by Ella Frank
This new silence that settled between them lately wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Each of them knew this was moving faster than they had expected, but unless they called it off, there was nothing they could do but go with it.
It was like a giant wave—if you got caught in its pull, it was best to just surrender and let it steer you where it would. All you could hope for was to keep your head above the water and remember to breathe.
“Okay. Let’s go and eat then.”
* * *
The entire way to dinner, Logan was aware of the difference in Tate.
Gone was the relaxed flirt, and back was the man he’d found sitting in his living room an hour or so earlier. He’d retreated inside his mind, and Logan wanted in. His problem was he didn’t know if Tate was ready to let him in.
He pulled his Audi R8 into the small parking lot behind his favorite Italian restaurant and parked in the far back corner before turning off the ignition. When the quiet purr of the car silenced and Tate reached for the handle, Logan placed a hand on the man’s thigh.
“Hey?”
Tate glanced his way, and Logan gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“You do whatever you need to do with your family, okay?”
The eyes that narrowed on him made Logan aware that whatever he’d just said had not been the right thing. Tate was pissed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. I want you to do whatever you have to do for this to be right for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah, for you. Don’t worry about how this will affect me.”
Tate’s lips tightened as he shook his head. “Fuck you, Logan.” He pushed open the car door and climbed out, slamming it behind him.
Logan sat where he was, stunned.
Fuck me? What the hell did I do?
He pulled the keys out of the ignition and pushed open his car door. After getting out, he shut it, walked around to where Tate was leaning with his ass up against the side of the car, and demanded, “What the hell is your problem?”
The irritated expression on Tate’s face should have warned him to back the hell off, but true to form, he ignored it.
“My problem?” Tate asked.
“Yes, your problem. All I said was—”
“I know what you said,” Tate interrupted, straightening and stepping closer to him. He jabbed a finger against his jacket and spat out, “I’m getting sick and tired of you giving me permission to walk the fuck away. If I wanted to tell you to fuck off, I’m quite capable of opening my mouth and saying the words.”
Wow, okay. Logan hadn’t even been aware that that’s how it had come across.
“First you tell me if I want to deny it, feel free. Now, Tate, do whatever you need to. You know what I need? I need you to eat dinner with me so I can tell you what happened and then suck my dick like you promised. Is that okay with you?”
Logan couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips at the last comment. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”
“Well, congratulations. You’re succeeding anyway.”
Logan’s body responded to the volatile side of Tate as it always did—he hardened in an instant. He walked Tate backwards until his ass was against his car door.
“Okay, Mr. Morrison. Listen closely.” He ran his index finger up the front of Tate’s leather jacket to the collar, where he gripped it and pulled him in so their lips were touching. “Dinner. We’re both going to go in and eat it. Then we’re going to discuss exactly what happened today.”
Tate’s hand flattened on his chest, and he nodded. “Good.”
Logan moved a hand to the back of Tate’s neck, pulled him forward, and planted a fierce kiss on his mouth. When they pulled apart, his eyes lowered to Tate’s full lips and he added, “Then I’m going to bring you out here, unzip these jeans, and suck you off until you come down my throat.”
Tate said nothing, just licked the mouth Logan couldn’t look away from, so he prodded him.
“Is that okay with you?”
Tate nodded, but there was no way in hell Logan was letting him go without the words.
“Say it.”
Logan felt the hand on his chest trail down and circle his waist under the jacket.
“Yes. That is all okay with me.”
Satisfied, Logan took a step back and was shocked when Tate grabbed his hand. Without another word, he locked the car before entwining their fingers, and then they both walked inside the restaurant.
7.
Tate followed behind Logan as he weaved them through the tables of the small restaurant and stopped in front of one of the booths. They each had red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and glass jars with spices and Parmesan cheese holding up the menus. As he looked around and saw several couples and families seated for dinner, Tate was more than aware that he triple-checked to make sure it was no one he knew and instantly hated himself for it.
“This table cool with you?”
He nodded as Logan sat in one side and he took the other. He grabbed the menu for something to do and opened it, lowering his eyes.
Logan wasn’t an idiot, however, and when he reached across and pulled the menu down, he narrowed his eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to attack you in a family restaurant.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Automatically defensive, Tate stated, “Yes.”
“Could have fooled me. You’re using the menu as a shield.”
Tate lowered the menu. “Am not.”
Logan laughed at the bratty response and raised his own. “Were too.”
Tate raised it again and started to scan the appetizers. The problem was that he wasn’t seeing anything.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation with his mom and her disapproval. “William, you are not gay.” If only she knew how much he’d enjoyed Logan only an hour ago, she’d know how wrong she was. He wasn’t sure if he was gay or bi. All he knew was that thinking about Logan’s hands on his body made his heart jump and his dick hard.
“Good evening. What can I get you two tonight?”
The waiter who stopped by their table snapped Tate out of his thoughts.
