Текст книги "Trust"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Tate maneuvered himself as close as he could get to Logan in their positions and said just as boldly, “I wanted to and should’ve said yes the first time you asked. I didn’t because I wanted to be able to give you something in return.”

Logan started to speak, but Tate placed his wet finger over his lips. “Shh. This is my truth, remember?”

Logan silently inclined his head, and Tate continued.

“I want to say yes right now, but I don’t think you’d believe me. Not in here,” he said, moving his fingers down to Logan’s heart. “I think you’d always wonder. So it’s my turn to wait. Two, three days… Hell, Logan, I’ll wait forever. But my answer will never change. So when you’re ready to really hear me, ask. And I’ll tell you.”

Logan didn’t say a word, continuing to hold his gaze until Tate decided he should let him off the hook and then turned around to settle back against him.

He understood Logan’s showing caution—he didn’t want a decision from someone who was feeling vulnerable and needy. He wanted it from a man who was strong and sure of himself.

I’ll get better, prove to him that I’m the same—

“Tate?” Logan’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

He felt warm lips by his ear as Logan carefully wrapped his arms around him and asked, “Will you move in with me? I don’t even care where. I’ve waited long enough, and I don’t want to wait another second.”

Tate turned his head, and as Logan looked down at him expectantly, he simply said, “Yes.”

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, Logan stood at the foot of his bed and tightened the knot in his tie. Tate was silently watching him from where he was lying with two pillows propped up behind him, and Logan had to fight the urge to climb back in beside him and call in one last day.

“Okay, I put my numbers on the side table next to you. There’s the main office, Sherry’s desk, my direct number, and my—”

“Logan,” Tate interrupted with a grin.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be fine. I have your number in my cell. If I need anything, I’ll call.”

Logan dropped his hands to his sides and came around to sit on the bed. He took Tate’s fingers in his hand and rolled his eyes at himself. “I’m acting like a moron, aren’t I?”

“No,” Tate laughed. “You’re acting like you care.”

He sighed, leaning forward to rub his smooth cheek along Tate’s stubbled one. “Of course I care. And I want to know that you have every way imaginable to reach me if you need to.”

“You’re only going in for half a day,” Tate reminded him.

“So? A lot can happen in four hours.”

Tate turned his head, and when their eyes met, he said, “I’m going to get up, eat breakfast, and then watch some TV. Then I’m going to get in the cab you’re insisting I take to meet you for lunch.”

“Good,” Logan said. “And then we’re going to—”

“Cancel my lease.”

Logan kissed his lips and then lightly nipped his bottom one. “See, that sounds like the perfect day.”

“Of course it does, bossy.”

“And?” Logan challenged.

Tate pulled his fingers away so he could touch his cheek. “And nothing. I kind of like you bossy.”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Tate was quick to add.

“I’ll have to remember that. For later.”

“You do that. Now, go to work. Otherwise they’re going to think you quit.”

Logan got off the bed and walked to his closet. As he shrugged into his jacket, he looked back at Tate and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay about moving in here? I don’t mind if we look—”

Tate started to laugh then—really laugh.

“Okay,” Logan stressed, knowing he was acting like a nervous shit. “I get it. You said yes. You meant yes. I’m going now.”

He made his way to the bedroom door but stopped when Tate said his name.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to wear a scarf and coat. Weather said it was going to be icy this morning.”

A wide grin split Logan’s lips and he nodded. “Yes, dear.”

“Oh, and Logan?”

Logan cocked his head to the side. “Hmm?”

“Love you.”

Damn, Logan thought. Every time he says it, my heart just about stops.

“I love you too. See you at one, Tate. Don’t make me wait.”

An hour later, Tate had already received two phone calls and one text from Logan. All under the guise of forgetting something when it was more than obvious he was checking up on him. It was cute, but he knew that if he said that, Logan would go from concerned to annoyed in the blink of an eye.

What had he once told him? Oh yeah. Puppies were cute. Not him.

Tate was still grinning over the last text when the intercom in the condo buzzed. Not expecting anyone, he made his way over to it and hit the answer button.

“Good morning, Mr. Morrison.”

The fact that the doorman knew his name was the first shock Tate got.

The second came when he told him, “I have a man down here who says he’s your father. Can I let him up?”

