dick like you promised. Is that okay with you?”

Logan couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips at the last comment. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”

“Well, congratulations. You’re succeeding anyway.”

Logan’s body responded to the volatile side of Tate as it always did—he hardened in an instant. He walked Tate backwards until his ass was against his car door.

“Okay, Mr. Morrison. Listen closely.” He ran his index finger up the front of Tate’s leather jacket to the collar, where he gripped it and pulled him in so their lips were touching. “Dinner. We’re both going to go in and eat it. Then we’re going to discuss exactly what happened today.”

Tate’s hand flattened on his chest, and he nodded. “Good.”

Logan moved a hand to the back of Tate’s neck, pulled him forward, and planted a fierce kiss on his mouth. When they pulled apart, his eyes lowered to Tate’s full lips and he added, “Then I’m going to bring you out here, unzip these jeans, and suck you off until you come down my throat.”

Tate said nothing, just licked the mouth Logan couldn’t look away from, so he prodded him.

“Is that okay with you?”

Tate nodded, but there was no way in hell Logan was letting him go without the words.

“Say it.”

Logan felt the hand on his chest trail down and circle his waist under the jacket.

“Yes. That is all okay with me.”

Satisfied, Logan took a step back and was shocked when Tate grabbed his hand. Without another word, he locked the car before entwining their fingers, and then they both walked inside the restaurant.

7.

Tate followed behind Logan as he weaved them through the tables of the small restaurant and stopped in front of one of the booths. They each had red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and glass jars with spices and Parmesan cheese holding up the menus. As he looked around and saw several couples and families seated for dinner, Tate was more than aware that he triple-checked to make sure it was no one he knew and instantly hated himself for it.

“This table cool with you?”

He nodded as Logan sat in one side and he took the other. He grabbed the menu for something to do and opened it, lowering his eyes.

Logan wasn’t an idiot, however, and when he reached across and pulled the menu down, he narrowed his eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to attack you in a family restaurant.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Automatically defensive, Tate stated, “Yes.”

“Could have fooled me. You’re using the menu as a shield.”

Tate lowered the menu. “Am not.”

Logan laughed at the bratty response and raised his own. “Were too.”

Tate raised it again and started to scan the appetizers. The problem was that he wasn’t seeing anything.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation with his mom and her disapproval. “William, you are not gay.” If only she knew how much he’d enjoyed Logan only an hour ago, she’d know how wrong she was. He wasn’t sure if he was gay or bi. All he knew was that thinking about Logan’s hands on his body made his heart jump and his dick hard.

“Good evening. What can I get you two tonight?”

The waiter who stopped by their table snapped Tate out of his thoughts.

“Oh hello, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Hey there, Sam. I’ll take a Heineken and he’ll get—”

“A water,” Tate interjected.

“—while we check out the menu,” Logan finished.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

The waiter left them to their menus, and as they both pretended to read them, Tate couldn’t help peering over his at the suspiciously quiet man across from him.

“Know him well?”

Logan’s eyes found his, and when they crinkled at the sides behind his glasses, Tate knew he was laughing at him.

“Well as in..?”

“As in, does he suck like a Hoover too?”

The loud, booming laugh that came from Logan had Tate glowering at him as he sat back in his seat.

“What? As if it isn’t a possibility. The guy knows your name.”

“He knows my last name. He called me Mr. Mitchell. Even I’m not that kinky. When I fuck someone, he’s gonna scream my name. Not Mr. Mitchell like I’m his father.” Logan informed him in conspiratorial whisper. “Although…can you call me that for the rest of the night? I want to hear how it sounds out of your mouth.”

“You’re a fucking riot, Mr. Mitchell. How does he know you?”

“I like this restaurant. I come here a lot. But I have to say, I kind of wish it weren’t the case. This whole possessive side of yours is fucking hot.”

“You’re demented.”

“And you get all red when you’re jealous,” Logan chuckled.

Tate scowled at his own stupidity and focused on choosing a meal. He finally settled on the gnocchi and put the menu at the edge of the table as Sam delivered their drinks. They both ordered, and when Logan asked for the bruschetta with the spices mixed on the side to-go, Tate figured he wasn’t hungry.

“So…” Logan prompted.

Tate knew what he wanted and tried to decide how to start. In the end, headfirst seemed the best option.

“Diana was the one who called her.”

Logan picked up his beer, but before it met his lips, he muttered, “Bitch.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my thought too.”

“How the hell did you marry that?”

Tate shrugged. “She wasn’t always like this.”

Logan’s brow winged up as if he doubted it. Then he took a sip and lowered his beer to the table.

“Well, since we’re on the subject of her, you should know she pulled her case from Cole. You’ll likely get the paperwork in the mail in a few days, but it basically means you’ll have to start all over.”

Tate stared at the glass of water in front of him. Christ, he wished it were vodka or tequila—something other than fucking water.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Yeah. I’m thinking her pride was—”

“Fuck her pride,” Tate spat out.

“I’d rather not fuck anything of hers, if it’s all the same.”

As Logan’s words met his ears, Tate couldn’t help his grin. “Well that’s good to know at least. She’s not exactly ugly.”

“That depends. At first glance, I’d agree with you. She’s beautiful—until she opens her mouth. Then you see just how ugly she is.”

Again, Logan had surprised him. Now Tate was wondering how he compared to Diana in Logan’s eyes, and as he looked across the table, he couldn’t help but ask.

“So if she and I were sitting at the table next to yours, who would you—”

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no question. There’s been no fucking question since I saw you.” When he couldn’t find any words, Logan asked, “Do you doubt it?”

Tate raised the glass to his mouth, embarrassed until Logan’s foot found his under the table, connecting them both.

“No,” he finally said past the lump in his throat.

If Logan’s actions hadn’t convinced him, the look in his eyes did. It screamed, ‘I want you.’

“Good. Because like I said, this is a family restaurant. They don’t condone public displays of inappropriate behavior.”

Tate scoffed. “Good to know.”

“Yes. For now, you’re safe. But that rule only applies to the inside of the restaurant. In the parking lot…you’re fair game.”

At that small reminder, Tate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes for a minute to collect his thoughts.

“Tell me what else happened today,” Logan encouraged.

He opened his eyes to find Logan sitting back with his arms crossed. Tate knew he had to start talking if they were going to move past it—and he wanted to move on, to put this behind them.

“Well, you know Diana called my mom.”

“Right. So I’m assuming your mom didn’t take it well, since she thinks I corrupted you. Which I—”

“Don’t even,” Tate managed. “And no, she didn’t take it well.”

Logan waited silently, and Tate could tell nothing would be said until he said it.

“She asked me if I was dating a man. I told her that I was.” His eyes stayed locked on Logan’s, as if daring him to disagree, but when he said nothing, Tate’s bravado left him. “Is that okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“That I said we were dating?”

Logan’s smile was genuine when he nodded, and Tate was surprised that there seemed to be no underlying humor—just sincerity.

“She also asked me how it happened.”

Logan’s face was almost comical as his eyes widened, and Tate couldn’t help playing him a little.

“I told her you wouldn’t leave me alone, cornered me in a conference room, and kissed me so hard I had a bruised mouth for days.”

Logan’s foot rubbed up the inside of his leg as he said in a gruff voice, “You did not. Nice try though.”

Tate’s humor disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when he thought back to his real response and his mother’s reaction.

“She doesn’t understand how it happened. How I could be with a man when I used to be married to a woman.”

As the words tumbled from his mouth, even Tate had to wonder how the shift had occurred. How was it that he was able to accept and understand that he was now with a man?

Because it’s happening to me? Or because it’s Logan?

He had no fucking clue, and when Logan asked, “What did you tell her?” he still had nothing.

“Okay, guys,” the waiter said as he stopped by their table, thankfully saving him. He placed a paper bag in front of Logan and a white plate in front of him. “Is there anything else?”

When they both indicated there wasn’t, he turned, leaving them once again in that heavy, familiar silence.

“What else did she say?” Logan finally asked.

Tate reached for the cheese and covered his pasta in it. “She doesn’t want me to come over this Sunday.”

“Are you sure she just doesn’t want me there?” Logan asked as he lifted his beer and took a swig.

Stabbing a piece of gnocchi with his fork, Tate shrugged. “Same difference.”

“Not really.”

He shoveled several more forkfuls in his mouth—holy shit, he’d been hungry—and suddenly, the fury he’d felt earlier began to surface.

“I told her I wanted you two to meet, and you know what she said to me?” When Logan didn’t respond, Tate continued. “She said she never wanted to meet you. Never. Who says that?”

Pulled back into his own anger, Tate was too far gone to realize how uncomfortable Logan looked and kept on with his disgust.

“She didn’t even bother to listen to my side of the story. Just took Diana’s version as usual and believed her. Jesus, that woman needs to get the hell out of my life already. It isn’t like I’m asking them to sit there and watch us make out. I just want her to meet you for fuck’s sake.”

“Tate?”

“What?” he snapped as his fork hit the edge of the plate with a clanging sound.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. If she just met you—”

“She’d probably feel exactly the same way.”

Logan knew what Tate was trying to do. He was trying to convince himself that, if his mother met him, things would be different, but Logan was smart enough to know better.

Tate had told him on their first date that he’d been brought up Catholic. That didn’t bode well when it came to his family understanding that he now liked getting naked with a man.

In fact, it had disaster written all over it, which was why he hadn’t wanted to meet them in the first place. He’d only agreed to appease Tate, but right now, Tate seemed anything but appeased.

“What did you say?”

“I’m just saying, even if they met me, they’d probably still feel the same.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s a great attitude, Logan.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic.”

He watched Tate spear some more food and stuff it into his mouth. He chewed it as if he were trying to kill it and then pointed his fork at him.

“If you don’t want to go Sunday, just say it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You might as well.”

Logan leaned forward and pinned Tate with a look that screamed, ‘Shut the fuck up’ as he told him in a serious voice, “If I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t have said I would. Got it? I’m just saying that things may not turn out the way you want them to. Even after they meet me.”

Tate glared across the table at him and then sighed, sitting back in his seat. “It’ll work out. My mom’s just in shock. She loves everyone.”

Logan had his doubts. He knew he could be a charming bastard, but from the consternation on Tate’s face, he suspected winning over the Morrisons would take more than a fruit platter and flowers.

“Okay then. So we’ll go, and I’ll charm their pants off.”

“Hilarious, Logan.”

“I try.”

He sat back in his seat and played with the label on his beer as he thought about how to best approach this next particular topic.

“Speaking of family and doing things as a couple…”

Tate’s eyes found his, and Logan couldn’t believe how strange that felt to say—a couple. So far, Tate hadn’t contradicted him.

“Cole and I have this work function in a month or so.” Shit, I’m even talking about the future. Tate didn’t reply, and Logan figured that he needed to spell it out for the guy. “I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

With his fork halfway to his mouth, Tate halted his movements, and then he slowly lowered it back to his plate. “Go with you? As in your…”

Oh fuck these nerves. “As in my date.”

Tate sat back in his seat and frowned. “Logan…I don’t know—”

“It’s okay,” he was quick to interrupt. “It was a stupid idea anyway. I told Cole I’d ask, and now I have.”

God, he was an idiot. He’d known Tate wasn’t ready for that, and just hearing him say no was enough to…Yeah, fucking hurt.

“It’s just—”

“Tate, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

And honestly, I don’t want you to.

Trying to move on so he wouldn’t have to think about the rejection, Logan asked, “What about game night this Friday?”

“Game night?”

“Yeah. Cole and Rachel are having game night with the family and need two extra people. She invited us.”

Tate’s mouth quirked to the side, apparently more than happy to be sidetracked. “You don’t strike me as the type to attend game night.”

“I’m not,” he agreed. “But Cole guilted me into it.”

“How’d he do that?”

“He used the pregnant wife card.”

Finished with his meal, Tate pushed his plate away. “Ahh yes. It works every time.”

“So? Will you come? It’s just a few people.”

Tate thought about it for a minute and then nodded. “Sure. What kind of games are we talking here?”

“Hell if I know. But if the Twister mat comes out, I’m getting the fuck out of there.”

“No shit,” Tate laughed. Then he indicated the paper bag sitting in front of him. “Not hungry?”

Logan made sure he had Tate’s full attention as he packed into his response all of the sexual innuendo he could manage. “Oh, I’m starving. You done?”

“Yeah. I got it though. You didn’t even eat.” Tate raised his hips and stuffed a hand into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet.

Logan could watch him do that over and over and not get sick of the action. Tate knew it too, because the fucker took his time when he saw him watching and winked playfully. Once he had the wallet, he pulled out several bills, put them on the table, and then slid out of the booth.

“You better eat whatever’s in there.”

Logan drew a cross over his heart and told him with a smirk, “Promise.”

He grabbed the bag and stood, following Tate out to the parking lot.

All of this serious talk had left him with one goal in mind—reminding Tate that he was with exactly the right person, and that just happened to be him.

8.

Tate was aware of Logan’s eyes on him as he made his way out to the dark lot. He could feel the sexual tension humming between them. He had from the moment he’d reached for his wallet and Logan’s eyes had dropped below his belt. Add to that Logan’s deviant smile and the promise to eat his meal and, yeah, Tate was certain he wasn’t the only one feeling the temperature on this cool Chicago night rise.

The subjects at dinner had been difficult. Topics that weren’t conducive to seduction. His family situation was a mess. One that needed to be sorted out as soon as possible, because the longer it was left, the longer it would fester.

Then there was Logan’s request. He wondered if Logan really was okay with the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to attend a work function as his date. He’d quickly brushed it aside, but Tate had a feeling that he’d unintentionally hurt Logan, even as he’d sworn that he didn’t care.

They were almost to the car when he felt Logan close on his heels.

“You know that hole in your jeans? The one at the back of your right thigh?”

Tate knew which one. His favorite jeans were well worn and had several holes but all in places he could still get away with. That one wasn’t quite big—

“It’s spread, and every time you take a step, I can see the curve of your ass cheek.”

Tate’s head snapped around as he tried to see his own ass, which was ridiculous, and then his eyes found Logan’s.

“You’re fucking naked under those, aren’t you?”

Stopping at Logan’s car, Tate turned to see that he was right there behind him. “I wanted to make your meal easier to access.”

Logan didn’t stop walking until their bodies met and their jeans were touching. Their faces were so close a breeze would’ve had a hard time getting between them, and when Logan’s hand cupped the denim concealing his excited cock, Tate brought both of his hands up to Logan’s arms to steady himself.

While Logan massaged him, Tate closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly. The second he did it, Logan’s lips were there, kissing up the side of his neck until he was at his ear.

“Get in the car and unzip your jeans. I’m fucking hungry.”

With a final squeeze, Logan released him and stepped away. He licked his full bottom lip, and the scorching heat in those eyes had Tate turning and reaching for the car door quicker than he’d thought possible.

When he lifted the handle and nothing happened, he felt Logan’s body press up against the back of his, trapping him between the car door and himself. Logan fit his hard erection against his ass, and Tate couldn’t help rubbing back against it.

Fuck, it feels good.

Logan felt good, and Tate didn’t give a shit if they were standing in a private bedroom or a public parking lot—he needed release and he needed it now.

“Logan,” he groaned, and then the car beeped and the doors unlocked.

“Sorry,” Logan told him, his voice gruff. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Tate tried the door again, and this time, it opened without issue. He climbed inside, shut himself in the cozy interior, and then quickly unfastened and unzipped the denim.

Before Logan even reached his side of the car, Tate was working his hard-as-hell cock in his hand. With his head back on the headrest and his eyes watching Logan’s approach, he couldn’t help but suck in an excited breath when the door opened and the interior light, once again, lit him up like a sex performer.

Logan slid inside and removed his glasses, placing them on the dash while he checked him out. Tate wasn’t sure why that was making his entire body tremble, but it was. He meant business. And his business right this second is going to be sucking me. Hell fucking yes…That was definitely it, because with no provocation on his behalf—just having Logan there watching him—Tate had to fight back an orgasm.

His hips arched up off the seat as the light inside the car dimmed, and he heard the bag Logan’s food was in crinkle as he placed it down somewhere.

Tate could just make out the sharp angles and lines of the man beside him.

“Jesus, Tate. You’re lucky I had my cock in you earlier, because I don’t think I’d be able to keep it out of you otherwise.”

The words, the image, and the deep, seductive timbre of Logan’s voice all pushed the right buttons for him, ramping up his need. Then Logan took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned his head so they were eye to eye.

“I want your jeans around your ankles.”

Tate could feel his chest rise and fall as if he were running a marathon. The explicit instruction left him speechless, but he didn’t need words, just actions. He raised his hips again and released his flesh to do as requested, and the second he was free, Logan’s hand wrapped around his rigid length.

