by Ella Frank
Then Tate’s voice echoed through the silent apartment. “But you sent me away with a kiss on the cheek.”
Logan jerked his head back. “That’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. I understand that it was tense in there—”
“Fuck yes, it was tense,” Logan stressed, trying to make Tate understand where he was coming from. “After seeing Chris and then dealing with Cole, it was unbelievably tense.”
Tate’s fingers left him, and he started to walk away, farther into the apartment. “But when we were in the car and heading home, you should’ve talked to me. Communicated.”
Lightning fast, Logan snagged Tate’s arm and halted him in his tracks. “Say that again.”
Tate narrowed his eyes and began to repeat himself. “You should’ve communicated with me. How am I going to know—”
Logan shook his head. “Not that. Back up a little further.”
Tate’s confusion was obvious as he told him, “I don’t understand.”
Logan took his chin between his fingers and pressed a kiss to Tate’s lips. “We were heading home. I like that. Us, heading home, together. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure that bird has flown the coop, Logan. You already dumped me at the curb—”
“With a kiss on the cheek. Yes,” Logan groaned. “I noted that down, and I solemnly swear to never do it again. Which, by the way, I have kissed you on the cheek before, and you have never complained quite so emphatically. But that’s not what I mean.”
Tate frowned at him. “Then what do you mean?”
“I mean—no. I want…” Logan paused, his stomach knotting as Tate’s eyes widened and his hands rose as if pleading with him to fucking speak.
“What? What do you want, Logan? Because, personally, I’d really like a couple of extra hours to sleep—”
Logan swallowed, and before he lost his nerve, he heard himself say, “I want you to move in with me.”
Chapter Two
Tate was sure he’d misunderstood what Logan had just said.
It was early and he was still half asleep. That had to be it, because for one crazy minute, he was sure he’d heard—
“Tate? Did you hear what I said? I want you to move in with me.”
Tate brought a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead. Then, without a word, he spun on his toes and walked back to his kitchen. He could hear Logan following behind, but he didn’t trust himself to speak just yet.
He stopped in front of the fridge, opened it, and scanned the contents. Milk, water, and orange juice. Nothing that was going to help with this. After shutting the door, he remembered where something that would help was. Upon opening the cabinet above the fridge, he found a bottle of tequila.
Yeah, fuck it. This calls for a shot.
He poured a small amount of liquid into a glass before he picked it up and downed it.
“Wow,” Logan said as he stopped on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think my invitation would drive you to drink.”
Tate placed the glass down with an unsteady hand and gripped the cool marble. “Quit joking around.”
Logan raised his hands, palms out, and asked, “Who’s joking? I was serious. Never more so.”
“Then you’re out of your mind,” Tate muttered, pushing the glass aside as he made his way around to where Logan was standing. “This is how you ask me? This is when you choose to ask me?”
Logan’s eyes scanned his face, and Tate could tell by the way his jaw bunched that he was getting annoyed. “What’s wrong with now?”
Tate let out a sound of disbelief and walked to his bedroom. “Other than we had a terrible night, we were just arguing, and it’s almost five in the morning?”
“Oh, come on. This wasn’t really an argument,” Logan pointed out. “Tate? Hold up, would you?”
Tate took a deep breath and turned back to lock eyes with the blue ones trying to gauge his mood. “I can’t move in with you.”
Logan gave a slow nod before he asked, “Can’t or won’t?”
He wondered what the difference meant to Logan, but he repeated, “Can’t.”
Logan’s mouth split into a wide grin as he strolled over to where he was standing—tense as a fucking trip wire.
“What are you smiling about?” Tate knew that his tone was surly, but this was just like Logan. Impulsive, brash, and always picking the worst possible time to say shit. He hadn’t once stopped to think about how his request might make him feel. He’d just figured that, since he thought it was a great idea, so would everyone around him.
The problem was that it had instantly made Tate feel…inadequate. Although he was sure Logan would kick his ass if he ever told him so.
“I can work with can’t,” Logan said as he pushed past him into the bedroom. “Now, would you stop arguing with me so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep?”
Logan took his hoodie and shirt off before he walked over to the left side of the bed to toe his shoes off. He then pulled the quilt back, removed the rest of his clothing, and climbed inside as if it were his own bed. Once he was comfortable, he placed his hands behind his head and aimed his eyes toward Tate.
“Don’t act as if you get any more sleep than I do when you’re alone. I won’t believe you.”
Tate pushed off the doorjamb and moved to his side of the bed. “You’re a cocky bastard. You know that?” He removed his shirt and sweatpants and slid back under the covers; the warmth of Logan’s skin lured him in, and Tate automatically fit himself to his side.
“I may have been told that once or twice before. Hmm,” Logan sighed, but the sound was one of satisfaction, not frustration. “You will say yes. It’s only a matter of time. Now, shh so I can sleep.”
Tate felt a small smile cross his lips as he pressed them to Logan’s chest in a light kiss. He wasn’t sure he could say yes to what Logan wanted any time in the near future, but for the moment, he was content to shut his eyes and finally get some rest.
