by Ella Frank
From the silence that stretched through the phone, Tate knew that Logan had no clue that he’d heard his recent conversation with Cole. He was about to inform him when Logan’s bad temper seemed to finally catch up and he lashed out at him.
“Don’t fuck around with me, Tate. I’m not in the mood.”
That was the exact moment that Tate felt his own rage boil. “Well good, Logan, because I’m not in the mood for you either. You might want to check your recent calls, asshole. Have a nice fucking day.”
With that, Tate ended the call and threw his phone onto the floor. Don’t fuck around with you? Fine by me, Mr. Mitchell, fine by me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
If Logan had to make a list of things he hated, it would include being hung up on and being ignored. Tate had done both of those in the last three hours. He’d tried calling him back several times after their not-so-pleasant conversation, and the stubborn ass had let all of his calls go to voice mail where, of course, he’d left seven different messages.
Christ, how was I supposed to know I hit Call instead of Ignore earlier? Plus, Tate had it all wrong. Logan hadn’t meant things the way they’d sounded. Tate just needed to hear him out.
Opening the door to the bar, Logan stepped inside and noticed it was quiet for a Wednesday night. Good, he thought, it will make it easier for us to talk.
Making his way over to his usual spot, the first person he saw was Amelia.
She gave him a small wave as she walked over and then stopped in front of him. “Evening, Logan.”
Logan was not in the mood for small talk. “Hey. Is he here?”
Amelia sucked her top lip into her mouth and grabbed a glass. “Gin and tonic?”
Annoyed at her change of topic, Logan nodded and tried again. “Amelia?”
She mixed the drink, and slid it over to him. “He told me to take your orders tonight.”
Logan’s jaw actually hurt from how hard he clenched it shut. He looked down the length of the bar, but he saw no sign of Tate. He turned on his stool and looked around the dimly lit area, and still, no Tate. Where is he?
As Logan faced Amelia once again, his eye caught Tate walking out from the back hall. He threw a towel over his shoulder and made his way up to the counter with a smile for—Logan turned to check—a redhead with huge—
“Logan?”
“What?” he snapped, aiming his glare at the woman in front of him.
“You want anything else?”
Logan picked up the glass, brought it to his lips, and before taking a drink, he mumbled, “No.”
Amelia leaned across to him, as Logan continued to sit, irate.
Once upon a time, he would have been looking at a way to get her out the back, but now, all he could do was think about how she could help get Tate to talk to him again.
“He’s been looking at the door all evening, if that helps.”
It did, but Logan wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, he brought his eyes to hers and hated the fact that they no longer did anything for him.
“Tell him I’m here?”
Amelia stepped back with a laugh. “Oh, he knows. That’s why he went out the back.” She started to walk away, and then at the last moment, she looked back at him. “It’s nice to finally see you having to work for the attention.”
Logan raised his glass to take a sip, and eyed Tate as he continued laughing with the redhead. Yes, he’d worked damn hard for Tate’s attention, and he would be fucked if someone else stole it—even for five minutes.
* * *
Tate could sense Logan’s eyes on him. There was no way he was going to serve him tonight. He was too mad to even talk to the guy, let alone have a verbal sparring match with him. So, he’d sent Amelia instead.
She, of course, had been curious about what was going on, but surprisingly, she had not asked any questions. She’d merely smiled and agreed to do it. It was, however, killing Tate not to look over at the other end of the bar. He hadn’t realized how strongly he was drawn to Logan until he was ordering himself not to be.
With a wide smile and a view directly down her pink blouse, the woman in front of Tate was trying her very best to convince him to take her number, or perhaps give his own.
“So, what’s your name?”
Tate gave her a quick grin knowing exactly what his role was in this little game. “Well, if I tell you that, you’ll know all the important facts and leave me.”
“Oh, I’d never leave you,” she purred. “You’re too nice to look at.”
Somewhat flattered, Tate eyed the drink in front of her. “I think your drink has impaired your vision.”
“No, it hasn’t. This is only my second one, and you are just…mmm…delicious.”
Tate knew it was her third. He’d been counting.
He wondered, not for the first time, How do I always end up in conversations like this? It was part of the job, he supposed.
Knowing that if he played it up, the tip would likely be a good one, he leaned his side against the bar and continued chatting. “Hard day at the office?”
Red took a sip of her Manhattan and raised a brow. “Are you changing the subject?”
“Not at all. What would you like to talk about?”
“How about you? Are you single?” she daringly inquired, letting her eyes roam all over him.
Tate wasn’t shocked that her look provoked zero response from him, but he was surprised that the mere thought of the man in the gray suit at the other end of the bar had his cock twitching and his skin heating. Fucking Logan.
“Not much to tell,” he replied, choosing to ignore the relationship question.
“Oh, come on,” Red coaxed. “Gorgeous guy, bartender. I bet you have the best stories.”
Tate almost groaned at the irony and wondered how she would feel if he told her, Well, that man down there with the sexy glasses? Yeah, he started flirting with me, just like you are now, and we had sex. It was absolutely mind-blowing sex that I can’t stop thinking about it even though he was a total asshole today about something that could totally change my life. How’s that for a story?