“Ahh…”

Logan leaned across the console until their noses brushed and their lips barely touched. “Ankles, Tate. Now.”

Tate touched his tongue to Logan’s mouth, and as if he couldn’t help himself, Logan let his own tongue slip out to taste before retreating.

“Stop teasing, and hurry the fuck up. I want you in my mouth.”

“God.”

Logan pressed the lever on Tate’s seat, lowering it. He then sat back up, making Tate almost reach for him, but he quickly decided to shove his jeans down instead. He heard the rustling of paper but thought nothing of it, and when the denim was finally around his ankles, he stretched out. Before his back was even against the leather seat, Logan was there.

When their mouths connected, Tate opened to let the impatient man in.

Logan didn’t waste a second as he slid his tongue inside to rub against his own, causing Tate to grunt and reach up to grab the guy for something to ground himself. But Logan wasn’t done with obliterating his brain cells, because he reached down between them to where Tate was at full mast and wrapped—What the fuck?—warm, slick fingers around him.

Tate yanked his mouth free. “What’s on your fucking hand?”

Logan’s lips found his. His mouth curved as if he had a secret, and clearly, he did. Again, he glided that smooth, slippery fist up Tate’s throbbing flesh.

“Tell me,” Tate demanded as Logan continued to manipulate him.

Logan pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth and stroked him again before answering. “Olive oil and spices, one of my favorite dipping sauces. My soon-to-be absolute favorite.”

Tate almost stopped breathing for a second as the words fell into place with Logan’s to-go order. Bruschetta was always served with—

“So you didn’t really want the bruschetta?”

Logan’s tongue drew a path along his jaw to his ear. “No, I wanted the oil. But I thought it may be conspicuous to ask for it on its own.”

He gave another torturous pull of his flesh, and Tate’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head.

“Holy shit.”

A deep, throaty rumble echoed through the interior of the car as Logan’s grip loosened and he ordered roughly, “Spread your legs, Tate.”

Tate’s entire body tensed at the demand, but he did as he’d been told and kicked one side of his jeans off his ankle and spread his thighs apart.

“Fucking perfect.”

Christ, Tate thought as those two words were rasped in his ear and that damn rustling sound was made again.

Is that more oil? Sleek, playful fingers then dipped down and smoothed over his balls. It sure fucking is.

Tate wasn’t sure how to stop himself from hyperventilating as he watched Logan bend down over the center console and then felt a wet tongue circle the head of his cock.

He quickly glanced out the tinted windows and wondered for a millisecond what would happen if someone saw them, but then Logan’s lips opened and he swallowed him inside, and Tate forgot to think at all.

Logan exhaled through his nose and lowered his lips over Tate’s thick length.

Jesus, the guy is fucking hard.

The sound that ripped from Tate’s throat as Logan took him between his lips made his own cock throb. It was clear to him that Tate had let go and was enjoying this to its fullest. When strong fingers tangled in the strands of his hair, Logan closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling.

The oily slick on his fingers was doing exactly what Logan wanted it to, allowing his fingers to slip and slide over Tate’s balls with the greatest of ease. When he drew his lips up to the wide, bulbous head, he circled the base of Tate’s erection and squeezed, causing a loud expletive to leave Tate’s mouth.

Logan couldn’t wait to taste him when he exploded on his tongue, and he knew Tate was gonna fucking explode. From the low, guttural sounds he was pulling from him to the way Tate was flexing his fingers, Logan knew Tate was as pent up as he was.

Add in the excitement of getting blown in public and the finger he was going to…Ahh yes, Logan thought as he drew a finger down past Tate’s balls to his ass. Let me in. He was going to suck Tate’s fucking brains out his cock.

Lifting his head, Logan moved up until he was at Tate’s mouth, where he sucked his bottom lip between his own and then crushed their mouths together. When Tate gripped his jacket, pulling him closer, Logan pushed his fingertip firmer against his tight, little hole. Then his tongue glided into Tate’s mouth, and Logan finally pushed his finger inside Tate.

Tate’s hips snapped upward, and Logan drove his finger deeper as he lifted his mouth.

“You like that? I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know you love having me in your ass, Tate.”

The eyes focused on him in the dim light were heavy with arousal, and the swollen lips that were shiny and parted looked as if they had been wrapped around his cock, sucking him off.

“You only have to do one thing,” Logan told him as he continued moving the hand he had burrowed between Tate’s legs. “I’m going to suck you and fuck you until you come. Your only job? Don’t make a mess in my car. Keep it right here, in my mouth. Got it?”

Logan reached down to his own pants and unzipped them so his painful erection had some kind of freedom. He knew the second he had Tate on his tongue and down his throat, he was going to need his own fucking release. When Tate widened his legs and angled his body, Logan heard him finally speak—and the words almost killed him.

“I can’t wait to give your mouth a reason to be so fucking dirty.”

At the last second, Logan’s eyes found Tate’s as he gripped the sides of his head and pushed him down so he was forced to shut the hell up and take his cock between his lips.

Tate didn’t dare close his eyes as he watched Logan the best he could in the dark car. He lowered his lips over him and continued to thrust his finger in and out of his ass, and the raw eroticism from the act coupled with the risk of being caught was building in him an orgasm that felt fucking epic.

The words that had come out of Logan’s mouth about sucking him and fucking him had pretty much used up what little self-control he’d had left, and then Logan had unzipped and Tate knew he didn’t have long.

He could hear the sucking sounds echoing in the car, and when Logan drew his lips to the tip of his cock and tongued the glans, Tate gripped his head between his hands harder than he knew he should and shoved his cock as far as he could into the greedy mouth. He felt Logan cough slightly, and the vibration around his cock was all it took.

The finger in his ass hit the right spot, and Tate felt his balls tighten as he shouted out Logan’s name and came hard on his tongue.

Logan swallowed every fucking drop he’d given and was now lightly sucking his sensitive skin as he withdrew his hand from between his legs.

“Fuck,” he sighed as Logan raised his head and wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Well at least let me drive us home first.”

“Jesus. I can’t even think,” Tate admitted as Logan straightened, sat back in his seat, and grabbed his own erection.

Tate sat up and adjusted his seat before his eyes fell to Logan’s hand, watching him wrap it around his hard-on and stroke.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Watch me.”

Tate’s eyes flew up to meet his, and Logan gave him a shameless fucking smile.

“It’ll only take a minute, with you sitting there all sexed out.”

Tate felt a smirk of his own cross his mouth as his eyes trailed back down to Logan’s hips, which were pumping and thrusting his thick cock through his fingers.

“Sexed out?”

“Yeah. All satisfied from being worked over. From having my mouth and fingers all over you…in you. You look so damn hot as hell and it makes me want to fuck you so bad.”

How in the hell is it possible that my cock is twitching? Tate thought as Logan continued talking and fucking his own hand.

“Your tight ass gripping my finger, the sounds you make as your delicious cock explodes down my throat. Yeah, Tate. You’re all kinds of sexed out. By me.”

Tate turned toward the bag he knew the oil was in. Not even a cop knocking on the window would’ve stopped him as he grabbed it, stuck his hand inside, and yep, found the plastic container with warm fucking oil.

He dipped his fingers inside and then placed the bag down on the floor before he leaned, ass bare, across the car to wrap his fingers around Logan’s. He let their mouths connect, figuring that he must be as dirty as Logan, because he wanted to taste himself on Logan’s lips.

He shoved his tongue into Logan’s mouth and felt the fingers under his leave to grab his face.

As Tate tightened his slippery fingers, Logan began to devour his mouth.

He barely did a thing as Logan fucked his cock through his fist, his hips finding a rapid pace before he ripped his mouth away, and rested his head back against the seat. The profanity coming from Logan’s mouth aroused Tate to a point where he wanted to hear his name shouted when Logan came—and he was close. Tate could tell by the way his breathing had quickened.

He watched, as Logan’s hips snapped up and his head strained back against the seat. When their eyes connected and one of Logan’s hands reached down to enclose his fingers tightly around him, Tate heard his name fall from those crude lips as thick jets of come shot from Logan and coated their hands.

Everything about the exchange had been raw and emotional, and as he stared across at Logan, all he could think was how fucking sexy it’d been.

Am I gay? He wasn’t sure.

It was Logan he was attracted to, not other men, but what did that mean? Maybe he was bi. Who the hell cares in the end? Do we have to label it?

He wanted Logan, and that was good enough for him.

9.

It just turned eight on Friday night when Logan made his way down to the lobby of his building. He buttoned up the black leather jacket he’d invested in when Tate and his motorcycle had ridden into his life.

He really didn’t like the idea of getting on that deathtrap again, but he’d grudgingly agreed since Tate had made it a nonnegotiable clause in tonight’s activities. It was cool this evening, and the thought of zooming through the busy streets of Chicago with the wind whipping around him did nothing to excite Logan. It just made him wish that Cole lived in the same damn building he did.

Tate had called yesterday to let him know that Amelia had taken his shift and he’d be able to make it to—yep, game night. When the elevator stopped, Logan stepped out and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked toward the front entrance. He pushed open the glass doors to the main street, where they’d agreed to meet, and then moved aside to lean against the brick wall of his building and wait.

It had been a couple of days since he’d gone to dinner with Tate. Each of them seemed to understand that they needed a bit of distance after that explosive evening in his car, which was another reason Tate had suggested his bike. His explanation: He didn’t want to cause an accident by reminding Logan of the last time they’d been together in his vehicle—as if he’d ever fucking forget.

That was okay with Logan though. He understood that Tate might need some time. He’d even accepted that he might be thinking over the choices he was about to make.

He didn’t like it, but he’d accepted it.

His train of thought was soon interrupted by the purr of Tate’s supercharged Suzuki as he watched Tate zip through several cars and pull to a stop at the pick-up location of his building.

Logan remained where he was and waited as Tate removed the red helmet from his head. He then shook those sexy-as-fuck curls from his face, and Logan momentarily forgot his aversion to motorcycles.

Christ. He might die on the back of that thing, but Logan had to believe it would be worth it to get close to that man. He was pure sex when straddling that machine—kind of like when he was naked and straddling him.

Logan pushed away from the building and strolled toward the edge of the road. When Tate spotted him, he placed the helmet between his spread thighs and smiled in a way that made Logan’s heart race.

He wanted to see that smile every day, and that scared the shit out of him.

“Hey.”

Logan let his eyes travel the length of the bike and then raised a skeptical brow.

“If you want me on the back of that again, you better have something more than, ‘Hey.’”

Tate kicked down the bike stand and swung his leg—Are you fucking serious? He’s wearing leather pants too—over the back of the bike. He then stepped up onto the pavement so they were eye to eye before running a hand down the front of Logan’s jacket.

“You look hot in leather.”

“Me? Look at your fucking pants.”

Tate glanced down his body and then brought his eyes back to meet his. “I wear them for protection. You like?”

“So much I’m barely decent.”

Tate’s rumbling laughter mocked him as he invited in a husky voice, “Want to peel me out of them later?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hmm,” Tate mused and then leaned in, disagreeing in his ear. “I don’t think so. Tonight it’s my turn, and I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

Logan couldn’t help the frustrated sound that left him as he twisted his head so he could smell the cologne clinging to Tate’s skin. “Oh? So we’re taking turns now?”

Tate brushed a kiss across his mouth, and Logan felt it all the way to his toes.

“It’s only fair, wouldn’t you say? Now get on the bike, or we’ll be late.”

Well, how’d you like that? A whole fucking lot, according to his dick.

Without another word, Logan took the helmet Tate handed him and climbed on the back. The sooner they got done with game night, the sooner they could play.

Around twenty minutes later, they stepped into an elevator and Tate waited as Logan pressed Cole’s floor. As it began its ascent, Tate leaned against the sidewall and really took in the man standing across from him now that they were under the lights.

Logan had unbuttoned his jacket, so a strip of blue showed when he pushed his hands into his pockets. He had his glasses on, and his eyes were piercing as they watched him silently in their close confines.

His jeans looked expensive, probably brand-name since even his sweatpants were Armani, but that was something Tate admired about Logan. He never flaunted his wealth, and he certainly never made him feel as if he were beneath him…except when he really was.

“What’s that smile for?”

Tate hadn’t even realized he was smiling, but he figured he might as well be honest.

“I was thinking about how it feels when I’m under you.”

Logan shook his head as though he didn’t understand. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

Tate frowned, wondering what he’d said wrong. “No. Why?”

Logan reached down, bold as ever, and rearranged what Tate now realized was a solid erection.

“Because that’s the only reason I can think of that you’re hell-bent on torturing me tonight.”

Tate would never admit it, but the fact that he could affect Logan so strongly thrilled him unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted Logan to have that knowledge.

Which got him wondering...Would Logan admit to his weakness?

“Is that what I’m doing? Torturing you?”

“Yes.”

And there it was—the power.

That one word—yes—not only agreed with him, but also gave permission for Tate to continue doing what he was doing.

It was a rush to know that he was in control.

“Logan?” he asked, and when Logan said nothing, just waited quietly, Tate found a hell of a lot more than a sexual connotation on the tip of his tongue.

He wanted to tell him that he felt the same. That every minute they were together, this fierce attraction he was feeling was transforming into something completely different, something much deeper than he’d ever expected.

“I want you to know—” he started, but he stopped as the elevator sounded, indicating that they’d reached their destination.

Tate quickly took advantage of the moment and walked out into the hall. He was about to ask where he needed to go when he felt a hand on his arm.

He turned, and as the doors slid closed behind Logan, he asked, “You want me to know what?”

Tate thought about the words he’d wanted to say in the security of a safe space, but out here in the open, with Logan’s curious eyes staring him down, he couldn’t quite speak the words.

“I have no idea. I forgot what I was saying.”

Logan walked by, and gave a doubtful look, “You’re a terrible liar,” before he continued down the cream-colored hall.

Tate turned and followed him to the end, taking a deep breath when Logan raised a hand and knocked. He was about to meet Logan’s family.

Actually, that isn’t right, he thought as the door swung open and a tall, dark-haired guy greeted Logan. The same man then turned a friendly smile toward him and held out a hand.

“Hi. I’m Mason, Rachel’s brother.”

I’m meeting Rachel and Cole’s family as…

“You must be Tate? Logan’s boyfriend.”

Well, that clears that right up.

Logan held back the laugh that threatened when Mason Langley inadvertently gave both him and Tate one hell of a wake-up call. They’d both been tiptoeing around labels and naming exactly what they wanted from one another, but with one simple word—boyfriend—Mason had rendered both of them speechless.

So speechless that they didn’t even deny it.

“Come in,” he invited and stepped aside.

The guy was tall—at least six foot three, maybe more. He would even hazard a guess that he had Cole’s height beat.

“The others are in the living room, and we’re just waiting on Lena and Shelly.”

Logan knew that Lena was Mason’s wife. He’d heard both Cole and Rachel speak of her, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint the other name.

“The girls got caught at work down at University Hospital.”

Finally, Tate spoke up. “What do they do?”

“Lena, my wife, is a pediatrician and Shelly is a pulmonologist.”

Tate whistled, impressed. “Doctors, huh?”

Logan respected the way Tate wasn’t threatened by another’s accomplishments. Many men were prideful when it came to position, money, and power, and even though Tate was essentially starting over after his separation, he never wore that like it defined him. In fact, he never mentioned it at all.

They all wandered down the hall as Mason kept talking.

“Yeah, both are amazing doctors. And both are troublemakers. You’ll see.”

As the three of them stepped into the living room, Logan spotted Cole, who was dressed casually in jeans and a burgundy shirt, in his favored corner chair, with Rachel perched on his lap.

To their left was a man Logan had seen around the office a couple of times—Joshua Daniels, a client and friend of Cole’s who apparently was somehow connected to the rest of these people.

Logan wondered what was going through Tate’s mind as he surveyed the crowd that was currently staring at them, but before he could check, Rachel hopped off Cole’s lap and made a beeline for them.

“Logan,” she greeted with a smile so bright that it almost outshined her pink leopard-print skirt. She then looked at Tate and seemed to light up even more if that were possible. “Hi. I’m so glad you both came.”

“Who could resist game night?” Logan asked dryly, wincing when Rachel swatted his arm.

“It’s going to be fun. Right?” she asked Tate and sidled in close to his arm.

Like everyone who met Rachel, Tate immediately fell for her vibrant personality and warm way of making you feel at home. He flashed that easygoing grin Logan was a sucker for and replied good-naturedly, “I’m sure it will be.”

“See, Logan?” she told him as she stuck her tongue out and slipped an arm through the crook of Tate’s arm. “I think you should be on my team. You want to win, right?”

Tate’s laughter filled the room with Rachel’s, and even though Logan knew it was all for fun, he wanted Tate on his team, damn it. Luckily for him, and before he made an idiot out of himself and actually said that, Cole wandered over to them and stopped by his side.

