Текст книги "Try: 1"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Logan: You’re up early for a day off.

Couldn’t sleep.

Logan: Should I apologize?

Are you sorry?

Logan: Good point. No.

Then, don’t apologize.

Logan: Why couldn’t you sleep?

Busy head.

Logan: Are YOU sorry?

Tate must have stared at that text longer than he’d thought because his phone vibrated again.

Logan: I keep telling you, turn your brain off, Tate.

It’s not that easy.

Logan: Why?

Because.

Logan: I’ve told you already that because doesn’t work for me. Why?

Cause I can’t stop wanting you & you’re a GUY. I don’t like guys. Ugh, I don’t understand why I’m…shit…no one I know will understand.

Logan: Like who?

Friends, family…

Logan: Hang on, we’re meeting family now?

Tate rolled his eyes at the question. The mere suggestion of something other than casual, and Logan changed from flirtatious and demanding, to sarcastic and blunt.

Forget it.

Logan: No, don’t do that.

Do what?

Logan: Get pissed-off. You’re so stubborn.

And you’re impossible.

Logan: Are you scowling?

Tate pressed his fingers to the frown between his brows before lowering them back to the phone.

Yes.

Logan: Hmm, we both know how I feel about that.

The same way you feel about everything?

Logan: And how’s that?

Horny.

Logan: Around you, Tate? 24/7. Now, what time are you coming to get me for lunch?

I’m not coming to get you.

Logan: So, you want ME to come to YOU? Give me your address. I’ll be there ASAP.

Tate glanced around his bedroom and imagined Logan in his room a little too easily, and that had him reaching for his thickening erection. But at the last second, he stopped.

I’ll come to you.

Logan: Thought you might.

What will we tell people?

Logan: People? Like who?

I don’t know. Anyone?

Logan: Nothing. It’s none of their business.

But what if they ask?

Logan: Then, I’ll tell them to fuck off.

What. If. They. Ask. Logan?

Logan: They won’t. But IF they do, I’ll tell them we’re going to lunch to discuss your case.

You’re on the other side.

Logan: Well, everyone knows I like to play both sides.

Not helping.

Logan: Are you laughing or scowling?

Both.

Logan: Well fuck, now I want to kiss you.

Tate looked at that line and read it over and over before another text came through.

Logan: Would you let me?

Yes.

Logan: That was quick.

That was honest.

Logan: And THAT is sexy. Jesus, I can’t be hard at work. Okay, so tell me, what time will you be here?

Tate glanced at the clock on his bedside table to see it was now nine thirty.

How about 12:30?

Logan: How about 11:30?

You’ll be hungry then?

Logan: Yes, but not for food. Tate?

Choosing to ignore the first part of the text, he replied with, Yes?

Logan: I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.

And just that easy, Logan had him lying in bed with a grin.

Well, you better try.

Logan: Oh, I’ve tried, and I can’t wait to again. See you at 11:30.

Yep. See ya .

Then, as quickly as it started, the connection ended.

A precursor of things to come? Tate wondered. Only time will tell.

* * *

Logan sat behind his desk with the phone to his ear and an eye on the clock.

Eleven fifteen, Tate should be here soon…if he shows.

He’ll show. He said he would, and if Tate is anything, he’s undeniably honest.

As he hung up from the call, Logan’s door opened, and Cole stuck his head through the space, motioning in a way as if to ask, Can I come in?

Lifting his hand, Logan gestured for him to enter, and as the door was pushed farther open, Cole’s face changed from serious to a shit-eating grin. Behind him stood Tate, looking anything but comfortable, and he was currently glaring at him around Cole’s large frame.

I’m going to kill him, Logan thought as his eyes met his brother’s.

As Cole strolled into the room, he unbuttoned his perfectly pressed black jacket and pushed his hands into his pockets.

Motherfucker is having a great time.

Tate, on the other hand, looked strained as if he were visiting the dentist. He moved two steps into the office and stayed as close to the far wall as possible.

What did Cole say to him?

Logan’s attention moved to Cole, who was standing by the corner of his desk, pretending to look at the mail in the tray sitting there. It was so unlike his stuffed-shirt brother to be taking the time to nose around the way he was, so Logan knew something was up, and not in a good way. It was more like an I’m-about-to-fuck-with-you kind of way.

Logan carefully looked to Tate, who was staring at the red helmet in his hand and had his other one stuffed into his jeans. He was wearing a white shirt with that sexy leather jacket, and when Logan finally tore his focus away from him and turned back to Cole, his brother raised a brow and then opened his fucking mouth.