Tate stared at the black box in front of him and felt his hand start shaking.

How the hell did he know where to find me?

Things had been tense after he’d woken up at the hospital. His mother had refused to come into the room while Logan was there, so that pretty much meant that, from the moment he’d woken to when he’d been released, he’d seen his parents twice. And each time had resulted in close to radio silence.

He couldn’t believe that, after everything he’d gone through, they still couldn’t get past their warped views on his love life. Considering what they’d put him through, he thought they were lucky he’d agreed to see them at all. Just thinking about them making Logan wait outside every day had him—

“Sir?”

Tate closed his eyes and let out a breath, wondering what the hell his father could possibly want. “Yeah. Let him up,” he said and then released the button.

He rubbed his hand over his face and waited—waited for the inevitable disappointment that would come when he looked into the eyes he’d once trusted above all others.

It had taken a little over an hour for Logan to get through his stack of mail. As he leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses, he clicked on his e-mail and winced at the number of unopened messages that came up.

Placing his glasses on the desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Um, Mr. Mitchell?”

“Yes, Sherry?” he said, spotting his PA standing just inside his door.

“Mr. Madison wanted to know if you had a minute to go and see him.”

Logan glanced at the clock and nodded. “Yeah. Can you let him know I’ll be down there in five minutes?”

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile, and then she took a careful step farther into the office with a pad of paper in her hand. “Mr. Mitchell?”

“Yes?” Logan asked as he clicked open the first email.

“I just wanted to say I was very sorry to hear about Tate. We all were. But we’re so thrilled to hear he’s doing well and back at home with you.”

Yes, Logan thought as he stopped reading the e-mail. I definitely like the sound of that. At home. With me.

“Thank you, Sherry. I’ll make sure to pass it along to him.”

“Oh, well, that’s the thing. We’d like to send him a basket of goodies or something. And the girls and I were wondering what he likes.”

Logan felt a spark of mischief as he said, “He likes nuts.”

Sherry rolled her eyes. “Really, Logan?”

Logan laughed at the use of his first name. It was rare that she used it, but when she did, it was usually because he’d said something outrageous.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself, and it’s actually the truth. He does like them.”

She gave him a look designed to make him feel like a scolded little boy—and it worked. “What kind? And do not give me some smart-mouthed response, mister.”

Logan picked his glasses up and stood, wandering around his desk until he stopped in front of her. “He loves hazelnuts. So I’m betting he’d love those roasted ones, you know—”

“From the confectionary store downstairs? Yes, I know the ones.”

Logan nodded. “Also cashews and almonds, salted.”

Sherry’s brow arched as he stepped around her, and then she asked, “What? No, salty nut jokes?”

Logan walked out of his office and placed a hand to his chest, his mouth falling open. “Why, Sherry, I’m appalled. I would never…”

Shaking her head at him, she went to her desk, and he saw a small smile curl the edge of her mouth. “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Mitchell.”

Logan chuckled and turned on his heel to head to Cole’s office, telling her, “It’s good to be back.”

Tate almost jumped out of his skin when three knocks sounded on Logan’s—no, their—front door. Wow, is that weird to think about.

When he reached for the handle, he reminded himself that this was now his home. No one had the right to make him feel uncomfortable in it. But as he came face to face with his father, all of those confident you-can-do-it words went right out the open door.

“William.”

Tate gave a curt nod and then moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”

His father’s eyes shifted beyond his shoulder, and when they came back to his, Tate said, “If you’re checking to see if Logan’s here, you’re in luck. He went back to work today.”

“I know.”

As those two words registered, Tate’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you know?”

“He told me he was going back today when you were released from the hospital.”

Tate wasn’t sure why that piece of information totally pissed him off, but it did. He gnashed his teeth together and waited in stubborn silence as he faced off with the man who had essentially thrown him out of his life only months before.

“I asked him because I wanted to know if anyone would be caring for you when you left.”

It shamed Tate to feel the way he did in that moment, because instead of the concern he should’ve felt for his parent’s anxiety, he just felt rage. He was furious at them.

Angry for the way they’d treated him the weekend he’d brought Logan home. Hurt at the easy way they’d cut him off as though he didn’t exist, and after he’d been lying in a fucking hospital room, dying—they’d dared to ban the one person who gave a shit about him and had taken it upon themselves to control his life.