“You made it. I have to say, I was almost convinced a stomach virus was going to break out in your building tonight.”

Logan shrugged out of his jacket and faced his brother. “You know, I heard something like that was going around. But I knew if I didn’t show tonight that I’d have an even bigger pain to deal with on Monday.”

Cole clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad you’re smart enough to take preventative measures then.”

“You are serving alcohol, right?”

Cole chuckled and nodded. “Yes. Your usual? Or are you driving?”

Logan glanced at his designated driver, who still had Rachel wrapped around his arm.

“Go ahead. I promise to get you home safely.”

The sappy look that crossed Rachel’s face would have been comical if Tate’s smart-ass comment had nothing to do with that damn bike and his dislike of it.

“Why don’t you all go take a seat and I’ll bring it in. What about you, Tate?” Cole asked as he walked toward the kitchen.

“Just a Coke, please.”

“Gotcha. Rachel seems to have claimed you, so I’ll leave her to make the introductions.”

Logan walked into the living space he knew almost as well as his own and took a seat on the double couch. When Rachel finally released Tate’s arm, Logan waited to see where he would go, and without hesitation, he walked over to where the seat beside him was empty and sat.

“Well, you guys just met Mase,” Rachel said as she sat down on the arm of her brother’s chair. “He runs the restaurant Exquisite downtown.”

“Which we both own,” Mason added, and Rachel automatically reached out and touched his shoulder.

“He also happens to be the father of an amazing little girl, Catherine.”

“You’re not biased or anything?” Mason joked with his sister.

“Well, she is amazing. Just like her aunt.”

That was when the other occupant of the room piped up. “Yeah, she dresses funny like her aunt also.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel brushed him off. “The quiet one there is Josh. His daughter Savannah is an angel. Looks and acts like one. The kids are having a play date tonight with the babysitter. Josh, this is Logan Mitchell, Cole’s brother and partner at the firm. And this is his boyfriend, Tate.”

There’s that word again, Logan thought as he felt Tate shift on the couch beside him. What is he thinking?

“Did you just say I was the quiet one?” Josh asked, oblivious to any discomfort in the room. “Who can get a word in edgewise in this group? Between you three women and the little women now in the mix, please tell me when the men are supposed to talk. Hey, Cole? Think you could do us a favor and have a boy?”

“Cole has already done his part in deciding if it’s a boy or a girl, thank you very much.”

“Yes. I participated in the fun part,” Cole called from the kitchen.

Logan heard Tate chuckle beside him, and turned to see he was looking at Mason wince.

Aww, poor guy.

“There’s nothing worse than hearing about your sibling’s sex life, am I right?”

Mason tried to shrug it off. “I should be used to it. Cole isn’t exactly subtle, and neither is Rach.”

Logan shook his head and leaned back on the couch, stretching his arm behind Tate, so that his fingers grazed his back. He felt Tate straighten and spoke in a soft but serious tone.

“Cole and I have never been good at subtle.” Tate gave him a look that screamed, ‘No shit,’ so he continued. “It’s probably the reason we both turned out to be lawyers. We see what we want—and take it.”

Josh smacked a hand on his thigh and laughed loudly. “Oh my God. He is definitely related to Cole.”

“I just said that when I was being overly chatty,” Rachel pointed out with an I-told-you-so roll of the eyes.

Josh winked at her fondly. “As if you are ever anything other than chatty.”

Logan watched the exchange, realizing that it was almost as familiar as his own with Cole. Josh was most definitely a part of this family, and Logan was curious how other than by knowing his brother.

He was also the most casual and relaxed-looking one of the group. He was wearing faded blue jeans, work boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt, with his brown hair pushed behind his ears, and as Logan sat there listening to them talk, it finally dawned on him.

“Creative Construction & Remodeling Company, right?”

“The one and only,” Josh agreed, sitting back on the couch.

“I knew your face was familiar. I was trying to work out from where.”

Tate made a sound beside him, and when Logan turned his way, he covered it with a cough, but not before Logan took note.

Oh no, he didn’t know Josh like that.

“Yeah. Cole’s been my lawyer for years. I recognized your name from my invoices.”

“Ahh. Then I’ll try not to be insulted that you chose to go with him when clearly I’m the best when it comes to the business contracts.”

“And he’s clearly modest too,” Cole interjected as he wandered into the room holding two glasses. He handed one to him and the other to Tate before moving back to his original seat. “So we’re just waiting on the girls?”

“Yeah. Shelly text me around fifteen minutes ago. They should be here soon.”

Logan raised his glass and was about to take a sip of his gin and tonic when Rachel asked again, “So, Tate? You are going to be on my team, yes?”

Logan knew she was asking as a way to include Tate, and he loved her for that, but when he saw Tate nod and agree…he hated her for it too.

“Sure. You might want to tell me what we’re playing first,” he teased.

Logan finally took that sip of his drink and saw Mason and Josh talking before he looked across the room at Cole, who was smirking at him.

The asshole knew he was jealous.

Jealous of fucking Rachel.

“Pictionary.”

Tate’s laughter made his arm rub against his own, and Logan faked a really fantastic smile when he heard, “I’m not a great artist.”

Rachel, unaware of his irrationality replied with, “We will just have to become one mind then,” and Logan lost his cool.

Fuck this, he thought, and stood.

“I’ll be right back.”

He felt Tate’s hand on his leg, and when he glanced down, concerned eyes met his.

“Everything okay?”

Even though it was childish and he felt like a fucking moron, Logan wanted to stomp his foot and tell Tate, “No, everything is not okay.” He was there as his date, damn it, and he was supposed to be his partner in…yes, Pictionary.

“Everything’s fine, but I felt my phone buzz.” Total goddamn lie. “I’m going to step outside for a minute.”

Tate removed his hand, and even though he knew he was being a dick, Logan stepped around him.

He was about to turn away when he noticed Cole still watching him and tapping the side of his cheek, and again, Logan thought, asshole.

This time though, as he left the room, he wasn’t sure if he meant Cole or himself.

10.

Tate remained seated on the couch that had been vacated by Logan. He was confused.

He thought back to what he’d just said and then stared across the room to Cole, who was watching him closely. Mason and Josh were discussing something involving their wives, and when Cole raised a glass to him in mock salute, he said something that would’ve knocked him on his ass had he been standing.

“He’s jealous. Give him a moment and he’ll come around.”

Tate immediately shook his head. There was…“No way.”

Cole took a sip of his drink and nodded. “Trust me. That, my friend, was the green-eyed monster leaving the room.”

“But—”

“I know my brother, and I’ve only seen him act that ridiculous once before.”

Cole placed a hand on Rachel’s leg and stroked it. She looked down at him, and her lips tightened with concern.

“I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Cole thought that was hilarious. His mouth split into a wide grin and his laughter boomed around the room.

“Oh you didn’t upset him, but I’m pretty sure you just opened his eyes.”

Tate didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t want Logan upset either. He stood and smoothed his hands down his pants, about to go and look for him when Rachel spoke.

“By the way, Tate, I love your pants.”

Usually he would’ve winked and thanked her, but the comment made him think of Logan, and now he just wanted to find the guy. He smiled quickly and excused himself with one thing in mind—locating Logan and knocking some sense into him.

Logan stepped out of Cole and Rachel’s condo and into the main hall, trying to remind himself he was a fucking adult.

Jesus, he felt like an idiot.

As if it weren’t bad enough that he had to sit through playing board games all night, now he had to sit across from Tate playing with Rachel, his sister in-law, who he was apparently jealous of. His own stupidity astounded him.

What the hell is the matter with me?

Rachel was pregnant and madly in love with his brother for fuck’s sake.

Logan brought a hand to his face and rubbed a palm over it before he cupped the back of his neck. Then he heard a door open and close behind him, and turned just in time to see Tate step out into the hall.

Logan watched as he checked his left, and when he saw nothing and turned in his direction, Tate’s eyes narrowed and he began walking his way.

Logan faced him as he approached and decided that the best way to deal with this was to deny everything.

“Get everything taken care of?”

It took a moment for him to work out what Tate was referring to, and then he remembered his fabricated story.

“Yes. I called them back. All taken care of.”

Tate didn’t stop walking and actually had Logan backing up until he hit the wall at the far end of the corridor.

“What was it you told me earlier?” Tate asked as he placed his right hand against the wall.

Never one to ever back down, Logan shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Tate’s eyes moved over his face, and Logan could feel his heart beginning to thump hard inside his chest. I’m such a fool for this guy.

“No. I remember. You told me I was a terrible liar.”

“You are,” he agreed, but he shut his mouth when Tate’s other hand came up and caged him in against the wall.

Fuck. This side of Tate, the forceful, take-what-you want side, stroked him in all the right places.

“That may be true, but you know what, Logan? So are you. Why don’t you tell me why you really came out here?”

Logan decided that there wasn’t going to be a better time than right now to try and make his point without sounding like a complete idiot. He lifted both hands and slid them under Tate’s jacket to the middle of his back.

“I needed to—” Logan’s voice left him as Tate lowered his head and his curls brushed the side of his cheek.

“You needed to…” Tate teased right by his ear.

Logan leaned his head back against the wall and lost his train of thought when Tate’s lips sucked on his earlobe.

“What did you need, Logan?”

Right now, he needed to come, but they weren’t discussing that.

“I needed to calm the fuck down.”

Tate raised his head until they were eye to eye. Then Logan watched them widen slightly as if he hadn’t expected him to admit it.

“Because?”

Fine. If he had to admit to his moronic behavior, he was going to do it in a way that hopefully distracted Tate. He shoved away from the wall and turned them slightly, pushing Tate until his back was against the unforgiving surface.

Yes, that’s much better.

Tate put up no resistance as Logan fit his body as close as he could to the one in front of his.

“You’re jealous,” Tate accused softly, but he didn’t stop there. “Not the puff-up-your-chest kind, but the stupid, illogical kind. Am I right?”

God. Just hearing the words made Logan wince. He hated that they were true. They made him vulnerable. So instead of admitting anything, he brought a hand up and took Tate’s chin, holding his face still.

“You make me…”

“Yes?” Tate urged, moving his hips off the wall to bump their lower bodies together.

Logan tilted his head up slightly and touched Tate’s upper lip with his tongue. When Tate opened his mouth, Logan tightened his grip on his chin and turned Tate’s face away. He brought his lips to the side of Tate’s stubbled jaw and gently sank his teeth in.

The guy had him a second away from confessing his very soul right there in the fucking hallway.

“I swear you make me lose my mind. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Logan?”

He put his mouth to Tate’s ear. “Yes?”

“I fucking love that.”

The confession ripped away the last vestiges of politeness he had, and Logan removed his hand to grab Tate’s leather-clad ass. He pulled his hips forward as his mouth found the side of his neck. Logan sucked the skin between his teeth and rubbed his erection against Tate’s thigh.

“You have nothing to be jealous of,” Tate tried reassuring him.

Logan was past thinking rationally though, so when he pressed their mouths together, he confessed boldly, “I don’t fucking care. Even the thought of you with someone else during a simple game of Pictionary makes me insane.”

Both of them froze as the words lingered between them, and Logan knew that he’d just given his entire hand away. He’d finally admitted that this thing between them was so much more than sex.

He wanted this night, this moment where everyone knew Tate was with him, to be real—to be the way their life really was. He wasn’t quite sure how Tate would react, but when his lips were taken in a brutal kiss, that was good enough for him.

As Tate’s tongue slid inside his mouth, Logan kneaded the tight ass in his hands. Damn, he wished they were home. He wanted to do exactly what Tate had suggested earlier and peel him out of those pants—with his teeth.

Logan crushed his body against Tate’s and used him to rub against as he continued to taste the tongue twisting around his own. He could feel Tate’s hard-on trapped behind the leather as he ground it against him, and Logan tried his hardest to keep his hands above clothing.

Tate pulled his mouth away, and when his head fell back against the wall, Logan’s fingers dug into the supple leather. He rested his forehead beside him and sighed, “God, what you do to me is unreal. Fuck, Tate.”

“Later. After Pictionary.”

He brought a hand around to Tate’s cock and palmed him. “Fuck Pictionary.”

Tate’s hips thrust against him as he grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “We need to go back inside.”

“In a minute,” Logan protested. “When I’m done.”

As it was, he was nowhere near done—he was busy being distracted.

So distracted that he didn’t hear the elevator, and he sure as fuck didn’t hear the two women who got out on Cole’s floor.

Tate closed his eyes and tried to think as Logan methodically tore his inhibitions to shreds. He’d had no clue what to expect from tonight, but being introduced as Logan’s boyfriend hadn’t been it. So when it had happened and felt…normal, Tate had let the idea sink in and settle.

This is what it would feel like to be with Logan as a couple.

Tate brought his hands to Logan’s chest and smoothed them over the hard pecs beneath his blue shirt. He felt Logan’s fingers massaging his ass, and Tate couldn’t help clenching it as he undulated his hips harder against the thigh that was now wedged between his own. He grabbed Logan’s waist for a stronger connection, and that was when two female voices met his ears.

“Check it out,” he heard, and he opened his eyes to see a gorgeous blonde woman whack her friend on the arm.

As they walked farther down the hallway, the brunette seemed to realize that she was watching two men. Not only that, but they were in the middle of nearly ripping each other’s clothes off.

“Umm, maybe we should give them a minute.”

Tate doubted a minute would do, especially since Logan hadn’t even noticed that they were being watched yet. He tried to slow Logan down by pushing him away a little, but he was going nowhere. Instead, he traced his tongue up over his Adam’s apple, making him moan.

“Does it really look like a minute is going to end that? In a minute, I'm hoping one is going to get down on his—”

“Shelly!”

Ahh, so this is Shelly and—

Logan finally noticed they had an audience, and Tate almost cursed the fact he’d stopped kissing his neck to face them.

Tate watched the two women come to a stop and had no doubt that the expression on Logan’s face was sexually suggestive. He’d seen that look several times, including one night at After Hours. Logan aroused was hard to fucking resist, and when he aimed that heated stare your way, he might as well be inviting you to join in.

“Sorry, ladies. You know how it is. Once you start, it’s hard to stop.”

Tate remained plastered against the wall, thinking that those words were very fucking accurate as his cock pounded and his heart went insane.

Meanwhile, Logan held a casual conversation.

The brunette seemed almost as mortified as Tate was starting to feel, but the blonde had no issue whatsoever as she pushed past her friend and eyed first Logan and then turned her curious gaze on him.

“You didn’t have to stop. I was more than happy to observe.”

“Oh my God, Shelly. Shut up!”

The blonde looked over her shoulder.

“Please do not pretend you don’t want to see more. I’ve never seen two men together and…just wow.”

Her friend said nothing as Shelly turned back to them both.

“Hi. I’m Shelly, and my embarrassed friend over there is Lena. You must be Logan.”

In true Logan form, he didn’t miss a beat. He took Shelly’s hand, bent down over it, and kissed her fingers.

“And why would you assume that I’m Logan?”

It was the battle of the blue-eyed duo, because the blonde narrowed hers and a devious smile stretched her painted lips. This woman was as confident as Logan himself.

“I’ve only met one other man who barely apologized for having sex in front of me, and that was your brother, Cole. I just didn’t believe Rachel when she said you two were practically cut from the same cloth. With only a few differences.”

As that last sentence left her tongue, Tate watched her eyes move over Logan’s shoulder to meet his own, realizing that he was the difference.

“You’re hot.”

“He’s mine,” Logan was quick to claim, and Tate had no problem with that. Shelly was something else.

She found that extremely amusing. “Don’t worry. He’s safe. Josh is mine. I have a thing for the longer hair.”

Tate remained silent as Logan turned back to him and tracked his eyes over his body before—thankfully—turning away.

“So do I.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” the brunette—Lena—said, stepping around the two arrogant peacocks to make her way over to where he was still against the wall. “I’m Lena, Mason’s wife and Rachel’s sister-in-law. You must be Tate.”

Finally. Here was someone who wasn’t set on making things awkward. Tate smiled and the woman, whose eyes were full of kindness, returned it.

She then told him as confidently as the other two, “Ignore Shelly. She missed the course on how to be subtle and skipped straight to being inappropriate.”

Tate liked Lena instantly.

“That’s okay,” he allowed, and let his eyes find Logan. If you think this embarrasses me…you’re wrong. “I date Logan. Practically everything out of his mouth is inappropriate.”

“Not to mention everything in it,” Logan replied.

Tate smirked at the smartass, and returned his attention to Lena. “See?”

“Well, I’ll apologize for interrupting you both. Shelly and I got held up.”

Tate nodded. “Yeah, your men are waiting on you.”

Lena raised a hand and knocked on the door, pushing it open to let them in. “So, whose team are you on? We should be partners.”

Tate watched the arrogant confidence leave Logan as it was replaced with a disbelieving scowl.