“Oh hello, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Hey there, Sam. I’ll take a Heineken and he’ll get—”
“A water,” Tate interjected.
“—while we check out the menu,” Logan finished.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”
The waiter left them to their menus, and as they both pretended to read them, Tate couldn’t help peering over his at the suspiciously quiet man across from him.
“Know him well?”
Logan’s eyes found his, and when they crinkled at the sides behind his glasses, Tate knew he was laughing at him.
“Well as in..?”
“As in, does he suck like a Hoover too?”
The loud, booming laugh that came from Logan had Tate glowering at him as he sat back in his seat.
“What? As if it isn’t a possibility. The guy knows your name.”
“He knows my last name. He called me Mr. Mitchell. Even I’m not that kinky. When I fuck someone, he’s gonna scream my name. Not Mr. Mitchell like I’m his father.” Logan informed him in conspiratorial whisper. “Although…can you call me that for the rest of the night? I want to hear how it sounds out of your mouth.”
“You’re a fucking riot, Mr. Mitchell. How does he know you?”
“I like this restaurant. I come here a lot. But I have to say, I kind of wish it weren’t the case. This whole possessive side of yours is fucking hot.”
“You’re demented.”
“And you get all red when you’re jealous,” Logan chuckled.
Tate scowled at his own stupidity and focused on choosing a meal. He finally settled on the gnocchi and put the menu at the edge of the table as Sam delivered their drinks. They both ordered, and when Logan asked for the bruschetta with the spi
ces mixed on the side to-go, Tate figured he wasn’t hungry.
“So…” Logan prompted.
Tate knew what he wanted and tried to decide how to start. In the end, headfirst seemed the best option.
“Diana was the one who called her.”
Logan picked up his beer, but before it met his lips, he muttered, “Bitch.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my thought too.”
“How the hell did you marry that?”
Tate shrugged. “She wasn’t always like this.”
Logan’s brow winged up as if he doubted it. Then he took a sip and lowered his beer to the table.
“Well, since we’re on the subject of her, you should know she pulled her case from Cole. You’ll likely get the paperwork in the mail in a few days, but it basically means you’ll have to start all over.”
Tate stared at the glass of water in front of him. Christ, he wished it were vodka or tequila—something other than fucking water.
“Fuck,” was all he could say.
“Yeah. I’m thinking her pride was—”
“Fuck her pride,” Tate spat out.
“I’d rather not fuck anything of hers, if it’s all the same.”
As Logan’s words met his ears, Tate couldn’t help his grin. “Well that’s good to know at least. She’s not exactly ugly.”
“That depends. At first glance, I’d agree with you. She’s beautiful—until she opens her mouth. Then you see just how ugly she is.”
Again, Logan had surprised him. Now Tate was wondering how he compared to Diana in Logan’s eyes, and as he looked across the table, he couldn’t help but ask.
“So if she and I were sitting at the table next to yours, who would you—”
“Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s no question. There’s been no fucking question since I saw you.” When he couldn’t find any words, Logan asked, “Do you doubt it?”
Tate raised the glass to his mouth, embarrassed until Logan’s foot found his under the table, connecting them both.
“No,” he finally said past the lump in his throat.
If Logan’s actions hadn’t convinced him, the look in his eyes did. It screamed, ‘I want you.’
“Good. Because like I said, this is a family restaurant. They don’t condone public displays of inappropriate behavior.”
Tate scoffed. “Good to know.”
“Yes. For now, you’re safe. But that rule only applies to the inside of the restaurant. In the parking lot…you’re fair game.”
At that small reminder, Tate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes for a minute to collect his thoughts.
“Tell me what else happened today,” Logan encouraged.
He opened his eyes to find Logan sitting back with his arms crossed. Tate knew he had to start talking if they were going to move past it—and he wanted to move on, to put this behind them.
“Well, you know Diana called my mom.”
“Right. So I’m assuming your mom didn’t take it well, since she thinks I corrupted you. Which I—”
“Don’t even,” Tate managed. “And no, she didn’t take it well.”
Logan waited silently, and Tate could tell nothing would be said until he said it.
“She asked me if I was dating a man. I told her that I was.” His eyes stayed locked on Logan’s, as if daring him to disagree, but when he said nothing, Tate’s bravado left him. “Is that okay?”
“Is what okay?”
“That I said we were dating?”
Logan’s smile was genuine when he nodded, and Tate was surprised that there seemed to be no underlying humor—just sincerity.
“She also asked me how it happened.”
Logan’s face was almost comical as his eyes widened, and Tate couldn’t help playing him a little.
“I told her you wouldn’t leave me alone, cornered me in a conference room, and kissed me so hard I had a bruised mouth for days.”
Logan’s foot rubbed up the inside of his leg as he said in a gruff voice, “You did not. Nice try though.”
Tate’s humor disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when he thought back to his real response and his mother’s reaction.