* * *
It was three hours later when Logan cracked an eye open and saw Tate’s face pressed into the pillow beside his. His dark lashes were full where they lay against his cheek, his lips were slightly parted, and the stubble lining his jaw had thickened overnight. Logan had a hard time keeping his hands—and his mouth—to himself as he lay there.
“Stop staring. You’re giving me a complex.”
The gravelly voice made him smile as Tate rolled away. Never one to miss an opportunity, Logan shifted in behind him and nuzzled his nose into Tate’s hair.
“Liar,” he whispered before he kissed Tate’s neck.
“God, what time is it? Your enjoyment of early mornings is truly disturbing.”
Logan aligned the entire length of his body along Tate’s and wrapped an arm around his waist to circle his navel. “It’s not that early, but it is time to get up.”
One of Tate’s hands flattened over Logan’s and held it in place as he shifted to his back and stared up at him. “You’re already up.”
Logan bent his elbow and put his head against his palm, all the while drawing a line up the center of Tate’s chest. “I’m glad you noticed.”
“Hard not to when something that big is digging into my back.”
When his finger reached the base of Tate’s throat, Logan took his hand away and rested it on his own hip. “That may be so, but don’t try to distract me with compliments.”
Tate laughed. “Is that what I was doing?”
Logan nodded, and when his hair fell in his eyes, Tate pushed it back from his face.
“I need a haircut,” he commented.
“I kind of like it like this, longer on the top.”
Logan touched his lips to Tate’s, his hair flopping down around them. “Well, since you like it…”
“Yeah?” Tate asked, his mouth curving under his.
“I just might keep it. But don’t think I’m growing it as long as yours.”
“What’s wrong with my hair? Are you saying I need to cut it?”
“No, I’m fucking not,” Logan said as he fingered the hair by Tate’s ear. “And you know it.”
“What would you do if I did shave my head?”
“Kill you? And likely get away with it since I have connections to a very reputable law firm.”
Tate chuckled and shoved Logan until he was on his back beside him. “Be serious.”
Logan turned his head on the pillow and ran his eyes over Tate’s full head of hair. Then he returned his gaze to the eyes watching him. “I would quite possibly cry. For days.”
“Over my hair? It does grow back, you know.”
“Yeah, but not for months,” he grumbled. “Can you please stop talking so calmly about this? You’re making me nervous.”
Tate shifted until his long, lean body was stretched out above him, and Logan widened his legs to allow him to settle in between.
“Don’t worry,” Tate assured him as he lowered his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. He then moved those teasing lips to Logan’s ear and whispered, “I like your hands in it too much to cut it off.”
Logan threaded his fingers through the thick waves and asked, “Like this?”
With a groan, Tate rocked his hips against him, and Logan twisted his fingers tighter.
“Exactly like that.”
“Good,” he said as he wound his legs around Tate’s. “Because this way, I can have a tight hold on you when you’re trying to distract me. I’m onto you, Mr. Morrison. Don’t try to use your body against me.”
He almost lost his willpower when Tate, the cocky fucker, placed his hands on either side of his head and rubbed their erections together.
“You don’t want me to use my body on you?”
“Fuck you,” Logan said, knowing full well that, if he didn’t change the subject or get Tate the hell off him, he was going to roll him over and cease talking altogether.
Usually he’d love nothing more, but right now, he wanted to know why Tate had reacted so strongly to his question from last night—well, early morning.
“We need to talk.”
“Then you should have gotten up, gotten dressed, and then woke me.”
He had a point—not that Logan would ever admit it.
“Why are you so skittish about moving in together?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And sooner or later, you’re going to tell me why.”
As Tate was about to respond, Logan’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand and they both looked over at it. When Tate said that it was Cole, Logan immediately lost any desire he had to continue fooling around as he remembered his brother’s words from the night before…
“Your ex-boyfriend is a chatty asshole.”
Logan winced at Cole, who was holding a frozen, pink drink with a bright-blue umbrella. He was about to ask what he meant, but before the words could slip free, Cole continued.
“We can’t spend the evening dealing with your shit, got it? There are too many important people in this room for a spectacle. Deal with it, Logan. I want you to walk away. If you’re calm, then Tate will be calm. Do whatever the hell needs to be done. Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Logan eyed Chris where he was watching the two of them beside a tall, willowy woman.
“Logan?”
His attention was drawn back to Cole. He hated the thought of walking away but knew it had to be done.
“Fix it.”
Logan was convinced that, after his and Tate’s conversation on the drive home and his impromptu visit, he seemed to be relatively fine concerning the events from last night—Cole sure as fuck would be a different story altogether.
He reluctantly let Tate go, and when he rolled off him, Logan made sure to say, “We aren’t done with this.”
Tate pushed the covers away without responding and got out of bed. Then he walked into his bathroom and shut the door. Okay, so that was a subject he needed to approach with more caution.