He had to admit that it was a thrill to be wanted by Logan Mitchell.

11.

Logan wandered inside behind Tate and tried to push aside his childish impulse to get jealous all over again.

What’s the matter with me?

“Look who we found out in the hall—” Lena stated as she entered the condo, right before her friend, the blonde bombshell, interrupted.

“Acting as if they were in a much more private environment, I might add.”

Logan heard Tate cough as if he were clearing his throat and decided that he should step in just in case Blondie had anything else to say.

“Well, if certain people announced themselves instead of being peeping toms—”

The sassy doctor, Shelly, turned and raised a brow at him. “Excuse me. I got off an elevator. You were getting off on him.”

“All right, all right,” Josh said as he made his way past Lena, who was shaking her head, to lean in and kiss his wife’s cheek. “Do I need to muzzle you?”

Shelly wrapped her an arm around his neck and turned her face toward him. “I’d like to see you try.”

Josh gave her a kiss that was so intense even Logan had a difficult time pulling his eyes away. Hell, with someone as mouthy as her, you’d have to have a definite way of shutting her up, and from the looks of it, Josh didn’t mind one bit.

“Hey, Langley. Miss me?”

Logan pulled his eyes away from the couple in the center of the room and saw Lena making her way over to her husband.

The way Mason was watching her as she got closer was one of love, adoration, and absolute devotion. There was another man who was truly in love, and he didn’t have one problem letting everyone see it.

When she reached him, Mason stood and towered over her, but she comfortably wrapped her arms around him and tilted her face up for a gentle kiss that clearly relayed just how very much he’d missed her.

“Always. How was your day, Doctor?”

She ran her hand down his chest and then patted it a couple of times. “It was tough, but this is exactly what I need tonight. Did Catherine and Savannah settle down okay?”

“They did. Like two little angels.”

“When they’re sleeping,” Shelly added and had everyone agreeing.

Well, everyone but Logan and Tate. They were still standing and observing.

“So,” Shelly said, dumping her bag on the floor by the couch. “Game night. You.” She pointed directly at Logan. “You’re gonna be on my team.”

Damn, she’s feisty.

“Sorry, Blondie, I’m done playing for your team at this time.”

“Oh? Would you prefer Josh then?”

Logan chuckled at the brazen challenge this woman was dishing out and then turned his eyes on Tate. “Actually, I’d prefer Tate. But since he’s been claimed this evening, maybe I will pair up with you. Somehow, I feel like we should be related.”

“Why’s that? Do people always tell you you’re loud, bold, and totally inappropriate at least once a day?”

That had Cole muttering, “Shit,” and Logan giving her his most wolfish grin.

“Only if I’m acting on my best behavior.”

She leaned into her husband, kissed his cheek, and then held her hand out to Logan. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Logan took it and saw Cole shaking his head as he and Rachel moved them all through to the dining area.

Everyone took a seat, and when Tate sat down beside Rachel, Logan made sure to sit directly opposite him. Shelly snagged the seat beside him. Then Lena and Mason took one end of the table, leaving Josh and Cole facing each other.

“Oh, this is sweet,” Logan said as he looked over to his brother. “You always did try and understand why I liked to play with men. Now, you can find out for yourself.”

Rachel and Shelly burst out laughing as Cole called him a not-so-nice name, and Josh glanced at his wife. She offered a lame, “Sorry?”

Josh rolled his eyes as if he were used to her ways and then moved to the other end of the table and sat beside Cole. “If you play this half as good as you do poker, I don’t mind switching teams for the night.”

Rachel was still giggling along with Tate, but she managed, “Cole, your face is priceless.”

Cole pinned her with his I-don’t-find-this-amusing look, but then his eyes softened and his lips twitched. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do,” she promised and then licked her lips. “It’ll be fun re-converting you to my team, later.”

Logan watched as Cole eyed his wife as though they were the only two in the room, and then Mason cleared his throat.

“Okay, you two. Want to refrain from making out on the table? Let’s play.”

Logan had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying something. He remembered when Cole had told him about Mason’s initial reaction to him and Rachel, and it was hilarious that, all these years later, Mason was still giving Cole shit. It also made Logan happy to know that he wasn’t the only one.

Logan glanced around the room and suddenly found himself forgetting about the fact he wasn’t paired up with who he really wanted.

He was having fun anyway. That was when Tate surprised the shit out of him by putting his foot between his legs and winking at him.

So, we’re playing that game, are we?

Logan clapped his hands and then rubbed them together as he grinned across the table at his date and announced, “Let the games begin.”

Tate loved Logan’s family.

Or is it his extended family?

He wasn’t quite sure, but as he sat there trying to guess what Rachel was attempting to draw, he was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes.

“A horse?” he guessed.

She nodded and then gestured for him to keep going. On the pad of paper in front of her was a stick figure of the common barnyard animal, and then beside that, she’d scribbled out a smaller version.

Tate frowned. “A pony?”

She shook her head and pointed to the first picture again, the big—

“Horse?”

Again, she nodded, and Tate could hear the rest of the group chuckling around the table as she then started to madly circle the small horse.

“Baby horse?”

No.

“Little horse?”

Negative.

Rachel’s eyes flicked to the hourglass and then to him, this time wildly animated as she impersonated her version of a neighing horse.

“I think that he got that it’s a horse, Rach.”

Rachel glared down at her brother, who then started to really laugh, and Tate heard Logan ask, “Is this charades now? I didn’t think we were supposed to make noise or act?”

Tate stared at the two pictures again before it suddenly hit him.

“Shetland pony?”

“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and launching herself around his neck. “Yes.”

Tate hugged her back and looked across the table at Logan, who quipped at the exact same time he did, “That’s what she said.”

The entire room roared then, and Lena stretched an arm out to grab the pad Rachel had been drawing on.

“How on Earth did you get Shetland pony from that?”

Rachel snatched it back and gave her sister-in-law a mock scowl. “Hey. I have talent. Major talent.”

Mason reached out and took the dice. He rolled and then moved his and Lena’s piece five spaces to the category—Difficult.

Looking toward his wife, he smiled and gestured toward the box. “It’s your turn to draw.”

“Why do I always get difficult?”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not touching that at all.”

Lena grumbled, and Tate heard Rachel cackle at her brother.

“Come on, Lena. Let’s see how connected you and Mase are.”

Lena reached out and grabbed her card. Looking at her category, she then peered down the table at the rest of them.

“It’s an All Play. So who’s drawing on each team?”

Tate raised his hand and saw that Logan and Cole were drawing also.

Should be interesting.

Lena started passing the card around, and Tate noticed that his pencil needed sharpening. He looked over to where the sharpener was sitting by Logan and held the pencil in his direction.

“Can you sharpen this for me, please?”

Logan leaned across the table and took the pencil from him. “You want me to play with your pencil, Tate?”

“Hilarious. The sharpener is right by you. You just have to pick it up and slide it in.”

As soon as the words left his mouth and Logan’s quirked into an arrogant line, Tate bit his tongue.

“Really? Did you really just say that to me?”

Feeling more comfortable than ever with Logan and this group, Tate shrugged and nodded. Time to give it to Logan as good as he gives.

“Yeah. Is there a problem? You just line it up…and slide it in.”

“You know, Tate—”

“Don't do it.” Tate cut him off as he moved his foot, the one he’d had sitting between Logan’s feet all night, so his shin bumped Logan’s calf.

“Do what?”

“Say something dirty. I know you're dying to, but just sharpen the pencil.”

Logan picked up the sharpener and made a big show of inserting the tip in the hole.

“Jesus,” Shelly muttered from beside Logan. “I thought Rachel and Cole were bad.”

Tate’s eyes never left Logan’s, and as if Shelly hadn’t even spoken, Logan said, “But being dirty with you is so easy.”

“Kinda like the smartass staring at me?” Tate asked.

He’d forgotten that others were even in the room and was now rubbing his leg against Logan and wishing it were his cock. Logan pulled the pencil out of the sharpener, and when he leaned forward to hand it back, Tate gripped it and waited for him to release it.

“You saying I'm easy?”

Tate grinned across at him and knew that this would drive him nuts, so he moved in and lowered his voice. “No…I'm guessing you're hard. Really fucking hard.”

When Logan’s mouth practically fell open, Tate yanked the pencil from his fingers and sat back in his chair with the smuggest look he’d ever given. Then he glanced around the silent table. All the men were gawking at them and the women were…

“Damn,” Rachel sighed, fanning her face. “I need a drink.”

“I need a cigarette,” Shelly said with a laugh.

Before he even thought about it, Tate reached into his jacket on the back of his chair, grabbed his pack, and threw it across the table.

She laughed as she picked them up, and then Josh finally spoke. “Don’t you even dare.”

And everyone howled with laughter.

Game night was a hit.

Logan’s brother and family were a lot of fun to be around, and as Logan continued watching him from across the table and they all started to play the next round, Tate found himself feeling comfortable.

It made him that much more hopeful that Sunday would go the same way.

It was close to midnight when things started to wrap up, and Logan was shocked—he’d actually had fun. He hadn’t been on Tate’s team all night, but he’d gotten to do the next best thing—watch, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off him.

He was in trouble. So much fucking trouble.

Somewhere between the elevator ride up to Cole’s and this very second, Logan realized exactly what he wanted, and it was all wrapped up in two words—Tate Morrison.

“Ready to admit it yet?”

Logan turned to face Cole, who had stepped beside him.

He raised his glass, draining it silently, and when it was empty, he admitted, “Maybe.”

“Well that’s better than pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Logan placed the glass on the kitchen counter and asked, “Surely I wasn’t this smug when you and Rachel hooked up?”

“You’re right. You were more so,” Cole was quick to reply.

“Were you this terrified?”

“Definitely.”

Logan looked back to where Tate was grinning at something Shelly had just said, and felt his hand shake as he twisted the glass in front of him.

“He’s…”

“Yes?”

“Jesus, you’re a pain.”

Cole put his hands on the counter and pinned him with his most serious of faces. “He’s not Chris, you know.”

Logan knew that, and when Rachel wrapped an arm through Tate’s and hugged him, Logan knew why he was so fucking scared.

“He’s nothing like Chris. He’s making me think about the things I’d decided weren’t for me.” Logan paused, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth. “Almost like I dreamed him up.”

For a moment, a silent understanding stretched between them, and then Cole spoke. “He looks real enough to me. Maybe it’s time you let someone in. You deserve that.” Cole reached for the glass that looked as if it were about to end up on the floor. “You deserve to be happy.”

Tate chose that moment to glance over at them, and when he raised his brows as if to ask, ‘You ready?’ Logan had to wonder…am I?

“Go. Let him take you home. The way you’ve been watching him all night, I’m surprised you made it this long.”

Logan felt his lips quirk to the side as he turned to his brother. “Thanks. I actually had a good night.”

“Even though you can’t draw for shit?”

Logan chuckled. “Next time, tell Rachel we’re playing cards—poker to be exact. You always sucked at that.”

Cole’s mouth curved into a sly smile. “You may be surprised. Didn’t you hear Josh earlier? I’ve improved since college when you used to rob me of my money.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not my fault you didn’t know how to play.”

“Didn’t know how to play what?”

Logan saw Tate come to a stop beside him, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt nervous.

“Poker,” Cole supplied.

Tate bumped their shoulders together. “Of course you know how to play poker. Let me guess. Your specialty was strip?”

Logan had nothing to say for a change. He just held out his hand. When Tate took it, with no hesitation, he felt his heartbeat accelerate.

Pull yourself together, man.

“You ready to go?” he asked, trying to play it cool.

“Yep.” Tate looked at Cole and thanked him for the invite.

“No problem. Rachel wouldn’t have it any other way. I think she’s adopted you.”

Just as the words were spoken, the lady herself walked into the kitchen and wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist. Cole placed his arm around her shoulders, fitting her perfectly against his side.

There was so much comfort and familiarity in the move that Logan found himself envious that they didn’t have to think about touching one another. They just did.

“You’re both welcome anytime.”

“Thanks, Rach,” he told her and made his way over to kiss her cheek.

Tate held a hand out for her to shake, and she let go of Cole, and wrapped her hands around his neck, kissing his cheek too.

When she released him, she smiled. “Drive home safely on that bike please.”

Logan groaned. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Tate tugged his hand as they made their way back through the living room. “It was nice meeting you all.”

Both couples turned to face them and waved. “You too.”

“See you at the next one,” Josh laughed. “You’re not getting out of it. Sorry.”

Mason agreed as he pulled Lena against his side and ran a hand down her hair. “If you decide to come down to Exquisite, make sure you ask for either me or Rachel. One of us is always there.”

Logan had been talking earlier about visiting one night. He’d heard all about the restaurant from his brother, and after meeting Mason, he wanted to check it out. Maybe he would take Tate one night.

“Will do. Have a good night, guys. This was fun.”

They silently made their way down the hall and out the door. When they walked to the elevator and Logan leaned over to press the down button, the quiet remained. He could feel Tate watching him, and once the doors opened and they stepped inside, Tate continued to give him the same intense look that had been in his eyes on the way up hours before.

“What?” Logan asked, wondering if he’d get an answer this time.

“I want you to know I really enjoyed tonight. Thank you for sharing your family with me.”

Logan didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but it felt too soon and he was fucking terrified that, the minute the words were out, everything would turn to shit.

So he leaned in to Tate’s arm and closed his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Logan?”

Logan’s eyes came open slowly, and he was convinced that the expression in Tate’s was almost identical to his own. Maybe I should just—but Tate’s mouth opened to speak right as the elevator chimed.

They both blinked, and the moment was gone.

Tate’s lips curved as he took his hand. “Come on. Let’s go back to your place.”

Logan neither agreed nor disagreed. He was certain that Tate knew that nothing on Earth would have made him say no.

12.

Tate stood behind Logan as he unlocked his front door.

Ever since they’d left Cole’s, Logan had been unusually quiet. There’d been no bitching about the bike, no sexually suggestive remarks when Tate had climbed on, and no sarcastic comments during the entire elevator ride.

Logan was the most serious Tate had ever seen.

When he pushed open his front door and made his way inside, Tate followed, shrugging out of his jacket. If he hadn’t seen the way Logan had looked at him when they’d left his brother’s, he’d be worried that something was wrong. But he had seen it, and even though he wasn’t quite ready to discuss it, he sure was ready to act on it.

He waited for some kind of sign from Logan, and when he walked directly into his bedroom, Tate decided that was clear enough for him. He toed off his boots and walked down to the room that was growing increasingly familiar.

Logan was on his side of the bed with the lamp on, unbuttoning his shirt. His glasses were resting on the table, and as Tate made his way to the opposite side of the bed, he reached behind his neck to grab a fistful of his shirt. When he removed it, he saw Logan take in a quick breath.

Nervous—that’s what’s different. He’s nervous.

Tate dropped his shirt on the table beside the bed and went for the button of his pants. Before he undid them though, he remembered Logan’s reaction to peeling him out of them and looked across the large, white bed.

Logan’s shirt was now undone and hanging from his broad shoulders, revealing a dark line of hair from his navel down under his jeans. The time for silence was about to come to an abrupt end, Tate thought—it was time to play.

“Are we going to stay this far apart all night?” he asked, waiting to see what Logan had to say about that.

“I sure as fuck hope not.”

That was what he’d been waiting for.

Tate unbuttoned the top of his black leather pants and then walked around the bed until he was standing in front of a very different Logan.

He couldn’t quite get a read on him, which was unusual.

He reached out and placed his hands on Logan’s naked chest before sliding them up to rest on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he checked as Logan’s hands came up to hold his wrists.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Tate brought a hand to the side of his neck and told him, “If you don’t want—”

“Tate,” Logan cut him off and finally lowered his hands to the leather pants. “I want…Trust me.”

Tate swallowed as Logan slowly unzipped his pants.

“I want it all.”

Tate wanted to know what that entailed in Logan’s world, but right now, he wanted to touch. He’d been aware of Logan’s eyes on him all night. Now, he wanted his hands.

He pushed the shirt from Logan’s shoulders and let it fall down his arms. When it snagged on his wrists, he bent his head to press his lips to Logan’s neck and reached to unbutton his cuffs.

“I felt you watching me all night,” he whispered and moved to the other arm.

Logan hummed low in his throat with pleasure. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

When Tate had Logan’s second arm free, the material fell off and hit the floor as he brought his mouth to Logan’s ear. “I didn’t want you to.”

As soon as the words were spoken, Logan turned his head and took his mouth in a kiss so fucking electric that Tate was surprised he was still standing when they came up for air. Then he grabbed Logan’s face, sinking his tongue deep into that sexy mouth and returned the one-two punch Logan was dishing out.