“Mr. Morrison said you called him about a business meeting today.”

Logan narrowed his eyes on Cole as he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. Buttoning his own jacket, he made his way around to where Cole was.

“Yes, that’s right. We need to go over a few things.”

Cole turned toward him, and pulled his mouth into a thin line while dropping several envelopes back into the tray on Logan’s desk. Silently, he inclined his head and made his way back to the door and past Tate, who still hadn’t said a word but was looking at Cole with no expression on his face at all.

Cole acknowledged him, opened the door, and at the last moment, looked back.

He then addressed Logan in a voice that made him want to throw something at him.

“Funny that I wasn’t informed about this meeting since I handle Mrs. Morrison’s—oh, I’m sorry, his ex’s case.”

Logan continued his die-now stare.

Cole turned to Tate and told him in his controlled-as-fuck voice—asshole had that down to a T—“If he doesn’t give you all the answers you came in for, make sure you let me know, and I will try my hardest to clear things up.”

“Get out, asshole,” Logan advised, looking on his desk for something to throw.

“Going,” Cole replied over his shoulder, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

Logan stared across the wide space to where Tate was pinning him with a fuck-you look if ever he’d seen one. Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan rested back against the desk behind him and perched his ass on the surface. He crossed his legs out in front of him and remained silent as Tate continued to fume. Just when Logan figured he would have to be the one to say something, Tate took a step forward.

“What did you tell him about us?” he spit out at Logan.

That right there, Logan knew, was Tate’s biggest fear, presented to him like a giant fucking billboard. The thought of people knowing exactly what he’d done and enjoyed the night before—

Screw that, Logan thought. Time for a reality check, Mr. Morrison.

* * *

Tate was mortified, and he was pissed. He knew coming here was a terrible idea, but he’d stupidly let Logan and his silver tongue talk him into doing it anyway. As soon as he had stepped off the elevator and told the receptionist he was there to see Logan, Tate had been instructed to go straight through. Halfway inside the actual offices, he’d run into the tall blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember, that he’d first seen at the bar, and second, at his fucking ex-wife’s meeting.

At first, Logan’s partner had sized him up as if he were trying to remember if he had forgotten something, and then Tate had watched his shrewd—yes, they are definitely shrewd– eyes almost smile, if it were possible for eyes to do so.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Morrison? I didn’t realize we had a meeting?”

The minute that had come out of his mouth, Tate had known he was screwed. He’d stammered around his words and pretty much tripped all over the damn place until he’d finally told the lie that he was called by Logan.

Something on the guy’s face had given away the fact that he knew Tate was lying, and Tate had felt the heat in his cheeks as he followed, like an obedient child, to Logan’s office. As if that wasn’t enough, the interaction that had then taken place inside the office had confirmed everything.

The guy knows about us for sure, and that angered Tate more than anything.

He was still fuming at Logan, who was casually propped up against his desk, with his arms crossed.

“What did you tell him about us?”

Still gripping his helmet in his hand, Tate was determined not to put it down because once he got an answer from the man opposite him, he was getting the hell out of there.

What he hadn’t expected was for Logan to quietly push away from the desk and move forward.

Jesus, the man is enough to drive me out of my mind.

When Tate finally wanted him to say something, of course, he kept his mouth shut.

“Would it have killed you for one minute of your life not to say something to everyone about who you’re fucking?”

That was when Logan stopped directly in front of him and finally spoke, “I’m not fucking you…yet.”

Tate scoffed and decided this would all be over after this conversation. Might as well throw my own jab in. “And now, you never will be.”

Before Tate could anticipate the move, Logan reached out and grabbed the helmet from his hand. Dropping it on the floor beside them with a loud thump, he then moved in close, shoving Tate until his back hit the wall.

“You have a bad temper, Mr. Morrison.”

“Get the hell off me,” Tate snarled through his teeth.

“I’m not on you.”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“I’m against you. There’s a mighty big difference. Take last night, for example, when you were lying on my bed, naked, with your legs spread and me in between them—that was me on you.”

Tate’s breathing quickened as Logan raised a hand and placed it against the wall by his ear.

“Do you understand the difference?”

“I don’t give a shit about specifics. Get. Off. Me.”

Instead of listening to him, Logan placed his other hand by his head in the same position as his opposite one. “Shut up, Tate.”

“Fuck—”

“Don’t offer unless you’re going to follow through,” Logan warned.

