by Ella Frank
He took Tate’s hand, and when they wandered over and stopped in front of the Boeing 727, he capitulated. “Okay. Ask away.”
Tate seemed to think about his first question and then asked, “Did you always wear glasses? Even as a kid?”
“That’s your first question?”
“I’m building to the tough ones. Go with it.”
“Okay,” Logan drawled. “Yes. I’ve worn them since I was seven.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I was a huge nerd in high school and college.”
Tate’s expression made it obvious that he didn’t believe that for a second.
“It’s true. I wasn’t as…” he trailed off as he looked down at his own arms.
“Built?” Tate supplied.
Logan chuckled. “Yeah, I guess. I was skinnier. Always had my head in a book and kind of kept to myself.”
Tate shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, that just seems impossible.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine the man who hunted me down as a nerd in any way.”
Logan nodded, knowing that it probably was hard to believe. He was nothing like the boy he’d left behind. He wondered if Tate was.
“What about you? Were you Mr. Popular?”
Tate walked up the stairs and into the plane ahead of him. Then he stopped in the doorway and turned. “No. I wasn’t into sports or anything like that. They were the popular guys. But I had lots of friends. Loved music and played the guitar in the school band. Never really got in trouble either. I played by the rules—in school.”
Logan climbed the stairs, intrigued by the last part of that statement, and stopped when he was one down from Tate. “What about outside of school then?” He touched his fingers to the shirt covering Tate’s stomach and watched him wink at him.
“Outside of school, I was bossy. Always had a million ideas on things we could do. And I was usually the one telling people how to do them.”
Logan felt a ridiculously large smile cross his mouth. “Imagine that.”
“Hard to, isn’t it?” Tate joked.
“Not at all. You’re extremely bossy when you want to be.” Logan continued up the stairs, gripped the material of his shirt, and pulled him inside the plane behind him.
He felt Tate come up behind him now that they were in the shell of the plane and whisper, “Like last night?”
“Mhmm. And whenever you drink. You get very bossy when you drink.” He paused when he felt a hand on his ass. “Are you all right there? Coppin’ a feel.”
Tate placed his chin down on his shoulder as they stopped to read the plaque in front of them about the electrical equipment. “Don’t act as if you don’t like it.”
“I’m not. I’m asking if you are all right doing it.”
“Have I stopped yet?”
No, he hadn’t stopped. In fact, Tate’s hand was now massaging him.
Logan turned his head and reminded him, “We were having a Q & A session, remember? It was your idea.”
Tate’s brown eyes were practically sparkling with mischief. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed and removed his hand. “Okay, it’s my turn. When was your first kiss?”
Logan turned fully until they were facing one another. “Vicki Prescott. I was eight. We kissed and swapped our underwear.”
The scandalized look on Tate’s face had Logan close to losing the serious expression he was trying hard to hold.
“You swapped your underwear?”
He patted Tate on the chest and stepped around him. “Hey, at least I was smart enough to wait until after I got my glasses so I could see everything.”
Logan walked up the aisle of seats as Tate spun around and scoffed at him.
“I’m still stuck on the underwear part.”
“What about it?”
“Did you kiss her before the swap occurred or after?”
Tate was so serious with his question that Logan finally lost the battle and started to really laugh.
“Does it matter?”
Tate wandered up and stopped beside him. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Why?” Logan was dying to know his reasoning.
“If it was before you kissed her, you were one hell of a curious child and wanted to know what equipment she had.”
“And if it was after?” Logan chuckled.
“If it was after, you obviously didn’t care either way what was revealed.”
Logan gave Tate a thorough once-over as he stood there and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So according to your theory, you didn’t care either way?”
“I wasn’t the one switching my clothes with girls.”
Logan was sure he should’ve let that one pass, but well…Fuck it.
“No, you just switched them with me after we kissed. Aren’t you naked in my jeans right now?”
Tate’s eyes narrowed, and then he smiled. “Don’t try and distract me, Mr. Mitchell.”
Logan let it go, but before he walked farther down the inside of the plane, he added, “I think you like calling me that. Maybe I will get you to use it in bed.”
Tate’s laughter rumbled through the interior as Logan heard some other people come into the mock-up of the plane behind them. They exited the 727 and were making their way back out to the main floor when Logan realized that it was his turn, and he wanted to know—
“Who was your first kiss?”
Without missing a beat, Tate responded, “Dani Bosley. My next-door neighbor. I kissed her through the back fence and got caught. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”
Logan nodded and, in a most serious tone, commiserated. “Oh yeah, I believe it. You really shouldn’t kiss girls, Tate.”
Tate rolled his eyes at him, and Logan found that he was more relaxed than he’d ever been. Spending time with Tate was easy. He was so laid back that just being around him made him feel the same way.
It also didn’t hurt that being near him made Logan’s whole day that much better.
He walked over to the hanging Piccard Gondola and stopped to look up.
“What about the first boy?” Tate’s quiet question found him from where he’d stopped just behind his shoulder. They weren’t touching in any way, but Logan could have sworn he could feel him.
He turned back and saw the serious expression in Tate’s eyes before turning to face him. “First boy I..?”
“Kissed,” Tate supplied instantly.
Logan licked his lips, and Tate immediately looked at them.
“Chris Walker.”
“The same—”
“Yes,” Logan confirmed, nodding quickly and turning away before he said anything else.
Tate stepped in close so he could feel him against his back, and then Logan heard him ask, “Wasn’t he your first in…”
“In where?”
Tate reached forward to touch his hand. “In bed?”
Logan thought back to then and tried to make light of it. “It wasn’t technically in a bed.”