He felt cool air hit his groin as Logan spread apart his pants, and then the mouth on his was gone. Warm lips made their way down his neck to the spot at the base of his throat and center of his collarbone. Tate couldn’t help the throaty cry that escaped him as Logan tongued that spot and then drew a line to his left nipple as he slid his fingers into the back of his pants, pushing them several inches down his hips.

Tate ran the fingers of one hand into Logan’s hair and cursed loudly as sharp teeth bit his nipple. “Fuck.”

He placed his other hand on Logan’s shoulder and added pressure, needing to see Logan on his knees in front of him. Without question, Logan’s hands moved farther inside the leather as he crouched down, peeling the pants away as Tate had hoped he would.

When Logan was finally on his knees in his jeans, Tate tipped that strong face up to him and leaned down to place his lips against Logan’s.

When their mouths were touching, he heard himself saying, “Something’s going on with you. Tell me.”

Logan said nothing but rose up on his knees and kissed him hard. There was so much emotion pouring out of him tonight that Tate felt as if he were a second away from triggering an explosion of some sort.

“Logan, tell me. What do you want?”

He felt Logan’s tongue trace his lower lip and then heard him say, “I want to feel you press me down into my mattress and take me.”

Tate straightened and stepped back with one goal in mind—giving Logan exactly what he’d asked for.

“Then stand up.”

Logan was not the kind to follow orders, but tonight, he wanted Tate in charge.

Up until now, when he’d let Tate lead, it was so he could explore and decide what he liked. But right now, in his current mood, Logan wanted to be taken over.

He wanted to be told what to do, and ultimately, he wanted Tate to be in control.

Logan got to his feet, and when Tate instructed him to keep his hands by his sides and then drew a finger from his mid sternum to his navel, Logan had a hard time doing as he’d been told.

Tate dipped his fingertip into the small indentation and then spoke. “You want me to tell you what to do. Is that it?”

Logan’s cock went rigid. Yes, apparently it was.

“I can do that,” Tate assured him. Then he traced that same teasing finger down his treasure trail to the button of his jeans. “Take off your jeans.”

Logan immediately did as he’d been told. He reached for the button and unsnapped it as Tate backed up. He pushed them down over his hips and then kicked them aside while Tate licked his juicy lips.

“Get on the bed.”

Fuck, fuck…fuck.

Maybe he should have thought this through. It was highly possible that he’d come from the instructions alone before Tate even touched him.

Logan kneeled on the mattress and watched Tate walk, naked as the day he was fucking born, to the end of the bed. He stopped and turned to face him, and as Logan’s eyes boldly traveled over his body, Tate brought his hand to his mouth and licked his palm.

“In the middle, on your knees. No touching. It’s my turn to watch you.”

Logan’s heart was thumping so hard he thought it was a fucking miracle he hadn’t passed out as he moved to the center of the mattress and waited.

Tate lowered his gaze over him, and Logan wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t have to wait though, because the fucker decided to tell him.

“Your body is amazing. This building’s gym definitely pays off,” Tate mused as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “I mean—fuck, Logan. Seriously, your body is impressive. Even if I didn’t want to fuck your brains out, I could appreciate that.”

Logan wasn’t sure he had any brains left to fuck out as he watched Tate steadily start to stroke himself.

Look how far we’ve come.

“How much do you want to touch yourself right now?”

What kind of question is that?

“Answer me,” Tate demanded.

Logan grit his teeth and bumped his fists against his thighs, his erection throbbing in front of him. “I want to touch myself almost as much as I want your cock inside me.”

Tate’s lips twitched, and his hand stilled on his own flesh. “Show me.”

Logan’s brow arched at the demand. Tate’s cheeks were flushed and his lips tightened as he bared his teeth in a feral fucking smile.

“Lie down on your back, spread your legs, and show me how much you want me inside you.”

The idea apparently made Logan’s dick really happy, because he finally had to grip the base of it to get it under control.

“And what are you going to do while I’m showing you?”

Tate placed a knee on the end of the bed and smirked. “Guess you’ll find out when you do what you’re told, won’t you?”

Sexy fucker. If he wants a show, I’ll give him one.

Logan turned, pulled two pillows to the center of the bed, and then lay down on his back with his legs spread apart. Tate was exactly where he’d been when Logan had been on his knees, but his hand was once again stroking.

Logan reached down and began to slowly rub his balls. Tate’s eyes dropped to watch him manipulate his skin, and he bit his bottom lip between his teeth as if trying to hold back a groan. Logan widened his legs a little more under Tate’s inspection and brought his palm up to stroke it over his erection—fuck, it feels amazing.

“Bend your legs. Feet flat on the sheets.”

The hoarse command from Tate came as Logan felt the mattress between his feet dip. His eyes flicked to Tate’s as he climbed onto the bed and knelt between his ankles.

Logan bent his legs at the knees until he was sure Tate could see everything. He was about to bring his hand to his mouth and lick it so he could get a sweet slide going, but Tate halted him.

“No more. Hands by your sides.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “Why?”

Before he could even think about what Tate meant, he moved farther up the bed and placed his hands on Logan’s inner thighs, pushing them down to the mattress until he was spread wide open.

Logan couldn’t look away as Tate lowered his head and ran his warm, wet tongue over the underside of his cock. He dragged it all the way up to the swollen head, where he clearly enjoyed cleaning up the pre-come he found there.

Logan gripped the sheets on either side of his body and shoved his hips up toward Tate’s mouth. Again, Tate moved back down to where he’d begun, but instead of following that same wicked path, he sucked one of Logan’s balls between his lips.

“Jesus Christ, Tate.”

He felt Tate’s hands smooth down under his thighs and wrap around them before he pulled him slightly down the bed and raised his head.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, and Logan’s hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets beside him.

“No,” he answered, his voice ragged.

Logan craned his neck to see the mop of curls between his thighs, and then the tease blew a warm breath over his wet skin. Logan felt his ass clench as he pumped his hips up.

“Logan?”

Logan was finding it hard to fucking concentrate, let alone talk, so all he managed was, “Hmm?”

“I want to watch you fuck your hand and my fingers. Think you can do that?”

Logan was pretty sure he must have passed out at Cole’s and was having one hell of a fucking sex dream, because the Tate that was currently between his thighs had somehow crawled inside his brain and discovered all the right buttons to make him want to detonate.

When he didn’t immediately respond, his dirty, sex-talking Tate released the hold he had around his thighs and began to crawl up the bed.

Logan’s mouth opened quickly then as he promised, “Yes, yes. I can do that. Whatever you want. Where are you going?”

The smile that slowly morphed Tate’s lips was depraved, and Logan wondered where the fuck it had come from because—holy shit—it was potent.

With their eyes still connected, Tate’s mouth found his. “I’m getting the lube so I can stretch you nice and wide for my cock. That’s okay with you, right?”

Any questions Logan may have had left his fucking head after that comment, but as Tate hovered over him waiting for an answer, he did manage, “That’s fine.”

“Fine?” Tate repeated in a disbelieving voice. Then he lowered his mouth to Logan’s ear. “It’s going to be much better than fine, Logan. You know why? I can be dirty too, just like you.”

Damn. He’d known Tate would be the one to give him what he wanted. He just hadn’t known in how many ways.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Someone who won’t always let you win? Someone that is more than happy to be sucked and fucked but will also return the favor? Mark my words, fine has no business with what we’re about to do.”

Logan closed his eyes and tried to calm himself as Tate licked his fucking cheek. When their cocks grazed one another, he couldn’t help the loud moan that ripped from his throat. The foreplay was close to killing him.

As the tip of Tate’s tongue tickled his earlobe, Logan turned his head and finally told him, “Yes, that’s what I want. You. The dirtier, the fucking better.”

Apparently Tate liked that answer, because he growled and slammed their mouths together. Logan couldn’t help but reach for the hips rolling over his groin. He dug his fingers into the warm skin and pushed his pelvis up as his eyes closed and the kiss continued.

The taste of Tate was always the same—a hint of cinnamon and a fuck-ton of sex—and Logan was convinced he was addicted.

Ripping his mouth away, he focused on the man above him. “Hurry.”

Tate hovered over him and then leaned to the side to grab the lube. When he came back, he kissed Logan’s ear, whispered, “No,” and then slid down his body.

I’m fucked, Logan thought. Even though it wasn’t quite true yet, he knew it would be as he looked down at the gorgeous man between his thighs, and he couldn’t wait.

Tate pushed Logan’s legs apart as he moved down the bed, rubbing his own cock on the cool sheets as he went. He couldn’t wait to sink into Logan, but he wanted him out-of-his-mind crazy before he did that, and Tate knew just how to get him there.

Logan had hinted a few times that he liked it a little rough and hard when it came to his turn at being on the bottom, and Tate wanted to give him that.

Tonight, Logan seemed to need something. He wasn’t saying exactly what it was, but Tate was fairly sure it had a lot to do with him taking control, and he was more than willing.

When he was situated between Logan’s thighs, his mouth only inches from his cock, Tate raised his eyes over the rippling abs and impressive chest and reminded himself of his goal. Take Logan.

He grabbed the lube, and as he opened it, the legs on either side of him tensed. That power he’d felt earlier was back. When it came to having it over Logan, Tate loved it.

“Nervous?” he asked as he poured some of the cool liquid onto his fingers. It was about time he had Logan on edge, especially since, most of the time, it was the other way around.

“Wrong word,” he heard Logan respond.

Tate reached out, wrapped his fingers around the base of Logan’s thick shaft, and asked, “Then what’s the right word?”

Logan punched his hips up, sliding his hardened flesh through Tate’s fist, and managed, “Turned the fuck on.”

Tate began gliding his hand up and down and told him, “That’s four words.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Logan muttered as Tate continued giving him a slow handjob.

“Give me your hand, Logan.”

Logan immediately offered his right hand, and Tate stopped what he was doing, causing a throaty groan to emerge.

“Fuck. Don’t stop.”

Tate chuckled and entwined their fingers, making Logan’s as slippery as his. “I’m not going to, and neither are you. Show me. Show me how you get off whenever you think about me. Just like the other night in the car.”

Tate loved the sinful look Logan gave as his fingers wrapped around his cock without reservation, and he pressed his head back on the pillow to jerk off.

Fuck. He loved the uninhibited way Logan just went for it.

Tate turned his head, licked a spot high on Logan’s inner thigh, and heard a curse rip through the bedroom.

“Show me,” he whispered again so his breath caressed Logan’s tight balls.

Logan tilted his hips, and Tate brought a hand up to trace a lubed finger under his balls to the dark shadow between his cheeks. He pushed his finger over the tight skin and into the crease until he found what he was looking for.

Tate’s face was so close to Logan’s body that he couldn’t help but suck one of his balls back into his mouth, which had Logan reaching for a fistful of his hair.

Tate rubbed his finger back and forth over the sensitive nerves of Logan’s ass, continuing to give him a tongue-lashing as he writhed around under him. The noises coming from Logan were sexy, raw, and tortured as he masturbated, and Tate could feel his own cock pulsing against the mattress.

He removed his mouth from Logan’s hot flesh and raised his head. He wanted to watch when Logan came undone. Slowly, Tate slid the tip of his finger inside, and when he felt Logan push his hips down to take him deeper, he knew what Logan wanted and thrust his finger in all the way.

Logan’s eyes opened, and that burning blue gaze found him. Tate swore he felt the heat coming from them as Logan pumped his cock and licked his full bottom lip.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

The thought almost knocked Tate out of his sexual daze until Logan closed his eyes, severing the connection, and started a desperate rhythm.

Tate withdrew his finger from Logan’s vise-like passage and then slipped it back inside.

I’m so fucking screwed.

He’d thought he was going to unravel Logan’s secrets, but as he added a second finger and Logan’s body took it, sucking him inside, Tate knew he was also coming undone. He was starting to realize that he wanted to do anything and everything when it came to this man, and wasn’t that eye opening?

He needed to do something, and fucking fast.

Tate gently bit Logan’s thigh, and the hand in his hair tightened.

Yes, touch me. Make me brave.

Tate removed his fingers and kneeled between Logan’s legs, reaching for his left ankle. He watched Logan’s eyes widen when he placed his foot against his chest. As he slowly lowered down, almost splitting Logan in half, Tate decided.

He could be brave and he wanted back inside.

A hiss of air left Logan as Tate tunneled two thick fingers back inside him. He practically had one foot on Tate’s shoulder as he worked his fingers in and out of him—and Logan wanted more.

He’d known Tate would likely break him, and when he came down so he could kiss the fuck out of him as he stretched him open, Logan realized that he’d really had no clue.

He feverishly tugged himself as Tate’s voice filled the room.

“Feelin’ good, Logan?”

Logan knew that line well, and he had a feeling Tate was enjoying the turned tables—but then again, so was he. “Fuck yes.”

Tate nuzzled his lips and nose into the crook of his shoulder, and Logan couldn’t keep his hips still to save himself. He could feel Tate’s cock leaking all over his thigh and knew he was close to being well and truly fucked, but first—

“More?”

Logan heard the tentative question whispered in his ear, and his ass clenched around the fingers scissoring apart his hole.

More? Fuck yes.

“Give it to me.”

Tate traced the shell of his ear with his tongue and pulled his fingers slowly from his body. When they came back, Logan felt three fingertips pushing and testing.

He turned his face until they were lip to lip and confessed, “I’d take all four and a thumb if I had the fucking patience, but I don’t. Now hurry the fuck up, Tate. Give it to me.”

His words shocked Tate. He could tell by the way his eyes widened, but as the meaning and apparently the visual sank in, Tate pushed his fingers inside him and Logan watched his eyes dilate.

“Yes, Tate. Yes,” he growled and had to squeeze the hell out of his cock to stop himself from coming.

He started to writhe uncontrollably under Tate as his prostate was given a good fucking massage. All the while, Tate’s hips were moving and his hard-on kept rubbing against his thigh.

Logan reached out a hand, grabbing the curls falling down over Tate’s forehead, and demanded through a harsh breath, “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

Tate shook his head. “No. I’m making you mine.”

Logan released his hard-on and grabbed Tate’s ass, pulling him up so he could rub their cocks together. “Don’t you know? I’m already yours.”

Tate’s entire body stilled.

The hand he had between Logan’s thighs, the fingers in his tight channel, and his own pumping hips all stopped moving until all he could hear was the loud breathing in the otherwise silent room.

He slowly removed his fingers and planted his hands by Logan’s head, and as he focused on the man under him, he finally understood what was going on.

Logan was giving himself over, finally admitting he was in this—really in this.

“I want to feel your hands on me,” Tate said. He waited as Logan smoothed his hands over his sides then down to his ass. “I want them on me all the time,” he admitted and lowered his mouth to kiss Logan’s.

“Tate, I need…”

He didn’t need to be told any more. Tate needed it too.

He grabbed the condom off the side table and made quick work of it. Then he was back between Logan’s legs, which were now wrapping around his waist.

Tate lowered a hand down between them and ran a finger over him, just to make sure he was—

“Fuck, Tate. Now.”

—ready.

He smiled against the bossy mouth that had finally resurfaced and slowly sank his cock inside Logan’s eager body. Tate groaned from the unbelievable pleasure he felt, and when Logan circled his arms around his neck and pulled him down to take his mouth, he went.

The heels digging into his ass encouraged him to move, and as Tate began to thrust his hips, Logan lay back and let him have him. With his coal-black hair pressed into the pillow and the veins in his neck standing out as he grit his teeth, Logan closed his eyes.

Tate watched his face and wondered if he’d ever seen anything as spectacular.

Logan in the throes of sexual bliss was a fucking masterpiece. He offered no apologies as he reached down to his cock and began jerking it as if he’d never get the chance again, and as Tate continued moving inside him, he felt his balls tightening.

He was ready. He wanted Logan to come all over the both of them and then he’d finish in the snug, hot home his dick was currently burrowed inside.

His fingers gripped the pillow under Logan’s head as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and fell onto Logan’s upper lip. He watched in rapt fascination as those sexy eyes opened and Logan’s tongue came out and licked his sweat—that was the trigger.

Tate’s hips picked up the pace, and nothing could stop him.

When Logan’s orgasm hit, his entire body bowed up off the bed, causing the firm muscle surrounding Tate’s cock to clench and tighten, making them both shout loud enough to bring down the fucking walls.

This was no longer about sex.

As Tate pressed his forehead against Logan’s, he likened it to a religious experience. Logan had fundamentally changed him, made him see the light—Or the fucking stars—and there was no way he could ever be unchanged.

When Logan’s lips parted beneath his own, Tate swept his tongue inside and pushed the hair away from his face.

“You’re a beautiful man, Logan Mitchell.”

Logan grinned and palmed his ass. “You look so confused saying that. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Tate shook his head. “No, I’m not worried about people knowing. I just never associated beauty with…”

“A man?” Logan guessed.

Tate nodded and then chuckled. “Stupid, huh?”