Well, fuck that.

He hadn’t had a real opportunity to relay his particular feelings about it all, but he’d be damned if he welcomed them back into his life as if nothing had happened. Not that his mother had even bothered to show up.

Before he exploded right there in the hall for everyone to hear, Tate walked back into the condo, leaving his father to either come inside or leave. He wasn’t going to beg him to stay.

When he reached the balcony doors, Tate turned and saw him standing in the living room. It felt weird to have him there. His father’s eyes seemed to get stuck on the bedroom door, and Tate wondered what he was thinking.

“What do you want?”

“Son—”

“Don’t,” Tate interrupted through grit teeth. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

His father had the decency to look ashamed. Tate wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive that he was remembering the afternoon he’d told him to leave and never come back.

“Tate,” he said, this time using his middle name, the one given to him from his side of the family. “I…” he trailed off as if he weren’t sure what to say and then scrubbed a hand over his tired face.

Tate shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans while he waited for his father to speak. When his eyes finally made their way back to his, Tate decided that enough was enough.

“Look, I’m fine, okay? You’ve seen me. I didn’t die. Now you can leave.”

“Stop it, Tate.”

“Stop what?” he boomed back at him. “God. How dare you,” he said and turned away, unable to look at the face so similar to his own. “Do you know how many days I’ve waited for you and Mom to call me? To maybe stop by my old apartment and see me since you kicked me out of your house?”

When his father didn’t answer, Tate faced him head on and said, “Every fucking day. But you know what I’d tell myself when Sunday rolled around and I’d hear nothing? That you were the ones who got rid of me. You threw me out. Not only out of your house. But out of your lives.”

“Tate—”

“I’m not done,” he snapped, walking across the room to where his father stood. “You’re standing in Logan’s home right now, which, coincidently, is also mine. And you’re standing here because he has the kind of heart that you lack, an open one. He invited you here to his place when you were so quick to throw him out of yours. That’s one of the reasons why I love him.”

When his father’s lips tightened, Tate squared his shoulders. “It’s not going to change. This isn’t a phase I’m going through, and if you spent just five minutes with him without all of your bullshit prejudices, you’d see why.”

The silence that engulfed the room was filled with tension, but Tate was not going to back down. He’d meant every word he’d said, and if his father didn’t like it—then that’s too damn bad.

“I have spent time with him.”

If he hadn’t seen his father’s lips move, Tate would’ve believed he’d imagined the words. “What did you say?”

“I have spoken to Mr. Mitchell.”

“His name’s Logan. And telling him to get out of my hospital room doesn’t count.”

His father rubbed a hand over the grey stubble on his chin and frowned. “I know what his name is, Tate. I also know he owns his own law firm with his brother, Cole.”

Tate’s mouth opened, but he forgot what he was going to say. His dad slid his hands into his pockets and glanced around the condo.

“This sure is some place.”

“Dad,” Tate got out, glaring at him in a way that screamed, Start talking.

“He was there every day you were in that place. Every night too. The first time I saw him, your mother and I were being taken back to see you. He was arguing with a woman at the front desk who was refusing him permission to go back to you, and he looked murderous. He was like a man who had fought through hell to get to where he was and was being held back in the final moment.”

Tate tried to imagine how he would’ve felt in Logan’s position and couldn’t. All he knew was that, every time the topic came up, Logan looked physically ill.

“I couldn’t do anything at that point because your mother—”

“I don’t care about that. You said you spoke to him,” Tate said, more interested in what had happened between his father and Logan than anything else.

“I did. Several times. After I finally got back to see you and realized how bad it was, I told myself that, when you made it through surgery I would go get him—the one person I knew you would fight for. It wasn’t us—it was him.”

Tate clenched his hand in his pocket as he looked away from his father, not willing to be that vulnerable in front of him.

“Tate?”

When he raised his head, he saw that his father was now down the hall.

When he got to the door, he said, “I was wrong to say what I did that day you came by the house. You came looking for your father, and I wasn’t there. Just know that I am now, son. If you ever need to look again.”

And with that, he walked out the door.