Tate swore if he had agreed, Logan would have undone his pants right there.

“Now, if I remember correctly, you told me that I could kiss you the next time I saw you.”

Clenching his fists by his sides, Tate felt his jaw tick. “I didn’t say that, and that was before.”

“Before?”

“Before I found out that you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut!” he thundered.

Logan blinked at him from behind his glasses, his face a mask of annoyance. “And what exactly do you think I said?”

“Get off me,” Tate reiterated.

“No. Talk,” Logan said with a calmness that further infuriated Tate. “What do you think I said?”

“You obviously told your partner about us. I bet you had a real good laugh about the straight guy who’s sleeping with you.”

Logan brought his face to within an inch of Tate’s, and Tate could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. Logan was so close that his black hair ghosted over Tate’s nose as he shook his head from side to side before raising his face again and licking his tongue along his bottom lip.

Yeah, fuck me, I looked.

“Well, let’s clear one thing up right now,” Logan stated in a lowered voice.

That should have probably indicated to Tate that Logan’s temper was steadily climbing to the boiling point, where his was now teetering.

“That work partner of mine? His name is Cole, which I already told you, and he also happens to be my brother. He was merely speculating because I told him I wanted you when we were at the bar the other night. He’s giving me shit, not you, and I didn’t say a damn thing.”

Tate was beyond listening at this point, and he just wanted to leave. He tried to take a step forward, only to have Logan muscle him back to the wall by connecting their hips.

Logan asked quietly, like the calm before a storm, “Is that all cleared up for you now?”

Refusing to budge, Tate lifted his chin, scowling back at the unyielding man in front of him.

“Jesus, you’re pig-headed. Fine. If you aren’t going to talk, you just stand there and try not to enjoy exactly what you’re too fucking scared to admit to wanting.”

As Logan moved his head toward him, Tate lifted his hand and placed his palm against the strong chest that had been naked against him last night, preventing that mouth from touching his own.

“You’re so brave, aren’t you, Logan? Walking around life, pretending to have all your shit straight. Oh, I’m sorry, that’s the wrong word, right? Who are you trying to hide from? You’re even more messed-up than I am. You want me to accept everything that’s going on, but you can’t even pick a side.”

When the final word fell from his mouth, Logan’s hand left the wall and circled his wrist in a viselike grip. “Stop talking, Tate.”

“No.”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking. You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“Too fucking bad.” As Tate spit those three words out, he thought Logan looked like he wanted to punch him for a change. But instead of getting hit in the jaw, Logan pulled him off the wall, and in one quick move, turned him around.

Before Tate could even ask what the hell he was doing, Logan shoved him up against the wall front on, so Tate had to move his head to the side or break his nose, and favoring his nose, his left cheek met with the cool surface now in front of him. His left arm was twisted up behind his back, and Logan pressed his hips so tight against him that Tate could feel the outline of his cock, long and rigid.

“Now. Do I have your attention, Tate?” Logan rumbled against his right ear.

“Let me go,” Tate demanded through a lump that had formed in his throat.

Logan punched his length against the crack of his ass, covered by the denim of his jeans.

“But you were the one who wanted me to pick a side,” he reminded. “I pick this side for now. Fuck-me hair, broad shoulders, your hand trapped in mine with your ass cradling my cock.”

Tate’s body vibrated, and he hated the fact that he was really turned-on while being held prisoner against a fucking wall. “Yeah, for now, and only because you haven’t had me. It’s all about the thrill of the chase for you. Don’t act like this is more than that.”

Tate paused as Logan’s free hand slid around his waist and moved down to his front zipper. Tate bucked his hips back, trying to get away, but only succeeded in getting his ass massaged by Logan’s unyielding body.

“You’ll get exactly what you want from me, then you’ll be done, and I’ll be stuck on my own, trying to decide what on earth I just let happen.”

* * *

Logan could feel Tate’s entire body shaking against his, and he wasn’t sure if it was from lust or from the words the man had just spoken and was finally letting sink in. Tate was obviously conflicted by what he was feeling, yet he was still here, he’d still come to see him.

“Tate. I swear, I didn’t say anything to Cole,” Logan promised against the shell of his ear.

“But he knows, doesn’t he? He knows something is going on?”

Logan allowed his hand to fondle the bulge he could feel behind Tate’s jeans, and when Tate sighed and moved his hips against his palm, Logan felt his temperature spike.

“He’s a smart guy, and he knows me.” Logan admitted.

“So, in other words, he knows you get whoever you want between the sheets before you just throw them away.”

