Текст книги "Try: 1"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Logan looked down the bar to where Tate was now laughing with a group of women. He then glanced back at Cole. “So? When has that stopped me?”

“Never,” Cole admitted. He took another sip as he turned in Tate’s direction. “Just be careful.”

Logan laughed. “Don’t worry, dad, I’m always careful. I use condoms too.”

“Not because of that, you idiot. The guy looked pissed off. Be careful you don’t get into something you can’t get out of—like a back alley with a group of guys about to beat the shit out of you.”

Logan glanced back at Tate and lifted his own glass. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Plus, he doesn’t seem the type.”

Cole’s eyebrow rose, as Logan took a quick sip of his drink, “I think he’s pissed about something else entirely.”

As Cole placed his empty glass on the counter, he narrowed his eyes at Logan. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, then just be careful.”

“Okay,” Logan added as he signaled for another round.

This time though, Amelia stepped forward, and she proceeded to flirt outrageously with them as they chatted and drank their second drink—Tate free.

* * *

 Finally, closing time.

Amelia had gone out the back around ten minutes earlier to do God knows what, and Tate was doing a final round of the bar tables and booths. As he made his way down the side row, he saw that someone was waiting in the last booth, and he knew instinctively that it was Logan.

The two of them hadn’t had any more interactions throughout the evening, and when he had seen Logan leave with the blond guy, Tate had figured that would be the end of that. But as he moved to keep walking past the booth, ignoring Logan completely, Tate was out of luck.

“Not even a hello tonight? You are mad at me.”

Tate stopped and looked down to where Logan was sitting, relaxed into the side of the booth. He had an arm up on the back of the seat, and his suit jacket was undone, showing off his white shirt and blue tie. Tate also noticed a glass between Logan’s fingertips. Amelia must have served him before heading out the back.

“I said it earlier when you were at the bar.”

“Well, you didn’t say it to me. You said it to Cole.”

Tate glared at the man staring up at him, and with the mood he was in, he decided it was better to walk away, so he did just that. Tate made his way around the wall separating the two main rooms of the bar before he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

Spinning around quickly, as though he had anticipated the touch, Tate almost ran into Logan as he came face-to-face with him.

Tate gritted his teeth, and as calmly as he could, he stated, “You need to take your hand off me—around four seconds ago. You have a nasty habit of taking liberties.”

“I have a lot of nasty habits. Want me to tell you about them?” Logan countered, removing his hand.

Tate felt his blood starting to boil. “You don’t fucking quit do you?”

“What can I say? I don’t like to lose.”

Tate had finally had enough of the cocky attitude and decided it was about time to put Logan in his place. Moving forward, he snarled, “Well, you aren’t going to win anything here. I’m not interested in this little game you’re playing. I work here. You drink here. That is where it ends.”

Tate felt his ears ringing as Logan licked his lips and argued right back. “Are you so sure about that?”

Disconcerted, Tate fumed, “Am I sure I don’t want to have sex with you? Yes.” Pausing, he took a tense breath, and before he thought better of it, he continued, “Surprisingly, I don’t want to fuck you, and I don’t want to be the third invite to your party of three. So, stop licking your lips like you want to suck my dick.”

It wasn’t until Logan raised his hands, palms up, that Tate realized he’d backed Logan up against the wall.

“You’re pretty pissed off, Tate. What’s wrong? Afraid you might like it? How do you know unless you try?”

Tate took a step back from the man who was radiating as much heat from his body as he was. But where his was from anger, Tate was positive Logan’s was from something else entirely, and for some fucking reason, that thought was making him hotter by the second.

Instead of acknowledging his body’s meltdown, Tate grabbed a hold of the emotion he understood and let the anger thrum through him. “That’s your motto, right? To try everything once? Well, newsflash, some people just know they won’t like something.”

With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tate didn’t even think to move as Logan pushed off the wall and came closer.

“Again, you didn’t answer the question. How do you know—unless you try?”

Tate tried to think of something, anything, to say in response, but he had nothing, so he stayed stubbornly silent.

“Because Tate, for someone who isn’t interested, your body certainly has different ideas. I’m all about doing what feels good. You see, I’ve never had a left-handed hand job, but I’m almost positive I would love it.”

Without even thinking, Tate raised his hands and shoved hard against Logan’s shoulders. The man didn’t budge. Instead, his eyes turned from the usual cocky blue to a steely don’t-fuck-with-me gray.