“No, not at all,” Logan disagreed. “I think you’re beautiful too. Fucking gorgeous to be exact.”

Tate felt a blush hit his cheeks and wondered how the fuck that could be after what they’d just done. He slowly pulled out of Logan, and as he stood and removed the condom, he said quite seriously, “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to my mom again. I won’t hide from my family, Logan.”

Logan moved up onto his elbows. “Okay.”

Tate walked toward the bathroom door to clean up before bed, but before he got there, Logan called out to him. He stopped and turned back to see that Logan had lain back down and was staring at the ceiling.

“I meant what I said earlier. I’m already yours, so whatever you need...”

Tate wanted to respond and opened his mouth to do so but found that nothing would come out.

13.

By the time Tate made it out of the shower, the bed had been stripped and remade with navy-blue sheets under a white duvet. Logan was nowhere to be found.

With a towel secured firmly around his hips, Tate walked out into the dark living space and found him standing at the door to his balcony.

The city lights made for an impressive backdrop, but it was the man standing at the door that held all of his attention. Logan had pulled on his sweatpants, and his hands were resting loosely in his pockets.

Tate wasn’t sure what mood he was about to encounter since he couldn’t see Logan’s face, but he figured that the stillness in the room and the rigid posture were pretty good indicators that the wall Logan usually stood behind was back.

“I’m all done,” he announced, trying to break the silence.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, and Tate noticed his glasses back in place. Kind of like a defense mechanism—Logan’s version of a shield.

“Sounds good.”

That was it. That was all he got before Logan looked away.

Tate made his way past the glass coffee table and stopped beside him, staring out at the buildings. He wasn’t sure what was going through Logan’s head, so he didn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood beside him and waited.

Several minutes passed before Logan finally spoke.

“You know, the last time I sat out there, I was on the phone with you.”

Tate remembered. They’d talked about Chris, the asshole who had up and run when Logan had been in college, pretty much causing his inability to commit to more than a quick fuck-and-run today. They’d also discussed his family, and if he would be ready to defend—Hang on. Where is he going with this?

“I remember.”

Logan turned his head and caught his eyes in an unwavering stare. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” Logan cut in, serious as ever, and turned his body so they were now standing opposite one another. “You told me you wouldn’t lie to them. So what will you tell them?”

Tate pushed an agitated hand through his wet hair and then ran it down the side of his neck. “I’ll tell them we’re dating.”

Tate watched Logan’s lips thin.

“And when they ask you if it’s true? If you were kissing me that day? If you’re having sex with me? What then?”

There was no escaping the intense man in front of him, but once again, he was tongue-tied. His sister’s shocked voice began to loop in his head, and his mother’s denial was in his ear. Then Logan’s voice cut through it all—honest and brutal as hell.

“If you can’t tell me, how are you going to tell them?”

Tate thought about that and was about to answer when Logan spun around and started to walk away.

“Would you hang on a fucking minute?”

Logan stopped where he was but didn’t bother to face him, and didn’t that just annoy the shit out of him. Tate stormed over and stepped around him until they were face to face again.

“Are you going to give me a chance to speak? Or just be an asshole and walk away?”

Logan shrugged as if he didn’t care, but Tate knew that the underlying issue was that he cared too much.

“First, stop comparing me to Chris.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, and it’s pissing me off.” Logan’s jaw twitched, and Tate knew he was biting back some kind of caustic comment so he reiterated, “I’m not him.”

“I know that!” Logan thundered, and it was such a shock to hear him yell that Tate’s mouth clicked shut. “I fucking know that,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Tate stepped forward and took Logan’s hand. “I’m not going to deny anything.”

“But—”

“There are no buts.” Tate paused, and when Logan’s lips quirked, he couldn’t help himself. “Well, maybe a couple of asses.”

Logan chuckled, which was what Tate had intended as he tugged him closer.

“You scare the shit out of me,” Logan admitted as he placed a hand on Tate’s chest. There it was again—the power.

“And you think I’m not scared?”

“No. I know you are. But what are you scared of?”

Tate wasn’t quite sure he understood the question.

What am I scared of? Isn’t it obvious?

Logan slid a hand up to the side of his face, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Tate was sure it still should’ve been weird, Logan’s comforting him.

But it wasn’t.

“What, Tate? Tell me.”

Tate gripped the wrist by his chin. It was thick and strong, just like his. He’d told himself he needed to be brave, and he also knew he had to be honest.

He swallowed and finally admitted out loud, “I’m scared of what they’ll think.”

Logan’s eyes never wavered, but he saw a flash of emotion cross them—a flash of apprehension.

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Tate hated the fact that he was worried about his parents’ reactions.

Scratch that—my entire family’s.

It wasn’t as if he were a child needing their approval, but he knew that Sunday was not going to go well, and the closer they got, the more anxious he became.

“They’re my family. Of course I’m worried about how they’ll react.”

“To me?” Logan asked.

“No. To us.”

Logan said nothing as he lowered his hand.

“But I’m not going to deny it,” Tate assured him again. “Look, can we get some sleep and maybe spend tomorrow just hanging out? Are you free?”

Logan tried for cool and casual but didn’t quite pull it off. Even with the sexy wink he gave, he seemed uneasy. “Sure. We can hang out.”

They walked back into the bedroom, and the way Logan purposely bumped into his side, Tate knew he was trying to lighten the mood.

“What exactly does ‘hanging out’ mean to you?”

Tate looked at him quizzically as Logan took off his glasses and sweats before getting under the covers. “I was thinking maybe the movies, or I don’t know, miniature golf if you want. I don’t care. I just figured we could spend the day together before I go to work.”

Tate removed the towel and dropped it on the floor, catching the way Logan checked him out as he too got back into bed.

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Morrison?”

Tate moved down until he was on his side, facing Logan. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Logan turned so they were mirroring one another and pretended to think it over. “Then I accept—on one condition.” Tate waited for something outlandish from Logan and laughed when he said, “I’m picking what we’re doing. The movies or putt-putt? How did you ever get laid?”

Tate sucked his lower lip into his mouth as his eyes trailed over Logan, and he put every effort into a look that he hoped would—

“Fuck. Stop it. Okay, okay. You made your point. I’d even brave putt-putt for that face.”

Tate chuckled, rolled to his back, and waited.

There it was—their new ritual.

Logan raised his arm, and Tate found himself moving in toward his side.

It was amazing that something so simple had once felt so complicated.

When, now, all it felt was right.

Logan sat at his dining table the next morning with a coffee and the paper. He’d been trying to focus on reading the business section for the last twenty minutes and failing. He kept reading the headline over and over.

Last night had been intense. Not only had he and Tate had their first somewhat-public date as a couple, what happened after had been just short of life changing for him.

Here he was, someone who’d sworn off any kind of committed relationship, falling for Tate. A man who’d only kissed him, a man, a few weeks earlier.

I’m fucking crazy. What the hell is the matter with me?

There was a very real possibility that Tate would change his mind. After all, it had happened before…

“What are you doing here, Mitchell?”

Logan looked at his study partner and behind-closed doors boyfriend, Chris Walker, as he stood in the hallway. He’d been coming over to Chris’s dorm for the last several months, and lately, he’d been making up every excuse he could think of to stop by and see him.

At first, their relationship had started out innocently enough when they’d paired up to study, but that all changed when Chris showed a real interest in studying something other than math. It was a subject Logan had never thought about until Chris kissed him, and then he’d been more than happy to explore the new topics in private.

“I was on my way home from the library and thought I’d stop and see if you were free.”

“Free? Free for what? I pay you, and you help me pass algebra.”

Chris’s sarcastic voice filled the hall and had several people staring at them as he stepped out into the narrow space. Logan stood there, confused over why he was being so cold until two other guys came to the door they’d just vacated.

“Go home, would you? I’m busy.”

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose and narrowed his eyes on the guy in front of him. Chris was one of the university’s star lacrosse players, and as Logan shrugged his bag up his arm, he couldn’t help but look at the muscular chest he’d worshipped yesterday with his mouth.

“Can’t I come in? Just for a minute?”

Chris walked forward and had him backing up until his ass was against the opposite wall, similar to the position he’d had him in yesterday when he’d kissed him.

“I said I was busy. Now get lost, Mitchell.”

Logan flinched at the blunt dismissal and tried to mask the hurt he was feeling. He didn’t have the height and muscles Chris had, but the one thing he did possess was his pride.

“Gee, you didn’t say that yesterday when you had your dick in my—”

Before he could finish the sentence, Chris had his forearm against his chest and his other arm raised, ready to punch him.

Logan knew he was about to get a fist to the face, but as he stood there in the hall with Chris’s friends cheering behind him, he knew that it would hurt a hell of a lot less than the way his heart ached in that moment.

He’d really thought the way Chris touched him and spoke to him in private had meant something, and as the huge hand cut through the air and connected with his cheek, all Logan heard was laughter followed by his name and then Chris’s.

He slumped down the wall completely dejected and saw his…yes…his half brother, Cole, grabbing Chris and giving him a thorough beating before turning on the other two.

Holy shit, he thought in that moment, I wish I could’ve landed that punch…

“Logan?”

Logan looked up from the paper to see Tate standing opposite him and the table.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Tate was giving him an unsure look, and Logan didn’t blame him. He’d been completely oblivious to his coming into the room. Who knew how long he’d been standing there.

“I just asked if I could borrow some jeans or go home to change before we go out today.”

Logan lowered the paper and then lifted his coffee to take a sip. “So you still want to go?”

Tate frowned at him. “Yeah, why? I agreed to let you pick the place, didn’t I? You change your mind?”

Feeling like an idiot for his own doubts, Logan closed the paper and stood, walking around the table. He brought a hand to Tate’s waist and traced the warm skin there. The leather pants he’d pulled on and left undone were hanging low on his hips.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just hang out here?”

Tate pushed him away and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Plus, you’re already dressed.”

Logan looked down at his dark jeans and cream, lightweight V-neck sweater. “You would be correct. I woke up a few hours ago.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well. You okay?”

Logan crossed his arms, amused. “You already know my sleeping habits?”

“Well no, not really.”

“Would you like to?” he asked, more than a little pleased that Tate seemed to notice the small things.

“What do you mean?”

Logan was close to saying something really impulsive and stupid along the lines of living arrangements, but at the last second, he stopped himself.

“Nothing. Just playing around. Let me grab you some jeans.” He knew that Tate was watching him like a hawk, so he made sure to give away nothing. “It’s okay with you that these jeans have no holes in them, right?”

Tate strolled toward him, scratching a hand over his chest. “Will you be okay with that? You’re the one who likes to stare at my ass.”

As serious as he could manage when Tate was looking extremely beddable, Logan said, “I’m sure I’ll cope. But it will be hard.”

With no subtlety at all, Tate’s hand found his cock through his jeans and stroked him. “Of that, I have no doubt. Bring on the fancy jeans. I promise not to rip them if you do. I’m curious to see where you, Logan Mitchell, would go on a date.”

Logan couldn’t help from rubbing against Tate’s tormenting hand. “I told you. I didn’t date. Before.”

“Hmm,” Tate mused. “In that case, why don’t you show me where you’d like to be taken on a date?”

Time and time again, Tate continued to floor him.

Logan couldn’t remember anyone ever asking him what he wanted to do on a date, let alone making him want to go on one in the first place.

Just when he thought the guy couldn’t get any more perfect, he had to go and prove him wrong.

14.

Tate stood inside the transportation exhibit at the Museum of Science & Industry and watched Logan as he read the information plaque on The Spirit of America.

This had been Logan’s idea for a date, and Tate had to agree—it was awesome.

They’d left an hour earlier, and Logan had driven them to the Ghirardelli Ice Cream & Chocolate Shop on Michigan Avenue.

“You do like desserts, right?”

“And if I don’t?”

Logan pushed open the door to the shop and winked at him over his shoulder. “I’d just convince you to try some.”

Tate followed him inside and took a deep breath of the familiar sweet aroma. “No convincing necessary. My mom used to bring us here once a month. It was a treat.”

Logan turned in the crowded store and stepped closer to him. “A treat, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what’s your favorite flavor, Tate?”

Tate put his hands in the back pockets of the jeans he’d pulled on earlier. He wasn’t sure he could keep them off Logan when he was so close and being so…Logan.

“I could never decide between the milk chocolate or the ice cream sundaes with the nuts.”

Logan raised a hand and ran it down the leather jacket covering his arm, and then linked their fingers together. “You and nuts,” he mused. “In your coffee, on your ice cream…” He leaned in and added, “In your mouth.”

Tate’s fingers tightened on the ones holding his, and he decided to give Logan some of his own medicine. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“I will never complain about that—ever.” Logan took a step back and tugged him forward to the counter. “I’m just thanking God you aren’t allergic to them.”

Tate walked over and stopped beside Logan as he straightened and pointed at the sleek machine.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

He was thinking exactly the same thing, but he was curious. “Let me get this straight. You think this machine, one of the fastest land vehicles on Earth, is impressive, but you won’t get on the back of my bike without updating your will?”

“I can appreciate fast and beautiful…from a distance.”

Tate put his hands in his pockets. “Sure you can. How are you on planes?” he asked, gesturing to the Boeing 727 in the room.

Logan’s mouth curved. “I haven’t had any complaints.”

Tate thought about that and then found his mouth moving, but nothing came out. Logan’s brow rose, and he laughed as Tate finally managed to speak.

“Really? On a plane? But there’s no room.” He watched Logan as he turned back to face The Spirit of America.

“It certainly was a tight fit.”

Tate shook his head at the arrogance of the man next to him. It was such an integral part of who Logan was—and so fucking sexy. He reached out and shoved him.

“You’re unbelievable. You know that?”

Logan took his hand and pulled him in to the side of his body. There weren’t too many people around, but Tate was aware of a few as Logan’s other hand circled his waist so they were standing in an embrace.

“And now you’re curious. Admit it. Maybe we should take a trip somewhere. Or better yet, check out the fit in that plane over there.”

“If you think for a minute that I would let you fuck me in one of those tiny plane restrooms, you’re insane.”

Logan didn’t do anything other than smile, but it was so unbelievably provocative that he found it as effective as Logan putting his hand down the front of his pants.

“Well…maybe you could be the one to do the fucking.”

“Stop it,” Tate whispered as a shiver skated up his spine.

How is he able to get to me in literally seconds?

“Stop what exactly? Touching? Talking? Or inviting you to have me any way you like, anywhere you like? Because all you have to say are the words and I’m yours.”

Tate fought for control and then chuckled, pushing Logan away. “See? This is why you never date.”

Logan tilted his head to the side. “Why’s that?”

Tate raised his chin slightly until they were mouth to mouth. “Because you have to actually talk and converse. Once people get around you, they just want to fuck.”

Logan stepped back from him, and when a furrow appeared between his brows before he turned away, Tate knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

Tate scratched his head and made his way over until he was beside Logan. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Logan gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and nodded. “Yes, you did. And you’re right.”

It was Tate’s turn to frown at that. “No, I’m not. People would line up to date you if they knew it was an option. You told me why you don’t.”

“Did I?”

“Not word for word, but I’m assuming it’s because of that guy in college, Chris.”

Logan sighed. “Can we not talk about him here? Let’s keep walking.”

Tate fell into step beside him, stayed quiet for around two seconds, and then suggested, “Okay, you know what I think?”

“No. What do you think?”

“I think it’s time for some questions and answers.”

For the first time since he’d met Logan, he appeared uncomfortable. So Tate reached out and took his arm, halting them.

“I’m serious. I want to know more about you. This is what people do on dates, Mr. Mitchell.”

Logan took in the hopeful expression on Tate’s face.

How the hell am I supposed to resist that?

He took Tate’s hand, and when they wandered over and stopped in front of the Boeing 727, he capitulated. “Okay. Ask away.”

Tate seemed to think about his first question and then asked, “Did you always wear glasses? Even as a kid?”

“That’s your first question?”

“I’m building to the tough ones. Go with it.”

“Okay,” Logan drawled. “Yes. I’ve worn them since I was seven.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I was a huge nerd in high school and college.”

Tate’s expression made it obvious that he didn’t believe that for a second.

“It’s true. I wasn’t as…” he trailed off as he looked down at his own arms.

“Built?” Tate supplied.

Logan chuckled. “Yeah, I guess. I was skinnier. Always had my head in a book and kind of kept to myself.”

Tate shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, that just seems impossible.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine the man who hunted me down as a nerd in any way.”

Logan nodded, knowing that it probably was hard to believe. He was nothing like the boy he’d left behind. He wondered if Tate was.

“What about you? Were you Mr. Popular?”

Tate walked up the stairs and into the plane ahead of him. Then he stopped in the doorway and turned. “No. I wasn’t into sports or anything like that. They were the popular guys. But I had lots of friends. Loved music and played the guitar in the school band. Never really got in trouble either. I played by the rules—in school.”