“God, you’re fucking mean when you want to be.”

“I’m telling the truth. Are you?” Tate finally turned his head back to look Logan right in the eye.

Instead of answering, because he didn’t know what to say, Logan took Tate’s talkative mouth with his own and pushed his tongue inside. Pushing forward, he wedged his stiff cock against the jeans covering Tate’s firm ass and trapped his own hand against the wall.

“Oh fuck,” Tate cursed as he tore his mouth free. “Touch me. No…no…don’t. Christ, I don’t know, Logan. I don’t fucking know what I want!”

Logan massaged his hand up the zipper to the button of Tate’s jeans. “Yes, you do,” he challenged gently, trying to calm the man pressed back against him, as he undid the button and slowly pulled the zipper down. “You still don’t get it, do you, Tate? I’m not looking anywhere but at you.”

Dipping his hand between the denim he’d parted, Logan thought he would feel cotton, but as his fingers brushed over wiry hair, he groaned out loud. “Commando? You came to see me fucking commando?”

Tate’s hard stare locked with his as Logan’s hand dug into the jeans. He watched Tate’s mouth part and a shaky breath leave him, as Logan’s fingers grazed the plump, wet head of the cock trapped inside the material. Unable to help himself, Logan ground against Tate and slid his hand farther inside, so he could wrap his fingers around Tate’s iron-hard erection.

Tate powered back against him. “No, stop. Not in here, not at your office.”

Logan’s hand and hips stilled as he looked at the eyes now staring at him. They were full of desire, frustration, and once again, that annoying fucking emotion—confusion.

“Stop thinking so much. Tell me, what do you want?” Logan held his breath as he waited for Tate’s frank response.

“You. Everything else aside, I still want you.”

Removing his hand from Tate’s jeans, Logan also released the arm he had been holding at Tate’s back, and as Tate turned to face him, Logan cradled his face with his hands and pressed his mouth to his, kissing him fervently.

When he felt Tate’s hands on his waist, Logan moaned and angled his head to stroke his tongue against the other man’s in a kiss that bordered sweet as much as it did hot. As Logan felt his control and desire to stop climbing, he pulled back.

Still holding Tate’s face, he told him, “Then, go with that. Forget everything else and see where that leads you.”

With Tate’s anger seemingly kissed out of him, his lips curved slowly into a half-smile.  “It led me here, to your office, and right into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“And that’s exactly why you should follow where it leads.”

Logan dropped his hands from Tate’s face and took a step back. As he did, his vision trailed down to the parted denim, and he shook his head.

“Zip up, Commando, or I’m about to find out real quick how bad this hardwood would be on my knees.”

“So, lunch?” Tate queried, zipping his jeans.

“If we go to lunch, I won’t be coming back to the office.”

“Okay…”

“Dinner?” Logan suggested.

Tate seemed stumped. “Actual dinner? As in, food? Because I was under the impression I’d eat when I got here.”

Logan walked around his desk and took a seat. Sitting back in his chair, he pressed a hand against the erection that was still apparent but was finally starting to behave. He then reached up to take off his glasses before he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Actual dinner. Tell me where to meet.”

Tate thought about where they could go, and walked over to stand in front of the desk. “O’Malley’s?”

“The pub?”

“Yeah, the pub. Sound okay to you?”

Logan nodded and put his glasses back on. “What time?”

Tate shrugged as he offered, “Eight?”

“Make it nine, so I can get home and shower.”

As the word left his mouth, he saw Tate’s eyes darken and knew he was recollecting the last time they had been together in his bathroom.

“Okay,” Tate agreed as he walked backward, still focused on where Logan was sitting in his chair.

Tate bent down, picked up his helmet, and then tilted his head to the side before shaking it.

The expression made Logan curious, so he had to ask, “What?”

“You look sexy, sitting there all professional, in your suit and glasses behind that desk.”

Well, I fucking asked for it. Tate’s lack of subterfuge will eventually get me into a shit-ton of trouble, Logan thought as Commando turned and left his office.

Chapter Fourteen

Logan got there first, which he hadn’t expected, although he probably should have based off his previous meetings with Tate. The guy was always running around five minutes late. Making his way into the pub, Logan was happy to see that not too many people were about. Monday night wasn’t exactly the busiest night of the week.

Logan had opted to go casual, wearing some comfortable jeans and a white button-down shirt. He’d brought a jacket with him, but really, it wasn’t even cool tonight. Taking a booth against the wall, he made sure to slide into the side facing the door, and he sat, waiting.