“You get to do that once. Unless the next time you shove me violently, it’s to fuck me against a wall, you got it?”

Tate jammed his hands into his pockets, disgusted with himself for reacting as he had. Glaring at Logan, he tried to rein in his bitter contempt—for the man before him, himself, or the situation he was now in, he wasn’t sure. “Stay away from me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why? I don’t even like you.”

“Your cock says otherwise. Stop fighting so hard, Tate.”

Logan brushed by him, and their shoulders met.

Tate couldn’t bring himself to look at Logan as he heard, “And just try.”

Before Tate could say anything else, Logan moved past him and disappeared from the bar, leaving him with about fifty-thousand questions and not one good goddamn answer.

Chapter Six

Two days later, Logan was sitting in the conference room, listening to Cole trying to placate one of their clients. She was a tall, dark-haired woman around five-eight, if he had to guess, and she was dressed like a sexy librarian or perhaps a schoolteacher. She was wearing a white pencil skirt, ending just above her knee, with a little black blouse and a red cardigan over it. The overall look was sexy and demure, and it made Logan want to yank her skirt up and lay her back on the conference table.

Maybe then she would leave satisfied, and the morning would be over quickly.

He wasn’t a fan of dealing with ugly divorces, but Cole was about to leave town with Rachel for a couple of days, and he’d assured Logan that this particular case was pretty much over, it just needed to be wrapped up. Today was about tying up loose ends and finally signing on the dotted line.

Logan was already bored.

He much preferred working with businesses than petty husbands and wives with trivial issues. That was part of the job though, and right now, as he looked down at his watch, the defendant still hadn’t shown.

“I’m sure he will be here soon,” Cole assured their client.

Seated in the corner of the room on a couch pushed up against the window, Logan watched her patience wear thin as she paced back and forth.

“Yes, I’m sure. He’s always so punctual. He can’t even be on time for something important.”

“The guy is probably avoiding this,” Logan thought.

And then, he realized he’d said it out loud.

The woman spun around to pin him with an icy look, and Logan shut his mouth real quick, but that was more due to the glare Cole was throwing his way than pissing her off.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, anything but.

As the woman turned away from him, Logan let his focus shift to her ass, and he took a good, long look at it. Maybe he just needed to let go of his pursuit of Tate. The guy was obviously conflicted, not to mention furious at him. And this woman? Logan knew if he worked it right, he could have her within the hour, and in turn, satiate the ache that had been building in him for the last several days.

He had come to a final decision to do just that when a knock sounded, and the conference door opened. In walked a harried-looking, short, bald man. His suit was slightly crumpled, and he was shaking his head as he held the door open for, presumably, his client, the defendant.

“So sorry we’re late. Mr. Morrison got held up on his way here.”

“Big surprise there,” Logan heard their client mutter.

The fifth person finally walked through the door, and Logan found himself staring at none other than—

Tate. Tate Morrison apparently.

* * *

Tate raised a hand and pushed his fingers back through his hair as he stepped into the conference room. Situated in the center was a large oval table was surrounded by at least, Tate would guess, fifteen to twenty chairs, and the back wall was made up of large windows covered by thin blinds letting in the muted morning sunlight.

Holding his helmet by his leg, he scanned to room, and he was shocked when they landed on the blond man from a couple of nights ago.

What the–

 Before he could say anything though, Mr. Branson, his lawyer, indicated a seat opposite from—ugh—his pissed-off and soon-to-be ex-wife.

“What did you do? Walk here?” Diana accused from across the table.

Tate resisted the urge to flip her off as he placed his helmet on the floor beside his leg. “There was an accident, okay?”

“You couldn’t call?”

Tate shook his head and glared at the woman he’d stupidly wasted three years of his life on. “Sure, Diana, when would I have done that on my bike?” Turning to face his lawyer, Tate sighed. “Can we just begin and get this over with?”

Mr. Branson nodded and opened his briefcase with two clicks of the locks. “Of course, of course.” He fished his glasses out of the case and pushed them on. “Well, first, this is Mr. Madison, the plaintiff’s lawyer. He’ll ask you a few questions today, and then we’ll go over some paperwork. Do you have any questions about that?”

Tate glanced at the blond man sitting opposite him. Um, no, but I do have a question about him. How does he know Logan?