But Tate didn’t tell her that. Instead, he shrugged. “A bartender is just like a priest. We listen to all kinds of confessions, but we never speak of them after they have left the customers’ lips.”
Red moved her drink aside, and reaching across the bar, she traced a finger over the back of his hand. “So, I could tell you anything, and you wouldn’t tell a soul?”
Looking into her eyes, Tate tried to see if he could feel the way he did when Logan stared at him, but as she dropped her gaze to his mouth, Tate felt, nothing.
“That’s right.” He glanced down, finally allowing himself a chance to appreciate that she had an amazing set of breasts. The problem was, he was much more interested in the dick at the other end of the—
“Is this seat taken?”
The redhead turned first to see who’d spoken. Of course, the second her attention landed on Logan, she pulled her hand back from Tate, the less-than-accommodating bartender, and instead, she focused on the seductive and interesting—
Asshole.
“It is now. Please, feel free…” she invited.
Tate fired a drop-dead glare in Logan’s direction.
“To do?” Logan drawled as he looked to Tate with aggravation swirling behind those glasses.
“Whatever you like,” she told him. Reaching out, she ran her fingers, the same ones that had just stroked his hand, over the suit covering Logan’s arm.
“You know what I’d really love to do?”
The clueless woman leaned in, and for some reason, Tate braced himself with his palms on the edge of the bar. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that whatever Logan was gearing up to say, was not going to be even remotely appropriate.
“No, what?”
Logan also moved forward until his lips almost brushed against the woman’s, but at the last second, he turned his attention on him. “Your bartender.�
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Okay, Tate thought, there’s no doubt here. My cock definitely knows who it wants.
“Huh?” Red asked, clearly not understanding.
But Tate wasn’t confused by the words or the look Logan was aiming at him. It screamed, You’re mine, not hers.
“Your bartender,” Logan repeated and turned back to face her while Tate held the wood under his hands. “I want to do him, as in take off his clothes and fuck him, and you’re in my way.”
Tate witnessed the woman, whose mouth had parted in shock, turn and face him as if waiting for—
Sorry, lady. I’m used to his mouth.
As the three of them remained locked in an awkward silence, Tate decided he needed to do something since it was apparent Logan was just going to stir shit up if left to his own devices.
Looking across to him, Tate managed, “Can I get you something?”
Logan licked his lips. “You. Alone in a room.”
“No,” Tate countered.
“Why? Scared of me? You should be. I don’t like being ignored.”
Tate stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not scared of you, and we had this conversation a week or so ago.”
“Yes, and this morning in bed, it certainly seemed you’d come around, but not so much now, with the avoiding routine.”
That was when Red slid down off her seat. “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you two—”
“Are together?” Logan announced before Tate could even utter a word. “Well, we are, so go hit on someone else. He’s mine. I found him first.”
* * *
Logan wasn’t kidding. That was how he really felt, and Tate needed to know that right now.
“I don’t like to be ignored or hung up on,” he told Tate again as the redhead finally took a hike. He detected a small twitch in Tate’s cheek, and he was satisfied at the thought that he, too, was suppressing his outrage.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t like hearing that I’m just a piece of ass. So, why don’t you get lost? I’m not in the mood for you.”
Logan pushed off the stool quickly and grabbed Tate’s vest, hauling him in close until he was up against the counter. “Well, that’s too bad because I’m in the mood for you, and I wasn’t lying to her. I want you, and I’m going to have you.”
Tate scoffed at him, and Logan had to control the urge to take that mocking mouth with his own.
“Yeah? Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you. You say one thing to me and then something else when I’m not there.”
Logan looked around and saw several people focused on their display. He then faced the furious man in front of him. “You think so, huh? I don’t know, right now, everyone in this bar knows exactly who I want. So, I’d say I’m expressing it very well. Want me to put my tongue in your mouth and really make it obvious?”
Tate’s eyes darkened, and Logan knew the idea appealed to him even as he continued to seethe.
“I’m not talking about now, and you know it. But why should you care anyway? It’s not like this is serious. Now, let me go.”
“Meet me in the back,” he ordered softly.
Tate’s glare didn’t falter. “Not in a million years.”
“Why not?” Logan rasped, getting more turned-on by the second. He wanted Tate’s lips under his, so he could turn that sneer into a groan.
“Because I know you.”
“And?”
“And…you’ll get your hands on me, and I’ll be fucked.”
Logan revealed his teeth in a savage grin. “It’s not my hands that I use for that particular activity, and even I wouldn’t let your first time be in the back of a bar. Your first time is going to be in my bed under me.”
“Let. Me. Go,” Tate sneered, this time enunciating each word. “Everyone is watching us.”
“Yeah, they are. They’re all wondering, Are they going to punch each other or kiss each other? They’re so confused. What about you? Are you confused?”
“Me? Are you?” Tate demanded.
Logan finally released him, sat back, and watched as Tate ran his hands down his vest. “I’m not confused at all. I just didn’t feel like giving in to Cole’s twenty questions, so sue me. If you answered your phone or listened to your messages, then maybe this would already be sorted out.”