He was waiting on a date. Hell, when did that happen? When I met Tate, he thought with an ironic shake of his head.

Usually, by now, Logan would have chased, caught, and released. But with Tate, he was still chasing, and who knew if he’d ever catch him. The guy was constantly dodging him, like a startled animal. One minute, Tate was paralyzed, and the next, he was running for his life. But there were those couple of occasions when Logan had caught him, and—damn, if the man wasn’t worth the time—he was delicious.

Just as the thought entered his mind, the pub door opened, and Tate stepped through the entryway. Logan’s body went on high alert as he watched the object of his attention scan the dim space. He supposed he could stand and wave him over, but—well, he didn’t. Logan was too busy enjoying his unfettered view.

Tate was wearing jeans, just like himself, but with a short-sleeved black shirt that came into view as he shrugged out of the leather he wore everywhere.

I need to see him on that bike.

Tate scanned the pub and when he found him, started to make his way toward their booth. As his long legs ate up the space between them, Logan felt his cock twitch in anticipation of what was going to happen later—well, hopefully.

Tate stopped by the empty seat and threw his jacket into the corner. Sliding in, opposite him, Logan felt their knees bump as Tate seemed to relax into the wide straddle he favored.

“Sorry, I’m late. Got held up.”

“What do I care if you’re a little late? This way, I get to watch you walk in.”

Tate chuckled as he snagged the small menu on the table. “Well, that’s a first. Usually, I get my ass handed to me for being late.”

Logan knew exactly who he was referring to after the exchange he’d witnessed between Tate and his ex, and not being one to beat around the bush, he decided to just lay it out on the table. “I’m not your ex, Tate. I’m not going to wonder where you are or bitch you out if you’re five minutes late. Now, if you’re an hour late, you better have a damn good excuse or at least offer to make it up to me on your knees.”

Tate placed a hand on top of the table and tapped his fingers in a quiet tattoo against the wood.

“As in…” Tate joked but stopped on the follow-through.

“As in? Go on, ask.”

Tate’s mouth kicked up at the edges. “You mean, as in, me giving you a blow job?”

Logan raised his brows. “Shocking, isn’t it? That I’m so easily appeased.”

Tate regarded him in a way that made Logan’s cock extremely excited.

“What are you thinking?”

Raising a hand, Tate ran it through his hair and shrugged. “I was wondering if I’d be any good at it or if I’d even like it.”

Logan couldn’t help the rumble of laughter before he told Tate quite adamantly, “You could be the worst in the world at giving head, but the fact that you would be the one with your lips around me…” he savored the thought for a second, and then winked at Tate, “Mmm, I’d go out of my fucking mind.”

Now knowing Tate, for the tease that he was, Logan wasn’t shocked when Tate licked his lips, the idea obviously growing on him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Logan assured as he lowered his hand under the table to adjust his agreeable cock.

He was so busy ogling Tate that Logan didn’t even notice the pretty brunette who stopped beside him and greeted them both.

“Hey, guys. How are you doing tonight?”

Tate’s focus moved from him and shifted to the waitress, and then the wide smile, the one Logan hadn’t seen since that first night they’d met, spread across his mouth. It was flirtatious, open, and so fucking sexy.

“Good, thanks. You?” Tate asked conversationally.

The waitress turned her body toward him, and Logan could tell she was giving him her best I’m-interested look, and for one quick moment, Logan could have sworn he felt—

Shit…jealous.

“I’m very good.”

Logan rolled his eyes and smiled when he felt Tate’s knee brush against his own, remaining and connecting them beneath the table.

“What can I get you to drink?” she continued, talking only to Tate.

Logan sat patiently, and watched the man opposite him.

Tate focused on the woman and told her, relaxed as he pleased, “I’ll have a Corona, and he’ll have a blow job, thanks.”

The knee under the table pressed firmly against his own as Tate’s eyes met his, and the woman beside Logan turned to finally look down at him, giving a small laugh.

“We don’t get too many guys asking for that. You got a sweet tooth?”

Not one to easily embarrass, Logan felt a wicked grin curve his lips. “Nah, not particularly, but this guy owes me one.”

Quickly, she looked to Tate, whose attention was now solely on him. Logan was hard-pressed not to laugh when he felt a heel jab down onto his foot.

“I made him try one the other night, you know, as a joke?” Logan informed the woman, as he heard Tate cough from across the table. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Tate managed.