Logan was almost at Cole’s office when his door opened and Christopher Walker sauntered out.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the illustrious Mr. Mitchell who takes off on a whim and drops his new clients in his brother’s lap.”

Not wanting to get into any kind of conversation with Chris, Logan chose to ignore him and went to walk by.

“Not even a ‘good morning’?”

Logan glanced over at the slick architect he’d once found so attractive and wondered what he’d ever seen in him.

Perhaps it was his back… It’d be nice if he walked the fuck out, and I could decide for myself.

“Good morning, Mr. Walker.”

Chris laughed, and the sound grated along his nerves as Logan stood there acting the part of polite owner in front of a staff with curious eyes. It was bad enough they’d all witnessed Tate’s public outing. They didn’t need to see a replay of his past.

“So, where have you been, Mitchell?”

“None of your business,” he said quietly enough that no one would overhear.

“I disagree. You were my lawyer. That usually means I can rely on you if need be. Not have to wonder if you’re off on some two-month vacation fucking your latest boy toy.”

As the words left Chris’s mouth, all Logan heard was the final snide remark, and there was nothing that could’ve held him back. Quick as a flash, he grabbed Chris’s jacket and shoved him up against the wall.

“You’re going to want to shut your mouth right about now,” Logan growled at him, two seconds away from going completely postal.

“Touchy subject, huh? What happened? Did the sexy-haired guy leave too? Just can’t hold a good man down, can you, Logan?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled.

“Logan!”

Cole’s voice cut through the anger that had boiled to the surface and heated Logan’s face, and when he felt a hand on his arm, he turned and saw Cole giving him a polite but stern “let go of him now” look.

He released Chris’s jacket and backed away from him, telling himself to calm down. But it was too late. He’d already shown his hand. He’d snapped, lost his cool, and as the cocksure prick in front of him smirked, Logan felt the urge to wipe it right off his face.

“I believe you were on your way out,” Cole said, and the tone suggested that Chris do just that and get the fuck out.

“I was. It’s a pity that a firm with such a good reputation could drop the ball so easily with no explanation as to why. But then again, it doesn’t surprise me when it comes to you two. You were always better at using your fists than your brains.”

Logan was about to say something along the lines of, “Fuck you,” when Cole stepped between them and told him in a voice he hadn’t heard for years, “I explained that Mr. Mitchell would be out for some time. It is you who chose to make it an issue to deal with anyone else. I suggest that you collect your coat and get the hell out of our offices.”

Chris looked between the two of them with disgust before turning and storming out through the double glass doors. As Logan glanced around at their employees, he noticed that they’d all lowered their heads and were pretending not to pay attention, but several seemed to be holding back grins as they worked.

Christ, working here is becoming as entertaining as a night at a fucking peep show.

Then Cole turned to him, smiled, and asked, “Ready to plan a party?”

Chapter Twenty

If there was one thing Tate never got sick of, it was watching Logan when he arrived somewhere. That moment when he could observe him unnoticed—like now.

After the morning he’d had, he couldn’t wait to push it aside for a while and be back in Logan’s company. He’d taken a cab down to The Daily Grind early so he could face the windows by the side street, and now, he understood what Logan had told him that first night on their date. About how he got to watch him walk in. Because as he looked out the window, he spotted Logan striding up the sidewalk.

Dressed in his black, woolen coat and navy-blue scarf, Logan was sporting a look Tate hadn’t yet gotten used to seeing him in. And as Logan pulled the door to the coffee shop open, Tate sat up straight to get a better view.

My man is sexy as hell, he thought while Logan unbuttoned his coat and scanned the shop from behind his glasses. The collar of his coat was flipped up, and his scarf… Hell, who knew I’d love that so much? But damn, that scarf around his neck suddenly had Tate’s brain switching from how Logan looked in his clothes to the way he would look out of them.

The only problem was that he wasn’t able to do anything right now because of his damn shoulder, and he wasn’t allowed to do that until next Friday. And that was only if the doctor gave him the all clear.

As Logan’s eyes skidded to a stop on him, his lips morphed into a sensual smile and he indicated with a tilt of his head that he was going to order. That was just fine by him; he was more than happy to sit there and watch.

With everything they’d gone through in the last two months, it was nice to finally be out of the hospital and doing something somewhat normal. While sitting there, Tate started to feel the need to do other things with Logan.