Logan climbed the stairs, intrigued by the last part of that statement, and stopped when he was one down from Tate. “What about outside of school then?” He touched his fingers to the shirt covering Tate’s stomach and watched him wink at him.

“Outside of school, I was bossy. Always had a million ideas on things we could do. And I was usually the one telling people how to do them.”

Logan felt a ridiculously large smile cross his mouth. “Imagine that.”

“Hard to, isn’t it?” Tate joked.

“Not at all. You’re extremely bossy when you want to be.” Logan continued up the stairs, gripped the material of his shirt, and pulled him inside the plane behind him.

He felt Tate come up behind him now that they were in the shell of the plane and whisper, “Like last night?”

“Mhmm. And whenever you drink. You get very bossy when you drink.” He paused when he felt a hand on his ass. “Are you all right there? Coppin’ a feel.”

Tate placed his chin down on his shoulder as they stopped to read the plaque in front of them about the electrical equipment. “Don’t act as if you don’t like it.”

“I’m not. I’m asking if you are all right doing it.”

“Have I stopped yet?”

No, he hadn’t stopped. In fact, Tate’s hand was now massaging him.

Logan turned his head and reminded him, “We were having a Q & A session, remember? It was your idea.”

Tate’s brown eyes were practically sparkling with mischief. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed and removed his hand. “Okay, it’s my turn. When was your first kiss?”

Logan turned fully until they were facing one another. “Vicki Prescott. I was eight. We kissed and swapped our underwear.”

The scandalized look on Tate’s face had Logan close to losing the serious expression he was trying hard to hold.

“You swapped your underwear?”

He patted Tate on the chest and stepped around him. “Hey, at least I was smart enough to wait until after I got my glasses so I could see everything.”

Logan walked up the aisle of seats as Tate spun around and scoffed at him.

“I’m still stuck on the underwear part.”

“What about it?”

“Did you kiss her before the swap occurred or after?”

Tate was so serious with his question that Logan finally lost the battle and started to really laugh.

“Does it matter?”

Tate wandered up and stopped beside him. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Why?” Logan was dying to know his reasoning.

“If it was before you kissed her, you were one hell of a curious child and wanted to know what equipment she had.”

“And if it was after?” Logan chuckled.

“If it was after, you obviously didn’t care either way what was revealed.”

Logan gave Tate a thorough once-over as he stood there and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So according to your theory, you didn’t care either way?”

“I wasn’t the one switching my clothes with girls.”

Logan was sure he should’ve let that one pass, but well…Fuck it.

“No, you just switched them with me after we kissed. Aren’t you naked in my jeans right now?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed, and then he smiled. “Don’t try and distract me, Mr. Mitchell.”

Logan let it go, but before he walked farther down the inside of the plane, he added, “I think you like calling me that. Maybe I will get you to use it in bed.”

Tate’s laughter rumbled through the interior as Logan heard some other people come into the mock-up of the plane behind them. They exited the 727 and were making their way back out to the main floor when Logan realized that it was his turn, and he wanted to know—

“Who was your first kiss?”

Without missing a beat, Tate responded, “Dani Bosley. My next-door neighbor. I kissed her through the back fence and got caught. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

Logan nodded and, in a most serious tone, commiserated. “Oh yeah, I believe it. You really shouldn’t kiss girls, Tate.”

Tate rolled his eyes at him, and Logan found that he was more relaxed than he’d ever been. Spending time with Tate was easy. He was so laid back that just being around him made him feel the same way.

It also didn’t hurt that being near him made Logan’s whole day that much better.

He walked over to the hanging Piccard Gondola and stopped to look up.

“What about the first boy?” Tate’s quiet question found him from where he’d stopped just behind his shoulder. They weren’t touching in any way, but Logan could have sworn he could feel him.

He turned back and saw the serious expression in Tate’s eyes before turning to face him. “First boy I..?”

“Kissed,” Tate supplied instantly.

Logan licked his lips, and Tate immediately looked at them.

“Chris Walker.”

“The same—”

“Yes,” Logan confirmed, nodding quickly and turning away before he said anything else.

Tate stepped in close so he could feel him against his back, and then Logan heard him ask, “Wasn’t he your first in…”

“In where?”

Tate reached forward to touch his hand. “In bed?”

Logan thought back to then and tried to make light of it. “It wasn’t technically in a bed.”

“Logan…”

“What? It wasn’t,” he defended as Tate’s fingers took his, and the strangest thought rushed through his mind. Don’t do this to me. Not unless you mean it.

“Stop making jokes for a minute, would you?”

Logan scanned the exhibit hall. He saw several families and couples walking by, but when his eyes came back to focus on Tate, he seemed oblivious to them.

His focus was on him—one hundred percent.

He seemed so sure, so steady in his decisions that, with every passing hour, Logan knew his defenses were crumbling.

“What happened back then? I know the CliffsNotes, but I’m sure there’s more to the story,” Tate pushed gently.

He sighed, not really wanting to get into it on their date. “It’s no different than any other breakup.”

Tate’s expression screamed, ‘Bullshit,’ as he turned and began walking, pulling him along with him.

Logan tugged on his hand and stopped them both. When Tate looked back at him, he asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re leaving. You and I are going to talk about this. If not here, somewhere else.”

Logan frowned as they started walking again. “Is this usually a part of your dates? Rehashing about your ex? Because it doesn’t seem very conducive to getting laid.”

As they rounded a corner, Tate pulled him into a small alcove and pushed him roughly up against the wall. Logan didn’t know what to expect as he found his back against the solid surface and Tate’s face inches from his.

“Our problem isn’t getting laid. I could undo your pants right now and prove it, but you already know that.”

Logan swallowed but couldn’t argue with it, so he went a different route. “I didn’t realize we had a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s more like a barrier. Your barrier.”

Tate was right. He did have a barrier. He didn’t trust relationships.

Not with family, and certainly not with lovers. It was better to just keep it easy, simple, and uncomplicated.

Everything that Tate wasn’t.

“Are you listening to yourself?” he asked as Tate stared him down, his breathing heavy. “Yeah, I have a fucking wall. It’s twenty feet tall, especially with you. You’re different. And the fact that you’ve never been with a man other than me is fucking terrifying.”

Instantly, Tate sobered and stepped away. It was as if he’d punched the guy. Logan reached out and hooked his fingers into the front pockets of Tate’s jeans and pulled him back in against himself.

“I wasn’t lying last night. You scare me. I don’t do this. I don’t stay in relationships, and I certainly don’t let my fucking heart rule my head.”

“I know,” Tate nodded. “It’s just…How do I know what you want from—”

“He hurt me,” Logan cut in, not wanting Tate to voice his doubts about him. He brought his hand up to Tate’s face and cradled his cheek. “He kissed me and touched me like no one else ever had. And when he told me I was special, I believed him.”

Logan stopped talking when Tate took a step forward and slid a hand into his hair.

“You are special. So fucking special.”

The raw emotion in Tate’s words made it difficult for Logan to exhale, and when Tate connected their bodies right there in the museum and kissed his mouth, he allowed himself to believe for a moment that Tate was really his.

“Do you think I’d be here if it was just sex? That I’d be thinking about—”

Logan interrupted him by tasting Tate’s mouth again, slowly and gently. Tate seemed to have lost his train of thought, so Logan reminded him.

“That you’d be thinking about what?”

“Oh.” Tate blinked at him. “That I’d be thinking about the future.”

“A future with me?” Logan asked, his mouth curving against Tate’s until he started to chuckle.

“You just want to hear it out loud, right?”

Logan lowered his hands to Tate’s hips. “Damn fucking right.”

“Then yes. I’m thinking about my future and what part you’ll play in it. If you want to, that is.” Tate stepped away from him and held out his hand. “Come on. I have to go home and get ready for work.”

Logan took his hand, and as they walked out of the museum and down to the parking garage, he wondered for the first time what their future as a couple held.

15.

What a difference a few hours could make.

Tate sat on his couch Sunday morning, flicking the lid of his silver lighter. He’d called his mom after Logan had dropped him off yesterday afternoon, and she hadn’t answered.

That wasn’t a good sign. She always answered.

He’d kept expecting a message on his phone all throughout his shift, but again—nothing. He’d only ever had silence from her once before, when he’d told her he was divorcing Diana.

Fuck. He hadn’t slept for shit.

All night, he’d been staring at his ceiling fan, thinking about his date with Logan, not to mention the night before.

The more time he spent with him, the more complex his feelings became. He was slowly peeling away the layers of the cocky man he’d met in the bar, and every time he discovered something new, he found himself getting more and more involved.

Logan, it turned out, was someone he wanted to know on every level. But Tate was afraid that, after today, Logan would run in the opposite direction.

Standing, he began to pace his living room.

He knew that Logan was going to be pissed about what was going to happen, but it was the only thing he could think to do, and he’d already explained what his mother had said about meeting him.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and Tate looked down to see the text he’d been waiting on.

Logan: I’m here. In the parking garage.

Tate stood, grabbed the keys off of the dresser, and text back as he made his way to the front door.

On my way.

He showed...

Tate got into the elevator and tried to pinpoint what he was feeling as the metal doors shut and the elevator began its descent.

Shock.

That was it.

He was shocked that Logan had come, because somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d expected him to bail.

Logan sat in his car and once again inspected himself in the rearview mirror. He smoothed his fingers over his hair and then pushed his glasses up his face.

Fuck. I feel like a nervous teenager.

Essentially, that’s what he was—some nervous fool going to meet his boyfriend’s parents. It just so happened he was thirty-four and Tate’s parents already hated his fucking guts.

Fantastic.

He was surprised he wasn’t sweating in his V-neck as he sat there waiting on Tate. He’d worried over his outfit way too long last night—even for him—then this morning, he’d changed his mind anyway.

Black pants, black V-neck, and a black sports coat seemed safe enough.

I want to fade into the shadows.

Just as that thought entered his mind, he saw Tate push open the door, step out into the garage, and make his way toward him. If he thought he was showing his nerves, the stranger walking toward him had him beat.

Tate looked like he hadn’t slept for a month.

His curls were all over the place, and the stubble lining his jaw was a couple of days old. While the result was hot, it wasn’t Tate.

As usual, he was in jeans, but instead of the ripped ones, these were dark and in one piece. He had on a white long-sleeved shirt that was creased and looked as if he’d slept in it, and he was holding his leather jacket down by his leg.

In his other hand, he was flicking the lid of a lighter.

Up, down. Up, down.

He walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger’s side door, and got inside. His left leg was bouncing up and down, and if Logan didn’t know better, he would have thought the guy was high. He was a completely different man from the one he’d dropped off yesterday afternoon.

Logan reached over and put his hand on top of Tate’s, causing the metal clinking to cease. The interior of his car now smelled like a combination of tobacco and leather.

“Hey there.”

Tate turned to him, and Logan frowned.

“You’re a mess.”

“Awesome,” Tate replied, his tone surly as he looked away.

Logan removed his hand and placed it on the headrest behind Tate’s head. “Did you eat anything last night?”

Tate eyed him as he buckled his seatbelt. “Yeah, at work.”

“Okay then,” he responded. Then he asked, “Did you speak to your mom?”

Tate faced him, and immediately, he knew the answer—no.

“Do they know we’re coming?”

Again, the silence confirmed the answer—no.

What a goddamn disaster.

Logan looked out the windshield and tried to calm himself, but he knew that, no matter how long he sat there, he was not going to calm down.

“Jesus, Tate! This is hard enough when they know it’s about to happen, but they don’t even expect us? What the fuck?”

“I tried,” Tate stressed. “She didn’t answer.”

Logan gripped the steering wheel. “Fucking great.” He leaned his head back against the car seat and muttered again, “That’s just fucking great.” The air in the car was tense as they both sat there thinking, and then he asked, “Got a cigarette?”

Tate’s head whipped around, and when their eyes met, Logan shrugged.

“I’d prefer a fucking joint, but I’m assuming you don’t have one of those.”

As Tate picked his jacket up off of the floor and fished the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Logan opened the car window.

“Here,” Tate said, offering him one.

Logan took it, and when he placed it between his lips, Tate raised his hand and flicked open the lid to the lighter. As the flame lit up the dark interior, Logan inhaled, then sat back and closed his eyes. If ever a time called for a smoke, now was it.

“I’m sorry.”

Logan’s eyes opened, and he turned his head on the seat. “What are you sorry for?”

“All of this shit.”

Logan stretched his arm across the car to touch Tate’s jaw. “I started all of this shit. Did you forget that?” He took another drag of the cigarette and then blew the smoke out the window.

“Are you ever less than put together?”

Logan felt the side of his mouth quirk as he turned back to Tate. “Is that your way of saying you like what I’m wearing?”

Tate sighed and brushed a hand down his shirt. “No. It’s my way of telling you I feel like a fucking slob.”

“Nah, it’s not that bad.”

“Liar,” Tate huffed. “You just said I look like a mess.”

“Yeah. But it works for you.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Tate grumbled.

Logan searched his car, grabbed a half-empty bottle of water from the back, and dropped the butt inside. He put the cap on and threw it behind him before leaning across the car and grabbing the back of Tate’s neck.

He gave him a hard kiss, and when he pulled away, he said, “Pull yourself together and tell me how to get to your parents’ house. I may be an asshole, but you knew that before. So deal with it.”

Tate licked his lips and grimaced as he pulled the sun visor down to take a look at himself. “Oh man, I do look like shit.”

Logan decided it was best not to comment as Tate ran a hand over his face. But when he turned to him and said, “I don’t like it when you smoke. Just isn’t right,” Logan couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Touché, so do us both a fucking favor and quit.”

“Okay,” Tate agreed and slumped back in the seat. “Let’s get this over with. Head out and make a right.”

Logan put the car in gear, and as they drove out of the garage, he wondered what the hell he was driving into.

Twenty-seven tension-filled minutes later, Tate stared at the familiar streets of Elmhurst, IL. Ever since he’d mentioned where they were headed, Logan had gotten quiet—really quiet.

“Make a left here,” he mumbled, and when Logan looked over at him, he repeated louder. “A left. Here. At the end of the street.”

This was such a stupid idea, and the longer he sat in the car, the more apparent it was becoming. What the hell was he going to say when his parents opened the front door?

“Hi, Mom and Dad. This is Logan, my boyfriend.”

His mother wouldn’t even take his calls. He couldn’t begin to imagine her reaction to this. And the closer they got to his childhood home, the more uncomfortable he became.

It was easy to be strong in your convictions when no one was questioning them.

Isn’t that what Logan said? He hated to admit that he was right.

“Over there. The white two-story on the right.”

Tate could see his sister’s car and—

“Oh, fuck.” He was going to kill his mother.

Logan put the car in park and turned to face him. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

Tate brought his hands up to his face and pushed his fingers against his forehead—hard—trying to calm his breathing. Finally, he lowered his hands to look at a confused Logan.

“The black Lexus—that’s Diana’s car.”

Logan glanced back out through the windshield. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Do I sound like I’m laughing?”

Logan looked back at him with narrowed eyes. “No, but you seem extremely wound up.”

Tate rested his head back on the seat and sighed. “I know. I’m feeling a little…I don’t know...”

“Do you always get like this around family?” Logan asked.

“No. Only when I bring home my boyfriends.” Tate knew his voice was laced with sarcasm, and as Logan silently watched him, he felt guilty—guilty for being such a prick. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s twice in the last hour,” Logan stated as he undid his seatbelt.

“Huh?”

“Twice you’ve apologized to me.”

As the seatbelt retracted and Logan opened the car door, Tate reached across and put his hand on his arm. Logan turned to face him, and Tate could see the strain on his handsome face.

Logan was just as anxious as he was.

“Then let me say it again in advance for anything I might say tonight that’s wrong.”

Logan pulled his arm away and reached back to grab his jacket. “Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Tate admitted. “But I’m sure I’m bound to fuck this up in some way. I just want you to know beforehand that I don’t mean it.”

Tate watched the usually talkative man beside him climb out of the car, shut the door, and shrug into his jacket. He followed suit, and when he came around to Logan’s side and shoved his hands in his pocket, he once again felt…guilty.

“Look,” Logan started and then stopped.

Tate didn’t have anything to say, so he waited and hoped like hell Logan had some magic words to calm him the fuck down.

“I know you must be freaking out, because I am too. But try and remember I’m on your side.”

He knew that—he did—but right now, it wasn’t helping.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Logan suggested. “So we can leave.”

Tate agreed and made his way up the paved walkway to the white steps he’d helped his father paint the year before. He stopped, took a deep breath, and climbed up with Logan close behind.

He felt sick. As if he were literally going to be sick.

He raised his hand and was about to knock, but then he lowered it and turned to find himself between Logan and his parents’ front door.