Logan was pleased to note that Tate now looked flushed and a lot less cocky about his little joke that had been turned back on him.

“Oh, I see. So, this is payback for buying a girlie drink, huh? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”

Logan touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip and lowered his voice as he agreed suggestively, “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

With a light, airy giggle, she turned and walked away from the booth, leaving Logan staring across at the man currently shaking his head.

“What?” he asked.

Tate leaned back in the booth, and his knee pressed back against Logan’s again. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Placing his arm along the back of the seat, Logan angled himself, so he was comfortable. “Can’t help, what?”

“The sex. It just comes out of your mouth—with everyone.”

“You started it. A blow job? You need to try better than that to embarrass me.”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“Yes, you were, but it didn’t work. All it did was make me think about putting my cock into your mouth.”

Tate shook his head again with a chuckle. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Oh?” Logan wanted to know more but shelved his curiosity as he saw the waitress coming back toward them with a tall bottle stuffed with lime and a short shot glass with—

Jesus, whipped cream. Ugh.

She placed them down, the bottle first, and as Tate reached out to take it, she made sure their fingers connected. Logan knew because—

Hell, I’m watching her with him like a jealous boyfriend.

“Thanks.” Tate smiled as he took the beer.

She then turned to Logan and placed his shot glass down. “And here’s yours. You do know the traditional way to…drink this, don’t you?”

Logan could think of around one-hundred different, inappropriate responses to that, but instead of saying them, he played it dumb. “No. How am I supposed to drink it?”

The waitress started to explain, but Logan got caught up in Tate pushing his lime into the beer with his long index finger. All of a sudden, he had a very clear recollection of that finger elsewhere, and Logan found it difficult to even comprehend what the woman beside him was rattling on about until she said, “So, no hands, just a wide open mouth. Most put their hands behind their back.”

Logan nodded his head as if pondering her suggestion, then asked. “But what’s a good blow job without hands?”

He watched her face go from a lovely pale white to a bright shade of red as she lowered her eyes.

She floundered around a little and before replying, “Ah, yes…well, of course, hands are good too, for other things.”

Quickly, she looked back to Tate just as Logan did, and they both found him sitting back in the booth, cradling his beer. As their eyes connected, Tate lifted the bottle, put it to his sexy mouth, and took a swig of the beer without saying a damn thing. But Logan knew Tate was thinking about his own recent experience, concerning mouths, hands, and—

Yes sir, blow jobs.

“Well, if that’s all,” she muttered, about to walk away.

“Actually, can I get the cheeseburger medium well, with fries?” Logan asked and then also added, “And a Heineken.”

She nodded before turning to Tate for his order.

“I’ll have the wings, thanks.”

“Mild or hot?”

He flicked his glance to Logan and looked at—my mouth, fucking tease—before saying, “Hot, please.”

* * *

Tate stared over at Logan, who seemed determined to shake the very foundation he was used to standing on. Everything about him called to Tate—from the relaxed way he was lounging back in the booth to the I’m-cool-and-collected arm he had resting along the back of the seat. Not to mention, those blue eyes, minus the glasses, that were constantly watching him. The man was completely charismatic, and Tate had a hard-on for him that just would not quit.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan questioned as their waitress walked away.

Deciding he needed to just have this conversation and get it out on the table, Tate replied with, “You.”

“What about me?”

“I want to know where you see this”—Tate indicated between them—“going. Is this just a quick hook-up to you? Because…I don’t know. I can’t just change my whole fucking life for a night in your bed.”

“How about for two?” Logan remarked flippantly.

“How about you get serious for a moment?”

Logan brought his arm down and moved to lean across the table. “I want you. Tell me how I can have you.”

Tate brought the beer to his mouth and took another swig of the contents. Slowly placing it back down, he brushed his knee against the leg pressed on the inside of his own. “For a night?”

Logan eyed him hungrily, and offered, “For as long as you want.”

With that, Logan bent his torso down over the table with his hands behind his back and opened his lips wide over the shot glass in front of him.

Tate watched with rapt attention, as Logan lifted his head and swallowed the sweet contents of the drink in one gulp. Reaching up with one hand, Logan took the glass from between his lips, but before he lowered it, he made sure to stick his tongue as far into it as he could, licking clean all of the creamy liquid from the inside. When done, he placed it down on the table, brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, and smirked.

Tate was equally frustrated and turned-on by what Logan had just done, but at the same time, he was still unsure of everything he was feeling. So, he remained silent as Logan casually sat back and once again, placed his hand along the seat.