Maybe I can convince him to—

“Hey, you.”

The voice came from behind his shoulder, and Tate didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. Robbie had a very distinctive tone—suggestive.

“I saw the curls and wondered if it was you.”

As the blond barista stepped beside his table, Tate gave a reluctant smile.

Christ, I must be hard up for normalcy if I’m happy to see Robbie.

“No one has hair like– Oh shit. What happened to your arm?” he asked when he noticed the brace Tate had strapped on under his jacket.

The honest concern on his face surprised him, and when Robbie sat down and reached across the table, his eyes wide, a genuine smile crossed Tate’s lips. He was about to answer when Robbie started talking again.

“I haven’t seen you or Logan in forever. Oh wait… Are you two still…you know? Or did that end? Is he here?” As the final question tumbled from his mouth, Robbie swiveled in his chair to look around the café.

Tate laughed at the guy. “Let me answer the most important question first. Yes, we are still ‘you know.’ So stop looking for him, flirt.” He hardly believed those were his own words.

When Robbie turned back to face him with a cheeky smile, it was clear he was shocked also. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?”

“That’s exactly how it is.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to finally tell me to back off. It was obvious you thought it, but…if you weren’t gonna say it—”

“Consider it said,” Tate said, chuckling at Robbie’s audacity. “He’s still with me, and I’m not letting him go.”

“Well, if it had ever been an option, I wouldn’t have either. Showoff.” Robbie sighed as though he were totally put out. Then he gave an impish grin and turned to search behind him again.

This time, Tate knew he saw exactly what he did: Logan walking toward them with two coffees and a brown paper bag in hand —and damn, he looked fine.

After Logan’s eyes shifted to Robbie and then came back to his, Robbie turned around, slumped against the booth, and put a hand to his chest. Closing his eyes, he mouthed, “So fucking hot.”

When Logan stopped by the table, he looked down to where Robbie was sitting with his eyes still closed. Then he turned to him with a question in his eyes.

“It’s okay. He’s having a moment,” he explained as Logan took his lips in a swift kiss.

When he pulled away, he smiled. “So am I.”

Tate licked his lips as Logan straightened. “Nice coat.”

“You like? Some pain in my ass insisted I wear it this morning.”

“Pretty sure I was nowhere near your ass this morning, but—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Logan interrupted. “There are children listening.”

Both of them then turned their attention to Robbie, who had sat forward and was watching the exchange avidly. “Oh, come on. It was just getting good.”

“Afternoon, Robbie,” Logan said as he started to unwind his scarf. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us for lunch.”

With mischievous eyes, Robbie informed him, “I’d love to join in and eat you two any time.”

“I’m sure you would,” Logan said dryly while removing his coat. “You going to get out of my seat?”

Robbie stood and bowed before sweeping his hand toward the booth to indicate that Logan should sit. Then he turned his attention back to Tate. “You never said what happened to your arm.”

Tate’s eyes found Logan’s as he shrugged his arms in the sleeves of his shirt as if trying to get comfortable—in his clothes or with the conversation, Tate wasn’t quite sure.

“I was in a car accident,” he finally said, glancing up at Robbie.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, placing a hand to his mouth. “And your arm was broken?”

“His collarbone, among other things,” Logan interjected.

Robbie’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of them, and when he saw how grim Logan looked, it must’ve registered that what had happened was some serious shit.

“Yeah.” Tate gave a tight smile and then stretched his legs out under the table on either side of Logan’s. “But I’m getting better every day. So don’t get any ideas about trying to steal my guy. Got it?”

Logan coughed around the sip of coffee he’d just taken.

“Hey,” he said, running his eyes over Logan in a proprietary way. “I’m just letting him know you’re off the market—for good.”

Jesus. The words that had just come out of Tate’s mouth and the look he was aiming across the table at him had Logan placing his coffee cup down just in case he dropped it. It was full of heat and arousal, and it had been so fucking long since he’d seen it that Logan’s palms started to sweat.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it…” Robbie was saying, but as he continued to talk, Tate was busy rubbing his leg against the outside of his, and the small gesture was enough to have Logan shifting in his seat—“Logan?”

As his name was said with enough force to break through his sex-filled brain, he refocused on Tate, who smirked at him.