He was considering asking the question when something in the corner caught his eye. From where he was sitting, his view was obstructed, but it was obvious that someone else was also in the room with them.

Great, she needs two lawyers? Nice to know that Daddy’s money bought her good representation, and she still took twelve months to sign.

Right now, as a final hurrah, she was after his Kawasaki Ninja 650, and he would be damned if she took it. He loved that thing—probably more than he’d ever loved her.

“Do you really need two lawyers, Diana? How many times do I have to tell you? I am not selling my bike. Bringing me to a fancy lawyer’s office for a little over seven grand is ridiculous, even for you, but I suppose you actually need me here this time to sign the papers I filed over a year ago.”

“And you being a pigheaded ass about a bike is nothing new either. It’s a toy, one you don’t need, and we bought it together.”

“Bullshit, we’ve already split everything, and I—”

“Mr. Morrison,” the blond guy finally spoke up.

Tate pinned him with a fuck-you look. He was surprised when the big guy glanced over his shoulder, obviously looking toward the second lawyer, who was still silent.

“Yes, Mr. Madison?” Tate snapped, bringing the man’s attention back to him.

“If we could keep this civil, it would probably work out much better for all involved.”

“Is that right?”

Mr. Madison nodded once as the look in his eyes changed from serious to one of—

Is that sympathy? Fuck that.

“Fine,” Tate conceded, slumping back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay then, if you could have your lawyer read over these terms and either agree or disagree—”

Tate glared stubbornly at the blond, “I don’t need to read it. I disagree. She’s just being spiteful.”

“She is sitting right here.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Tate replied caustically. I am so sick of this shit. It’s not my job to listen to her petty crap anymore.

At his comment, Tate heard a sound from the far corner that he could have sworn was a laugh, but in the end, it was disguised as a cough.

“You’re such an ass, Tate.”

Tate shrugged. “Well, good thing you found a replacement for me then, huh?”

That seemed to be her breaking point.

Placing her perfectly manicured hands on the table, she pushed up from her chair and looked at her lawyer, who stood slowly beside her, dwarfing her by several inches. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this anymore, do I?”

Tate watched Mr. Madison button his suit jacket as he shook his head.

“No, we can contact you if we need anything else. Have a good day, Mrs. Morrison.”

Diana swung her gaze to Tate’s and sneered at him. “I’m going back to Ms. Cline now.”

Tate uncrossed his arms and showed his palms. “Oh stop, you’re hurting my feelings.”

She aimed daggers his way before turning on her heel, marching around the table, and heading straight out the door, slamming it behind her. The noise didn’t even bother Tate. He’d become used to slamming doors a long time ago.

“Well, that went well,” Mr. Madison announced.

Tate looked to his silent lawyer, wondering what exactly he was paying him for. He was about to stand and leave the suffocating room, when a person clearing their throat had him turning his head. Tate felt his mouth fall open as the second lawyer finally stood, and he was face-to-face with Logan.

* * *

Logan had been trying to decide at what point it would have been smart to announce his presence, but really, there hadn’t been one. Had there? Except now, as he stood, staring across the silent and volatile space shared by all four men, he knew that he probably should have said something sooner.

Tate’s lawyer was oblivious to everything that was going on as he removed his glasses and threw them into his briefcase. Logan wondered where the hell Tate had found the guy, as Cole turned in Logan’s direction and his eyebrows rose as if to say, what now?

Yeah, well, I’d love to answer you brother, but I have no clue.

That was quickly cleared up though.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Tate stood and slammed his hands onto the conference table, much like his ex just had.

Cole had the good sense to look uncomfortable as he glanced back at Logan, searching for an answer.

Tate’s lawyer looked up and connected gazes with Logan. Then, he told his livid client as calmly as he could, “Oh, this is Mr. Mitchell. He’s Mr. Madison’s partner. They own the practice. He sat in because Mr. Madison is going to be out of town. It’s just a small technicality. Nothing to be upset over.”

Somehow, Logan didn’t think that was going to cut it, and from the death stare Tate was aiming his way, he knew this was far from over.

Tate muttered, “Unfuckingbelievable.”

That was when Cole jumped in. “Um, Mr. Branson? Can you please come with me? I have a few things I need you to sign, and it might give your client a moment to calm down.”

Wrong thing to say, Cole.