“She doesn’t understand how it happened. How I could be with a man when I used to be married to a woman.”
As the words tumbled from his mouth, even Tate had to wonder how the shift had occurred. How was it that he was able to accept and understand that he was now with a man?
Because it’s happening to me? Or because it’s Logan?
He had no fucking clue, and when Logan asked, “What did you tell her?” he still had nothing.
“Okay, guys,” the waiter said as he stopped by their table, thankfully saving him. He placed a paper bag in front of Logan and a white plate in front of him. “Is there anything else?”
When they both indicated there wasn’t, he turned, leaving them once again in that heavy, familiar silence.
“What else did she say?” Logan finally asked.
Tate reached for the cheese and covered his pasta in it. “She doesn’t want me to come over this Sunday.”
“Are you sure she just doesn’t want me there?” Logan asked as he lifted his beer and took a swig.
Stabbing a piece of gnocchi with his fork, Tate shrugged. “Same difference.”
“Not really.”
He shoveled several more forkfuls in his mouth—holy shit, he’d been hungry—and suddenly, the fury he’d felt earlier began to surface.
“I told her I wanted you two to meet, and you know what she said to me?” When Logan didn’t respond, Tate continued. “She said she never wanted to meet you. Never. Who says that?”
Pulled back into his own anger, Tate was too far gone to realize how uncomfortable Logan looked and kept on with his disgust.
“She didn’t even bother to listen to my side of the story. Just took Diana’s version as usual and believed her. Jesus, that woman needs to get the hell out of my life already. It isn’t like I’m asking them to sit there and watch us make out. I just want her to meet you for fuck’s sake.”
“Tate?”
“What?” he snapped as his fork hit the edge of the plate with a clanging sound.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. If she just met you—”
“She’d probably feel exactly the same way.”
* * *
Logan knew what Tate was trying to do. He was trying to convince himself that, if his mother met him, things would be different, but Logan was smart enough to know better.
Tate had told him on their first date that he’d been brought up Catholic. That didn’t bode well when it came to his family understanding that he now liked getting naked with a man.
In fact, it had disaster written all over it, which was why he hadn’t wanted to meet them in the first place. He’d only agreed to appease Tate, but right now, Tate seemed anything but appeased.
“What did you say?”
“I’m just saying, even if they met me, they’d probably still feel the same.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s a great attitude, Logan.”
“I’m just trying to be realistic.”
He watched Tate spear some more food and stuff it into his mouth. He chewed it as if he were trying to kill it and then pointed his fork at him.
“If you don’t want to go Sunday, just say it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well.”
Logan leaned forward and pinned Tate with a look that screamed, ‘Shut the fuck up’ as he told him in a serious voice, “If I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t have said I would. Got it? I’m just saying that things may not turn out the way you want them to. Even after they meet me.”
Tate glared across the table at him and then sighed, sitting back in his seat. “It’ll work out. My mom’s just in shock. She loves everyone.”
Logan had his doubts. He knew he could be a charming bastard, but from the
consternation on Tate’s face, he suspected winning over the Morrisons would take more than a fruit platter and flowers.
“Okay then. So we’ll go, and I’ll charm their pants off.”
“Hilarious, Logan.”
“I try.”
He sat back in his seat and played with the label on his beer as he thought about how to best approach this next particular topic.
“Speaking of family and doing things as a couple…”
Tate’s eyes found his, and Logan couldn’t believe how strange that felt to say—a couple. So far, Tate hadn’t contradicted him.
“Cole and I have this work function in a month or so.” Shit, I’m even talking about the future. Tate didn’t reply, and Logan figured that he needed to spell it out for the guy. “I was wondering if you’d like to go.”
With his fork halfway to his mouth, Tate halted his movements, and then he slowly lowered it back to his plate. “Go with you? As in your…”
Oh fuck these nerves. “As in my date.”
Tate sat back in his seat and frowned. “Logan…I don’t know—”
“It’s okay,” he was quick to interrupt. “It was a stupid idea anyway. I told Cole I’d ask, and now I have.”
God, he was an idiot. He’d known Tate wasn’t ready for that, and just hearing him say no was enough to…Yeah, fucking hurt.
“It’s just—”
“Tate, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
And honestly, I don’t want you to.
Trying to move on so he wouldn’t have to think about the rejection, Logan asked, “What about game night this Friday?”
“Game night?”
“Yeah. Cole and Rachel are having game night with the family and need two extra people. She invited us.”
Tate’s mouth quirked to the side, apparently more than happy to be sidetracked. “You don’t strike me as the type to attend game night.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. “But Cole guilted me into it.”
“How’d he do that?”
“He used the pregnant wife card.”
Finished with his meal, Tate pushed his plate away. “Ahh yes. It works every time.”
“So? Will you come? It’s just a few people.”
Tate thought about it for a minute and then nodded. “Sure. What kind of games are we talking here?”