Tate looked down the bar quickly and then back at him. “I have customers, and I did listen to your messages. And you know what? I heard everything you had to say, but one thing was missing.”
Logan lifted his hands. “What, Tate? What didn’t I say?”
Tate glared at him and said simply, “Sorry.”
* * *
Tate’s hands were shaking as he walked away from Logan, and the semi he was sporting in his pants was maddening. He’d wanted nothing more than to kiss and bite those lips that continually spouted suggestive comments at him, but with all eyes on them, Tate hadn’t dared.
He knew from experience that once he and Logan got started, they would forget who and what was going on around them. Plus, Tate had been serious. He wanted a fucking apology. He understood that Logan hadn’t wanted to explain their relationship to Cole just yet, but the way Logan had casually dismissed him was not cool at all.
He reached two women at the end of the bar and got them their cocktails. Then, he moved on to several others who had taken their seats and needed drinks. When he was done, he turned back to see Amelia had started to talk with Logan. She was resting up against the bar, and her arms were crossed as they continued to talk and look over at him. Amelia gave him a smile, and Logan just stared him down from behind those thick black frames.
Tate knew that stare. It either led to fighting or fucking.
Aggravated that they were no doubt discussing him, Tate grabbed a tray and moved down past them both to go and collect some empty glassware. He needed to get away from that look, or he’d end up doing something stupid.
Lifting the bar pass, he made his way through and over to the tables. He collected a full tray, brought them back, and handed them off to Amelia, who was now standing there on her own. Logan was nowhere in sight.
“Where’d he go?” he asked.
When she shrugged and turned away, Tate glanced back around the bar area.
He didn’t see Logan anywhere. Well, isn’t that great, you idiot? You sure solved that.
Picking up the tray, Tate headed toward the booths on the sidewall. Just as he made his way past the entry to the second room that was closed off for the night, his arm was grabbed, and he was pulled into the dark empty space where he was propelled, face-first, up against the back wall.
Logan’s mouth was instantly by his ear, and his free hand was unbuttoning Tate’s pants.
“Stop it,” Tate growled as he bucked back against Logan.
Logan didn’t budge. He merely held him immobile while he unzipped his work pants. “You’re one stubborn piece of ass, Tate Morrison,” he accused against Tate’s hair.
“And you’re just an ass,” Tate fired back, disgruntled with the position Logan had him in. He’d been like this once before, and although it was turning him on, it made him feel weak.
“You’re so pissed, yet if anyone should be angry, I think it should be me.”
Tate tried to think, tried to formulate words, but the nose nuzzling into his hair with the tongue flicking his ear was driving him crazy.
“Letting some woman hit on you, flirt with you,” Logan breathed right against Tate’s ear as his hand found its way into his boxers. “She even touched you.”
Tate’s mouth parted, and when he heard his own moan, he knew Logan did, too, and he would take full advantage.
“Oh look, I think you like this position, don’t you? Me behind you, ready to…fuck.”
Tate shook his head the best he could. “Logan, get off me.”
Logan chuckled, and the depraved sound raced down Tate’s spine to his balls.
“No I don’t think so.”
Those words whispered against Tate’s ear made hi
m catch his breath as Logan’s hand wrapped around his cock.
Logan placed a foot between his legs. “Spread your legs, Tate.”
Turning his head, Tate’s eyes found Logan’s, and the heat in them lit a fire in Tate’s veins. “No.”
As the side of Logan’s lip quirked up, Tate felt his cock weep as the hand around him squeezed.
“Spread your fucking legs, Tate,” Logan ordered.
Tate was aware that doing this here was stupid and risky, but it only added to the high Logan was building in him. There was no door separating this room from the other, and anyone could walk in at any moment—but as Logan thrust his hips forward and the ridge of his hard-on nudged against Tate’s ass, Tate didn’t give a shit.
“Do it,” Logan cajoled. “And you’ll get your apology.”
Licking his dry lips, Tate’s focus zeroed in on Logan’s mouth that was only an inch away.
“Most normal people apologize first,” Tate explained on an edgy breath as he slowly widened his legs.
When the hand around him began to stroke, a strong thigh worked its way between his, and it moved upward to add pressure against his balls. Tate cursed under his breath as he pushed back against Logan’s unyielding frame.
“Haven’t you noticed by now that I’m not like most normal people?”
Tate looked over the face beside his own, and then he gave in. He lunged forward to take Logan’s lips just as he’d been thinking about doing since the man had left him this morning. As soon as Logan’s mouth opened, Tate dropped the empty tray by his feet and shoved his tongue inside, tangling it against Logan’s. Tate’s trapped arm between them was pulled out from behind his back and pressed up against the wall. Logan ripped his mouth away and tugged on Tate’s erection. Logan rolled his hips forward in a way that suggested he was imagining being inside him.
“Fuck, Tate,” he hissed as though he was in agony.
If the steel-like rod massaging Tate’s ass was any indication, Logan was suffering.
“Don’t blame me. You started this,” Tate accused.
Logan released Tate’s straining flesh and gave a caustic laugh. Tate eyed the hand that slammed down by his head, mirroring the position Logan had his trapped one in. He could barely breathe as the tense body behind him caged him in.