Tate turned his furious look onto his brother. Cole wasn’t worried though. In fact, he looked as though he was trying to control a laugh as he made his way around the table toward the door.

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Branson picked up his briefcase and followed Cole out of the room.

For the first time, the conference room felt tiny.

As the door firmly shut behind the two men, Logan took his time as he moved cautiously toward the opposite side of the table.

“Did you know all this time? Did you know who I was?” was the first accusation thrown at him.

Logan pushed his jacket aside and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he took a moment to really look at the enraged man across from him. Tate was dressed in faded jeans and a blue T-shirt under his leather jacket. The guy looked totally fuckable.

“No. I had no clue until you walked in the room today.”

Logan observed closely as Tate raised a hand to run it through his hair—a gesture Logan was now realizing came from nerves or agitation. He felt the need to once again reassure.

Making his way carefully around the table until he was standing with only several chairs between them, Logan reiterated, “I didn’t know who you were, I swear. By the time you were in the room, it was too late for me to get up and leave without making you lose your focus.”

Tate’s head snapped toward him, and Logan met his glare head-on.

“Oh, how nice of you, Logan.”

Logan didn’t know why, but he loved the way his name rolled off that pissed-off tongue.

“I can be nice.”

Tate scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure you can be—when you want to get laid.”

“Well, that, I won’t deny, but even then, I’m not always nice.”

“I can imagine.”

Oh, that comment is too good to leave as is, so of course, Logan pushed, “Can you?”

“I didn’t mean that.” Tate was quick to clarify. “Don’t fucking start with me.”

Logan stepped closer and felt his need to reassure disappear as it turned into an altogether different kind of need. “Don’t start, what?”

Tate shifted his entire body to face him. “Your usual shit.”

Logan felt his lips twitch as Tate—for the first time and without even realizing it—voluntarily looked him over. He stood as still as he could, enjoying the feel of Tate’s focus on him, and when they finally came back and met his, Logan raised a brow.

“And?”

“And what?” Tate snapped. “Nothing.”

Logan took one more step until only one chair was between them. “You really are pigheaded, aren’t you Tate?”

“Excuse me?”

Moving the final step forward, to where Tate was standing, so he either had to hold ground or back up, Logan was happy when Tate chose to stay where he was.

“Why are you so irate right now?” Logan asked bluntly.

“Why do you think? I just found out that you’re working for my ex.”

Narrowing his eyes on the dark ones searching his, Logan countered, “And why would that piss you off?”

“Because—”

“Because isn’t a good reason and never an acceptable one to a lawyer.”

Logan watched Tate’s tongue come out and lick his bottom lip, and he knew—

This is it.

He just needed to do it or walk away. Tate was either going to hit him or—

Without another thought, Logan reached out and clasped the back of Tate’s neck and tugged him forward.

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tate had known it was coming, but as he watched Logan reach for him, he did absolutely nothing to stop it.

As Logan’s large hand cupped the back of his neck and firmly pulled him forward, Tate placed his palms on the solid chest now intimately pressed up against his own. Almost as though it were in slow motion, Tate watched Logan’s focus drop to his mouth before he tilted his head and finally crushed his lips against his own.

At first, Tate remained frozen, his hands against the smooth fabric of the jacket until he realized exactly what, was happening. That was when he curled his fingers into the lapels and shoved Logan from him, but kept a hold of the jacket. Breathing hard, he felt Logan tense, as he seemed to brace himself.

Tate ran his eyes over Logan’s neutral expression, and he finally focused on the heated blue that was cautiously staring back at him, waiting.

This is the moment, Tate thought. This is the moment you punch him and tell him to fuck off.

As he clenched his fists around the material, he slowly released his left hand, determined to do just that. But as Tate raised his arm, he saw Logan’s attention shift to his fist, and Tate was shocked to find himself reaching forward to take the back of Logan’s neck instead. Before he knew what he was doing, Tate yanked Logan in and pressed his lips back against the hard ones that had apparently tempted him beyond his sanity.

All of a sudden, Logan’s large body moved into action as he walked them backward in the room until a wall was against Tate’s back with a hard, solid man against his front.

Holy shit. Is this hot as fuck kiss, really happening? was screaming through Tate’s head.

Logan’s palms came up to brush over the stubble lining his cheeks. Then, before he could fully register everything, those same hands slid into his hair and tightened.