He looked into the blue eyes focused on him and remembered how much fun he’d had with Logan these past few weeks and days. Then he thought of Friday night and Logan’s family and then the intense pleasure he’d gotten from Logan’s body—from making him his.

Logan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Whatever you want to do in there, whatever you want to say about us...I stand behind you.”

You. I want you.

“Do whatever you need.”

What do I need? He looked at Logan and managed, “Thank you,” right before the door behind him opened.

Logan glanced past Tate’s shoulder to the woman in the doorway and was almost happy to see it was Miss Fucking Cline.

Now here is someone I know how to deal with.

He felt all of his apprehension at the situation turn to annoyance that bubbled up through his veins and surfaced in the form of a smug-as-fuck smile.

Her eyes narrowed on him and then moved to the back of Tate’s head. Her voice cut through the air.

“Tate.”

Logan saw Tate’s shoulders visibly tense, and when their eyes connected, Logan raised a brow.

It was showtime.

16.

Tate concentrated on Logan and told himself not to panic.

I’m okay. This is family.

They might freak out at first, but they loved him, and he knew that, eventually, they’d be okay.

Closing his eyes, he thought, Do it. Just turn the fuck around and deal with her. But before he could open his mouth, Logan did.

“Miss Cline. We meet again.” Logan’s voice dripped of saccharine sweetness and was Tate’s only warning before he stepped around him and added, “How unfortunate.”

Tate steeled himself against what he would find when he turned, but nothing could’ve prepared him.

There, in front of him, were the two people who’d both ignited something inside him at one time or another—Diana a long time ago, and Logan only weeks, minutes, and, hell, every second he was standing near him. If he’d thought his life was complicated already, seeing his current lover facing off with his ex made this experience totally surreal.

“What are you doing here?” Diana asked Logan as she stepped onto the porch, the front door shutting behind her. Thank God.

Logan pushed his hands into his pockets, making his jacket spread open, and Tate didn’t miss the way her eyes lowered down over Logan’s body.

“I was invited by your ex. Which makes me wonder…Why are you here?”

Tate decided it was time to finally deal with the problem that was Diana and stepped up beside Logan. He was careful not to touch him though, as to not add fuel to the current fire.

“That’s a good question, Diana. Why are you here?”

Her eyes finally came over to meet his, and the urge to grab her and strangle her with the string of pearls wrapped around her neck was very real.

She gave off a regal disposition with her hands on her hips and her chin tipped up, but instead of portraying the classy image she was hoping for, she looked like a grade-A snob.

As usual, she was dressed to perfection. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight top-notch bun at the back of her head, and a cream pencil skirt with the black cowl-neck sweater all molded perfectly to her curvaceous figure.

“I’ve always been here on Sundays. Or did you conveniently forget that sometime this week along with the fact you’ve been straight your entire life?”

Tate glared at her, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Logan turn toward him.

“She always comes to these things?” Tate was about to answer until Logan mumbled, “A heads-up would’ve been appreciated.”

“Tate’s never been great at remembering details,” Diana contributed, making his teeth clench, but Logan was more than happy to deal with her.

“I don’t remember asking you. And while we’re on the subject, he seems pretty clear about one important detail.”

Diana was too smart to ask what, and Logan didn’t bother waiting.

“He doesn’t want you here.”

Her shrewd eyes moved back and forth between them, but before she could open her mouth, Logan leaned in until their noses almost touched and spoke loud enough that Tate could make it out.

“Have to say, it takes balls to show up where you’re not wanted, so maybe it isn’t such a surprise that Tate likes me after all. Your pair’s almost as big as mine.”

Tate was sure that he’d misheard Logan until Diana turned her face and said, “You’re disgusting.”

To which Logan replied, as only he could, “You have no idea.”

Finally coming to his senses, Tate spoke up. “Diana?”

“What?” she snapped, taking a quick step back as if she just realized how close she and Logan were standing.

“You need to stop coming over here. We’re divorced.”

Diana crossed her arms almost in challenge. “Not yet, we’re not.”

He heard Logan chuckle beside him, but he couldn’t seem to find any humor in their current situation.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said innocently enough. “But she actually said that as if she has a chance of getting back together with you.”

Diana outwardly fumed. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Now that is an interesting question. Would you like to answer her, or should I?”

Tate knew what Logan was thinking, and he had no doubt that the words would fall right out of his mouth, so instead of allowing that to happen, he decided to take over.

“This isn’t about Logan. This is about you. You shouldn’t still be coming to my family’s home. We’re separated. Divorcing. It’s uncomfortable enough in this house without you showing up, and honestly, it makes you look desperate.”

“It’s true. Looks really desperate,” Logan added, helpful as ever.

“Ha,” Diana laughed, and the sound was ugly as she ran her eyes over him. There’d been a time when Tate would’ve responded to that with something other than annoyance. “You think I look desperate? And how do you think you look? You’re with a man for God’s sake.”

Tate was beyond frustrated and he hadn’t even stepped foot inside his house.

Why am I standing on this porch having yet another argument with her?

“This is going nowhere. I’m not trying to be cruel—”

“I am, just so it’s noted,” Logan interrupted.

Tate frowned at him, but Logan had a point. It wasn’t as if she were even trying to be cordial.

“Are my mom and dad inside?”

A bitter sneer curled her lips. “Yes. Along with your sister and Sam. This, I can’t wait to see.”

Tate pushed past her and opened the door.

As he walked inside and Logan followed, he heard, “What’s killing you the most? The fact that you don’t have him or that I do?”

Tate didn’t wait around for Diana’s answer. Instead, he continued along the original wood floors and down the narrow hall until he came to the family room.

When he realized what he was about to do, he stopped so suddenly that Logan ran into him and they both ended up stepping into the archway.

Four pairs of eyes found them, and all Tate could think was, What a fucking entrance.

Logan stood beside Tate and had a revelation.

This must be how suspects feel in a police lineup.

He did a quick scan of the room and spotted yet another familiar face from last week’s stop in hell—Tate’s sister. She was looking at the both of them with an expression of total shock.

The man beside her, who Logan presumed was her husband, was in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, and he was looking at him as if he were an alien.

Yeah? Well, welcome to the fucking club. This isn’t exactly a normal Sunday for me either, pal.

That left the final two occupants of the room.

Tate’s father was seated over on a couch with his mother against the far wall. Once she spotted the two of them, the smile she had on her face twisted into a cruel, unforgiving line.

Mrs. Morrison stood and clasped her hands in front of herself.

Her short, brown hair was cut into a blunt bob and pushed back behind her ears. She was dressed for church. Her floral-print dress was very respectable, and she was exactly as Logan had imagined—unyielding.

As he continued to observe her, Logan noticed the way she completely ignored his existence and zeroed in on Tate as she straightened her shoulders until her back was rigid.

She was not happy that he’d brought the pervert to her house.

“William…” she started as he turned back to check on Tate.

Logan watched the way she approached her son as if he were a stranger. Then she stopped and turned her head his way to pin him with a look that spoke volumes.

The revulsion directed toward him was fierce, unlike anything Logan had ever encountered, and even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t care, he did.

“Mom,” Tate said, once again capturing her attention.

“I told you not to bring him here,” she spat out as her hands clenched by her sides.

Wow.

“His name is Logan.”

She didn’t even bother with a second glance as she answered in a tone so icy Logan was surprised it didn’t freeze Tate into a human Popsicle. “I don’t care what his name is.”

“Mom!” Tate shouted, clearly shocked by her rudeness.

“Tate, it’s okay,” he offered.

What did he care if she didn’t want to acknowledge his existence? It was nothing worse than his own father had done when he’d been alive.

“Don’t you call him that,” she told him, finally walking over to stand in front of him. “His name is William.”

Logan bit his tongue so hard he could have sworn he tasted blood.

He stood there, trying to remember that, as an adult, you were supposed to show respect to your elders, but did that apply when the elder was a cruel, ignorant—

“Stop being so rude,” Tate said for him.

Logan took a step back, not wanting to be close when the shit hit the fan. This woman was vibrating with rage, and it was all directed at him.

“How dare you talk to me like that.”

“Me? You’re the one acting as if I brought a murderer home,” Tate spat out, and Logan could see his hands had balled into fists by his side.

Her head swiveled toward her son as she announced, “You might as well have.”

“What did you say?” Tate demanded.

Mrs. Morrison looked back at him as if he really had committed the most heinous of crimes, and then turned back to Tate. “I don’t want him in my house. He’s taken what used to be good and pure, and—”

“And what?” Tate finally exploded. “What has he done to me, your good and pure son? I’m almost thirty for fuck’s sake! I’m separated because I married a woman who got bored and went elsewhere when I was out working two jobs. Yet she still sits next to you in church and comes over for Sunday fucking lunch!”

The room was so combustible that Logan was afraid to breathe, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tate’s father stand. He’d never seen Tate more furious. They’d both had their fair share of arguments, but not like this. Tate’s temper was riding him.

“He hasn’t done anything to you. He hasn’t even said hello and you’re treating him like he’s got the plague. I can’t believe you’re acting like this.”

“And I can’t believe you’d have sexual relations with a man and bring him to lunch like you think we’d be okay with it! That we’d share a meal with this...this queer.”

And there it is—the moment of truth.

This was the turning point into either acceptance or denial, and Logan could actually feel his palms sweating as he waited for Tate’s answer.

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Logan’s eyes moved over the other spectators until he reached Tate’s father. He was still over by the couch, but he was now watching him with suspicious eyes—Tate’s eyes. There, right in front of him, was a close-to-perfect duplicate of Tate twenty years from now. It was disconcerting.

“Unreal,” Tate murmured before he started laughing.

It was an odd, humorless sound that Logan never wanted to hear after today. It was the sound of someone cracking, falling apart, and not understanding why.

“It was stupid of me to think you would try and understand my side of things instead of the gossipy bullshit that Diana and Jill brought back to you. But yes, since it seems like that fact needs confirming. I am having sex with Logan, and you know what? I’ve never been more satisfied in my entire life.”

Well, I’ll be damned.

Logan was stunned, and as his eyes found Diana’s, he was more than slightly pleased that she was too. No one had shocked him more than Tate had right then. He was pretty sure Tate’s mother felt the same, because she sucked in her breath and then pointed to what looked like a side door.

“Leave.”

Tate tilted his head to the side as if he didn’t understand, but Logan did. His heart ached for what he knew was about to happen.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked.

“I said leave. Get out of my house.”

Logan watched Tate closely as the words seemed to register.

He blinked several times and then raised a hand to push it back through his hair. When he dropped it down and his palm hit his thigh, it was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

“You want me to leave?” he asked again, his tone flat, disbelieving.

Tate’s father stepped forward, placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder—a sign of solidarity—and spoke for the first time.

“I think it’s best if you go now. You’ve upset your mother.”

Tate’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered up over his parents and landed on his sister, and when she stood, Logan could’ve sworn he saw a glimpse of regret in her eyes.

Tate stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. His jaw was twitching, and from his side view, Logan could see the flush of anger and hurt spreading across his cheeks.

“Fine. I’ll go. But it won’t change anything.”

Tate looked over at him, and as Logan stared back, he’d never felt so fucking helpless in his whole life. He nodded to him, trying to silently convey that he was there—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Whatever you need.

Tate turned and started walking toward the door.

As Logan followed, he heard Mrs. Morrison call out, “William?”

It was Logan’s turn to hold his breath as Tate stopped where he was and glanced back at the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally. Then she landed her final blow.

“I didn’t raise my son to be gay. You’re a disgrace to this family, and you are no longer welcome here.”

If heartache had a face, it was Tate’s right then, but instead of responding, he spun away and marched out of the house, leaving him to follow.

Logan started toward the door, but at the last moment, he turned to face Tate’s family. He couldn’t leave without saying something to these people, and he’d be damned if they didn’t know they’d just let an amazing human being walk out their door because of their own ignorance.

“How could you treat him like that? You'd rather side with some malicious bitch than trying to understand your own son? I've never met anyone like Tate—”

“His name is William,” Tate’s mother cut in.

“No, it's Tate. That honest, stubborn man that you just let walk out your fucking door is Tate. I hope when you look at the empty chair at your dinner table this afternoon you realize what the fuck you just did and come to your senses. If you do, he’ll be with me, Logan Mitchell—the pervert. She knows where to find me,” he made sure to add, pointing to Diana, who was now standing by the side door, probably wanting to run after Tate.

Well she could fuck right off. That was his job, and he wasn’t about to let her try and hone in and promise to make shit better.

He stormed to the door, and as he opened it, he heard her say, “Think he’ll still want you now?”

Logan looked her in the eye and made sure he didn’t reveal the fact that he was terrified the answer was no. “I have no fucking doubt.”

He opened the door and walked around the porch until he spotted Tate with his backside up against the passenger’s side door.

Logan wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but as he made his way down the steps and over to the car, Tate turned to him, his face devoid of any emotion.

“Can we please leave?”

So cool, so polite, and—as Logan unlocked the car and Tate got in, he realized—so distant.

One thing was for certain. Tate sure as hell hadn’t denied a damn thing.

Tate didn’t remember getting into the car, and he didn’t remember the drive back to the city, but when they pulled into the parking garage and the ignition turned off, he realized he was home.

He was numb. Completely and utterly numb.

“Hey?”

Logan.

This was the first he’d been aware of him trying to talk this entire time, but he had nothing to say—not a thing.

“Hey, look at me,” he said again, and Tate made himself turn to face him. “This will work itself out.”

Tate wasn’t sure he believed him and found it too hard to look him in the eye and say so. So he turned away instead.

“They were shocked and angry, but I’m sure they’ll come around.”

Would they?

He didn’t think so, and what did that mean? That his family didn’t want to see him again—ever? The thought sent a wave of nausea through him, so he pushed the door open and forced himself to get out.

Jesus, fuck. What did I do?

He placed a palm on the side of the car and bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes when he heard the other door open, and when a hand touched his shoulder, Tate immediately backed up and straightened.

The hurt that skidded across Logan’s face tore at him, but as he struggled to remain upright, all he could hear in his head was, Don’t come back.

“You okay?”

God, since when did he start saying all the right things?

“Tate? Talk to me.”

He didn’t know what to say, so when he finally met Logan’s eyes, he swallowed and said all he could think of. “I need to go.”

Logan nodded and moved aside. “Okay. You want to go upstairs?”

“Yes,” he pushed past the lump in his throat. When Logan locked his car to come with him, he added, “By myself.”

Tate knew the second Logan realized what he was saying, because he walked closer and reached out to touch him.

Again, he backed away. If Logan touched him right now, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He felt as if he were about to fall apart.

“If that’s what you want.”

Tate couldn’t bring himself to look at him for fear of what he’d see. “It is.”

“Then I’ll go. I’ll call you later.”

“No,” he rushed out before he lost his nerve.

“No?” Logan questioned.

Tate heard the slight break in his voice, and he hated himself for what he was doing, even as he continued to do it.

“You need to be more specific than that, Tate.”

He knew the only way Logan would listen and believe him was if he looked at him and said it. So he made himself stand the fuck up and face him like a man.

“I need some time to process, some space.”

Logan pushed a hand into his pocket and brought the other up to his face, where he rubbed his chin. “Time? As in…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He hadn’t thought it all through. He just knew what he needed—to be by himself.

Logan took a step closer, but this time, he didn’t attempt to touch him. “How much time are we talking here? A day? Two days, a week?”

“I don’t know! I just need to think, to decide if this is worth—” He shut his mouth on the words he’d been about to say, but Logan wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Go ahead. Say it. We both know you’re thinking it.”

Am I thinking it?

He didn’t seem to know what the hell he was thinking.

“Say it, Tate,” Logan demanded, his voice low and menacing.

He swallowed and faced Logan head on. He deserved that much. “I don’t know that this will be worth losing my family. I knew they’d be upset but…”

“I see.”

Logan spun away and began pacing with both hands in his pockets as if he weren’t sure he could control himself. When he came to a stop in front of him, his hurt finally surfaced in the form of anger, and Tate braced himself.

“You’re not sure that I’m worth it, is what you really mean.”

He didn’t know what he meant right then.

“I just need some fucking space, okay?"

“Okay. Fine. If that's what you need.” Logan brushed it off and walked back around to his side of the car.

“It is,” he told him, watching as Logan unlocked the vehicle and opened the door.

He stared across the roof at him and shrugged—the wall firmly back in place, the pissed-off expression saying all the things he wasn’t. “Okay.”

Tate knew he should leave it at that, but as Logan moved to get into his car, he called out, “Logan?"

He paused and looked his way, and it was the first time that Tate had seen those blue eyes of his full of hurt. “What?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Yeah...You do that.”

But as he got into the car and drove away, Tate knew he didn’t believe him for a minute. He wasn’t sure he believed himself either.