How the hell was I suppose to know that?
Logan snatched the phone up, brought it to his ear, and barked, “What?”
The silence that met him at the other end was exactly what he’d expected. He’d known that this was coming.
Then Cole spoke. “Get up, and get your ass to my place. Now.”
Closing his eyes, Logan counted back from ten, trying to curb the instinct to tell Cole to fuck off. “Good morning to you too, Cole.”
He’d barely finished talking when Cole snapped back, “I’m not in the mood, Logan. Get over here, and make yourself useful—pick up some donuts on the way. Rachel’s hungry.”
“Rachel hates store-bought donuts.”
“Not this morning, she doesn’t.”
He was about to ask if there was any flavor in particular, but Cole had already hung up. Yeah, this is going to be ugly.
Somehow, Cole had found out about his little—okay, not so little—secret, and Logan knew there was absolutely no way to avoid talking to him about it.
Unless leaving the country was an option.
* * *
Tate heard Logan through the closed door as he snapped at his brother. He didn’t envy Logan’s position in that moment. He knew how it felt to have been keeping something from those you loved, and when they found out—well, you better be ready for the fallout, whether it was good or bad.
In Logan’s particular case, Tate wasn’t sure how Cole would react. But judging by the cool reception they’d been subjected to for the majority of last night, he assumed that it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
He walked over to the sink and turned the hot water on, letting the basin fill for his morning shave as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. There, looking back at him, was someone he was finally beginning to understand again. But it was also someone who had a long way to go.
For so long, he’d lived his life for those around him. Always doing what was expected of him. From a marriage that had been a young, dumb reaction to lust to staying in it because he’d thought it was the right thing for those involved—something he would never do again. He was determined not to make those same mistakes, especially with Logan.
The fact of the matter was that Logan Mitchell was an influential figure in the city of Chicago. As one of the partners in a prestigious law firm, he was wealthy, respected, and smart as hell, and when Tate thought about the things he could offer in return, he was realistic enough to realize that it wasn’t a whole fucking lot. So when Logan had suggested he move into his condo with him… Yeah, I freaked the hell out.
After he shut the water off and drew the razor down his cheek, there was a knock on the door, and Logan pushed it open. Tate’s eyes found his in the mirror, and he straightened, surprised to see Logan fully dressed in his clothes from the night before.
“No, don’t stop,” Logan said, running his eyes over Tate in a way that suggested he liked what he saw. “I just came to tell you I have to head out. Cole is on the warpath, and if I’m not there soon, he just might send someone to hand-deliver me.”
Tate turned to face him and leaned his ass up against the sink, the razor still in his hand. “Okay,” he said, and then he asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”
Logan shook his head as he walked over to him. “No, it’s okay. This is my bed of lies, and I have to crawl out of it. I should have a long time ago.”
Logan stopped when he was directly in front of him. Then he reached a finger up to run it over the skin he’d just shaved.
“Nice and smooth,” Logan commented and lowered his eyes over Tate’s naked chest. “Just like the rest of you.” He brushed a kiss across Tate’s lips. “Keep this razor on your face, got it? If these curls go anywhere, I can’t promise my reaction will be kind.”
As Logan lifted his head, Tate smiled at the shaving cream that was now clinging to his chin. He swiped it free with his thumb and scoffed. “You’re so bossy.�
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Logan’s lip quirked, and as he headed out the door, he called over his shoulder, “And?”
And, Tate thought as he turned back to the mirror with a huge fucking grin, I love it.
Chapter Three
Logan walked down the hall to Cole’s condo like a man heading toward his execution. Apparently, Chris had decided that the best way to screw with him would be to inform Cole of their…what? Past relationship? No, he certainly wouldn’t call it that.
It didn’t really matter, though, what he did or didn’t call it. Chris had lined the target up, aimed, and fired. He’d hit, too. Cole had been frosty for the rest of the evening after he’d informed him that his ex was a “chatty bastard.”
Logan had been dreading this day—the day Cole finally found out about his extra involvement with Chris. And the worst part of it was that he still wasn’t exactly sure how much he knew.
So there he was, a bag of donuts in hand and a grimace across his face. Deciding that it was better to just get it the hell over with, Logan knocked and waited to see how this would unfold.
When the door opened, he expected to see Cole’s fulminating scowl. What he got was a wide-eyed Rachel. She didn’t bother saying a word as she reached for the white paper bag he held and opened it to take a deep inhale of the yeasty, sugary goodness.
“Oh. My. God. This is exactly what I wanted,” she moaned.
The bag crinkled as she peered inside, and Logan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.
“What happened to the girl who wouldn’t touch a donut from a store if she was starving and it was the last piece of food left on the planet?”
Rachel raised her head and pinned him with a feral look. “She got knocked up by your brother and is now a raging lunatic if her food requirements aren’t met. I wanted it hot, cheap, and easy.”
“That sounds dirty, Mrs. Madison,” Logan quipped. “Does your husband let you speak that way to everyone?”