Tate was telling himself, pull the hell away, from the insistent press of firm lips and the muscled body grinding against his own when he felt the sharp sting of teeth bite down into his bottom lip, hard. Jerking his head back, he grunted as he hit it against the wall.

“Jesus, you bit me,” he accused as if that was the only thing he should mention at this point in time.

It was best not to focus on how disconcerting it was to have his ass and back pressed against a wall by someone taller, and slightly bigger than himself. Not to mention, the someone in question was looking him directly in the eye and not giving him an inch to, perhaps, escape. But that was exactly where Tate was as Logan licked his own lips and grinned shamelessly back at him.

“I did. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tate ran his tongue along his bruised lower lip, trying to soothe the still stinging spot, and his breathing became more labored as he realized he could feel more than his own erection throbbing against him.

“Um—”

Logan, arrogant as ever, cut him off. “Yes, Tate?”

Tate cleared his throat. “I think you should back up a bit.”

In usual Logan fashion, he didn’t follow any kind of direction but his own. He stepped in closer, if that were possible, and then pushed his hips hard against Tate’s.

“I think you like me exactly where I am. It’s just taken you until now to realize it.”

Tate’s heart thundered uncontrollably in his chest as he noticed he was still gripping the lapels of Logan’s jacket. He quickly let go as if his hands were on fire.

“Back up, Logan,” he repeated.

Something in his tone must have broken through because Logan slowly took a step back. He pushed his hands into his pockets as though he didn’t trust himself. Tate silently thanked him for that because he didn’t trust himself at this moment either. He wasn’t sure if his feelings stemmed from violence or—

Or what?

“You must feel really great right about now.” Tate ran a seriously shaky hand over his face.

“I do actually, but not because of the reason you think.”

“And what do I think?” Tate dropped his hand to his side.

“You think it’s because I finally got you to admit that you want me.”

“I didn’t admit that.”

Logan looked to the zipper of Tate’s jeans, and it took everything Tate had not to cover the erection pounding behind the denim.

“Yes, you did.”

“Fine, whatever. If that isn’t the reason, then what is?”

Tate knew he should move past Logan, grab his helmet, and leave without engaging in a post wrap-up convo, but instead, he stood where he was, waiting for an answer he wasn’t ready to hear.

“I feel great because you are even better than I first fucking thought. And I love being right.”

Shaking his head in adamant denial, Tate straightened and went to move away from the wall. Before he even got one foot in front of the other, Logan took a step of his own toward him and put a hand up on the side of his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

* * *

 There was no way that Logan was letting Tate leave the room without getting at least one more taste of his mouth, and this time, he intended to make it a nice, long one.

“Boundaries, Logan. I think you’ve crossed enough with me today,” Tate warned.

“We’ve also established that I have none.”

“This changes nothing. It was a lapse in judgment.”

Logan couldn’t help the low laugh he let free as he tested the firm muscle under his palm. “On the contrary, it changes everything. You didn’t push me away, you kissed me back, and you haven’t taken my hand off you yet.”

As soon as the last word left Logan’s mouth, Tate’s hand came up and gripped his wrist tightly as he pulled him forward.

“I don’t know why you have fixated on me, but this game you’re playing is a dangerous one.”

Logan was sure the smart thing to do would be to agree and back off, but he didn’t.

“I agree, but I never said I’d play fair, and you sure as fuck didn’t fight me off.”

Tate’s scowled, and Logan wondered what he was thinking as the pressure around his wrist intensified.

“You know what you want to do,” Logan encouraged in a seductive tone, thinking he must be losing his mind to be making such a bold move, even for him. “There’s no one here, and no one is going to come in. Just do it,” he whispered, eyes locked on to conflicted brown orbs, “Try.”

As the word left his lips, Tate spun him around until his back was up against the wall, and Tate was crushed against his front, with Logan’s wrist clasped firmly between them.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Tate questioned.

Logan touched his tongue to his top lip as though he’d already had the second taste of the mouth that was sneering at him.

“Only when I have a good incentive. Give me one.” He hauled his arm back closer to himself, drawing Tate in that final inch. “Make me shut up.”

He didn’t really expect the taunt to work, but something in Tate seemed to snap as he lowered his head, attacking his lips for the second time.