Tease. He knows exactly what he just did to me.

“Huh?” he managed.

“You need anything else?”

Tate to pass his fucking follow-up so I can… “No.”

Robbie must’ve sensed the “go away” vibe he was throwing off, because he backed away with a small grin, saying, “Ooo-kay, then,” and left him sitting there with the sexy, off-limits man opposite him.

“Stop it,” Logan ordered and brought his coffee cup back to his lips.

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit. You’re looking at me like you want to—” His words ended as Tate chose that precise moment to press his leg back against his. Logan glared across the table at him. “And you keep doing that.”

“I’m just stretching. I have long legs.”

Logan narrowed his eyes and lowered the cup. “So do I, but I’m not rubbing all over—”

Tate did it again.

“Fuck you.”

“Mhmm. I was just thinking how much I’d like that. I miss having you inside me.”

Logan sat back in the seat with one arm resting on the table and used his other hand to discreetly push against his growing erection. “You have a sadistic streak. You know that?”

“Me?” Tate chuckled. “It’s not my fault you look…” As Tate checked him out, Logan clenched his fist and waited for whatever sexy come-on he was about to throw his way. Instead, he got, “So, how was your morning?”

What? No way is he changing topics now. “Excuse me?”

“Your morning? How was it?”

Logan leaned forward. “Do you really want to get into that right now?”

“No. But you seem uncomfortable. So I’m trying to help you out.”

“That’s the point. You’re not allowed to help me out. Not for another week. So keep your legs and sex face to yourself.”

Tate shrugged and grabbed the brown paper bag in front of him, pulling one of the sandwiches out. Once he’d handed it over, he sat back, got the second out for himself, and then said something that made Logan thankful he was seated.

“I’ve never known my lack of participation to stop you before.”

Does he mean what I think he—

“And I’d be more than happy to provide you with visual aids while you work solo.”

Yes, he fucking does.

“You know, to help you out, of course.”

Logan methodically unwrapped his lunch and then pinned Tate with a look he hoped spoke volumes. If the way Tate swallowed and licked his lips was any indication, his intentions were coming across loud and fucking clear.

“And what kind of visual aids are we talking about here?”

“Any kind you like.”

Logan shook his head. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that if you want to convince me.”

“You need convincing?”

“Hey, you’re the one pitching the proposal. Give it to me.”

Tate’s expression told him exactly how he’d like to “give it” to him, but as he unwrapped his food, Logan could see the wheels spinning.

Yeah, come on. Tell me exactly what you want.

“Obviously, it would be somewhat limited,” Tate started as Logan took a bite of his sandwich. He wouldn’t have been able to say what was on it though, because he was too busy staring at the hungry expression that just flashed across Tate’s face. “But my doctor did tell me I need to do exercises that maintain forearm and grip strength with my hand.”

The answer was so unexpected, and so fucking spot-on, that Logan couldn’t help his laugh. “That is a very persuasive argument.”

Tate gave him his most serious expression and then, yeah, rubbed his leg again. “I think so. You wouldn’t want to stand in the way of my healing process, would you?”

“No. I certainly would not.”

“And you want to help me, right? They say if someone has a goal to work toward, they’ll improve much faster than one who doesn’t.”

Logan took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Is that right?”

“Yep.”

The arrogant way Tate answered, as if he already knew he’d won, guaranteed Logan’s hard-on for the rest of their meal.

“Just so there’s no confusion. You want me to ‘help’ myself in front of you to give you a reason to exercise the grip strength of your hand? Do I have that right?”

Tate finished chewing the bite he’d just taken and nodded. “That’s right.”

“And the visuals? You never did tell me.”

The way Tate shifted in his seat made Logan think he was imagining it already—then he shared his vision. “Me naked, on our bed. And you naked, kneeling over me.”

“Fuck, Tate,” he said, his breath now coming a little faster at all the depraved thoughts racing through his head. “Damn.”

Tate raised an eyebrow. “You in or out?”

Logan grabbed his jacket and scarf and slid out of the booth. “Fuck going to cancel the lease. You can call them.”

“Oh? Did something come up?” Tate asked, a victorious look crossing his face.

Logan kissed those provoking lips and whispered, “Yeah. I did. Let’s go home. I believe you have a therapy session to go to.”