Logan, never one to waste an opportunity, parted his mouth, determined to get a full taste of Tate this time around. He raised his free hand and sank it into the curls he’d gripped earlier, but this time, he took a moment to enjoy the feel of them under his palm as he pulled the stubborn man to him.

He felt a tentative tongue touch his lips, and he groaned as he slid his own directly into Tate’s mouth. The hand on his wrist tightened at the intimate intrusion, and then the grip was released. Two large palms reached up and cupped his cheeks, and Tate finally let go.

Angling his head to the side, Logan heard a low rumble leave his own throat as Tate sank his tongue inside, rubbing it up against his own. The sharp taste of cinnamon flooded Logan’s mouth along with the faint hint of coffee and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Whatever it was, the combination and the fact that it was Tate made it fucking addictive.

The ache that was thrumming in his balls and the constant throb in his swollen shaft was nothing compared to what he felt the moment Tate shocked the hell out of him and bit his bottom lip.

Logan tugged his head back and stared into eyes that were almost black but not showing signs of anger or annoyance. This time, they were dark with lust.

“So?” Logan managed.

“So?” Tate taunted him right back.

Logan, whose back was still up against the wall, looked around the conference room, trying to get his shit back under control. When his eyes finally came back to Tate’s, he raised a questioning brow at the man who had taken a step back. Then Logan watched him move over to the table as calm as he pleased. Tate bent down and picked up his helmet, and Logan couldn’t help but stare at the firm ass covered by those jeans.

Standing silently was definitely new to Logan, and just as he was about to say something witty, he was sure, Tate walked to the door and reached out a palm to grip the handle. Before he turned it though, he looked to Logan and trailed his gaze down over him, and then Tate did something completely out of character.

He winked at him. “So? Now, I’ve tried.”

With that, the sexy fucker walked out the door.

Chapter Seven

Tate hauled ass out of the office quicker than he’d even realized he could walk. He was holding his helmet in a death grip as he flew past his lawyer and mumbled, “Call me,” on his way directly into the open elevator.

As the doors slid shut, Tate was relieved to find he was alone for the descent. Slumping back against the wall, he brought his hand up and touched his mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Removing it, he closed his eyes and tried to push aside the feeling of Logan’s lips moving so surely against his own. He needed to think about this objectively, and then maybe he would be able to make sense of it all.

To start with, Logan had provoked him. At every opportunity, Logan had pushed and pushed until, like a normal person, Tate had finally snapped—

Right?

Yeah, right.

Tate stared at his reflection in the shiny silver doors. He didn’t look any different than he had before. No, he didn’t look any different, but he sure as hell felt it. He felt it in his whole body, including his confused-as-hell cock.

What was I thinking when I kissed him back?

By the end of the whole exchange, he’d convinced himself that it had been a matter of finally putting Logan in his place. Tate was sick of always being the one left questioning everything after each encounter. So, this time around, his main goal had been to leave the smug bastard wondering. He just hadn’t expected to be left wondering as well.

The elevator hit the ground floor much smoother than his descent to reality, and after the doors pulled open, Tate moved into the lobby of the building. He was halfway to where his bike was parked when his cell phone started buzzing in his jeans.

Stuffing his hand into his pocket, he pulled it out and accepted the call, thinking it was probably his lawyer wondering why he hadn’t waited for his paperwork.

“Hello?” he snapped.

“Running away so soon?”

He would know that voice anywhere.

Damn it.

“So, now, you’re poking around in my file?”

Logan’s familiar chuckle came though the phone. “I could come up with an obvious joke there about poking, but I’ll refrain.”

Tate felt his mouth itch to smile at the other man’s nerve. He had to give it to Logan, for always saying what he thought, unlike himself.

“Is there something you want, Logan?”

“There are several things I want, Tate.”

Tate moved over to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way of others, and waited.

“Stubborn to the end, I see.”

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m trying to work out exactly why you’re calling me.”

Logan sighed as though he was feeling particularly put out. “Well, you left so abruptly that I hardly had a chance to speak.”

“No, that’s not how I remember it. You were standing shocked shitless, if I recall.”

A loud laugh hit his ear then as if Logan couldn’t help himself. “Proud of yourself?”

“No.” Tate wouldn’t dare say that he kind of was. “Why would I be?”

“Because I can’t remember the last time a straight guy bit me into silence.”

Tate curled his fingers around the helmet, and as though others could hear, he whispered, “You have no filter, do you?”