“Logan…”
“What? It wasn’t,” he defended as Tate’s fingers took his, and the strangest thought rushed through his mind. Don’t do this to me. Not unless you mean it.
“Stop making jokes for a minute, would you?”
Logan scanned the exhibit hall. He saw several families and couples walking by, but when his eyes came back to focus on Tate, he seemed oblivious to them.
His focus was on him—one hundred percent.
He seemed so sure, so steady in his decisions that, with every passing hour, Logan knew his defenses were crumbling.
“What happened back then? I know the CliffsNotes, but I’m sure there’s more to the story,” Tate pushed gently.
He sighed, not really wanting to get into it on their date. “It’s no different than any other breakup.”
Tate’s expression screamed, ‘Bullshit,’ as he turned and began walking, pulling him along with him.
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Logan tugged on his hand and stopped them both. When Tate looked back at him, he asked, “Where are we going?”
“We’re leaving. You and I are going to talk about this. If not here, somewhere else.”
Logan frowned as they started walking again. “Is this usually a part of your dates? Rehashing about your ex? Because it doesn’t seem very conducive to getting laid.”
As they rounded a corner, Tate pulled him into a small alcove and pushed him roughly up against the wall. Logan didn’t know what to expect as he found his back against the solid surface and Tate’s face inches from his.
“Our problem isn’t getting laid. I could undo your pants right now and prove it, but you already know that.”
Logan swallowed but couldn’t argue with it, so he went a different route. “I didn’t realize we had a problem.”
“It’s not a problem. It’s more like a barrier. Your barrier.”
Tate was right. He did have a barrier. He didn’t trust relationships.
Not with family, and certainly not with lovers. It was better to just keep it easy, simple, and uncomplicated.
Everything that Tate wasn’t.
“Are you listening to yourself?” he asked as Tate stared him down, his breathing heavy. “Yeah, I have a fucking wall. It’s twenty feet tall, especially with you. You’re different. And the fact that you’ve never been with a man other than me is fucking terrifying.”
Instantly, Tate sobered and stepped away. It was as if he’d punched the guy. Logan reached out and hooked his fingers into the front pockets of Tate’s jeans and pulled him back in against himself.
“I wasn’t lying last night. You scare me. I don’t do this. I don’t stay in relationships, and I certainly don’t let my fucking heart rule my head.”
“I know,” Tate nodded. “It’s just…How do I know what you want from—”
“He hurt me,” Logan cut in, not wanting Tate to voice his doubts about him. He brought his hand up to Tate’s face and cradled his cheek. “He kissed me and touched me like no one else ever had. And when he told me I was special, I believed him.”
Logan stopped talking when Tate took a step forward and slid a hand into his hair.
“You are special. So fucking special.”
The raw emotion in Tate’s words made it difficult for Logan to exhale, and when Tate connected their bodies right there in the museum and kissed his mouth, he allowed himself to believe for a moment that Tate was really his.
“Do you think I’d be here if it was just sex? That I’d be thinking about—”
Logan interrupted him by tasting Tate’s mouth again, slowly and gently. Tate seemed to have lost his train of thought, so Logan reminded him.
“That you’d be thinking about what?”
“Oh.” Tate blinked at him. “That I’d be thinking about the future.”
“A future with me?” Logan asked, his mouth curving against Tate’s until he started to chuckle.
“You just want to hear it out loud, right?”
Logan lowered his hands to Tate’s hips. “Damn fucking right.”
“Then yes. I’m thinking about my future and what part you’ll play in it. If you want to, that is.” Tate stepped away from him and held out his hand. “Come on. I have to go home and get ready for work.”
Logan took his hand, and as they walked out of the museum and down to the parking garage, he wondered for the first time what their future as a couple held.
15.
What a difference a few hours could make.
Tate sat on his couch Sunday morning, flicking the lid of his silver lighter. He’d called his mom after Logan had dropped him off yesterday afternoon, and she hadn’t answered.
That wasn’t a good sign. She always answered.
He’d kept expecting a message on his phone all throughout his shift, but again—nothing. He’d only ever had silence from her once before, when he’d told her he was divorcing Diana.
Fuck. He hadn’t slept for shit.
All night, he’d been staring at his ceiling fan, thinking about his date with Logan, not to mention the night before.
The more time he spent with him, the more complex his feelings became. He was slowly peeling away the layers of the cocky man he’d met in the bar, and every time he discovered something new, he found himself getting more and more involved.
Logan, it turned out, was someone he wanted to know on every level. But Tate was afraid that, after today, Logan would run in the opposite direction.
Standing, he began to pace his living room.
He knew that Logan was going to be pissed about what was going to happen, but it was the only thing he could think to do, and he’d already explained what his mother had said about meeting him.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and Tate looked down to see the text he’d been waiting on.
Logan: I’m here. In the parking garage.
Tate stood, grabbed the keys off of the dresser, and text back as he made his way to the front door.
On my way.
He showed...
Tate got into the elevator and tried to pinpoint what he was feeling as the metal doors shut and the elevator began its descent.
Shock.
That was it.
He was shocked that Logan had come, because somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d expected him to bail.
* * *
Logan sat in his car and once again inspected himself in the rearview mirror. He smoothed his fingers over his hair and then pushed his glasses up his face.
Fuck. I feel like a nervous teenager.
Essentially, that’s what he was—some nervous fool going to meet his boyfriend’s parents. It just so happened he was thirty-four and Tate’s parents already hated his fucking guts.
Fantastic.
He was surprised he wasn’t sweating in his V-neck as he sat there waiting on Tate. He’d worried over his outfit way too long last night—even for him—then this morning, he’d changed his mind anyway.
Black pants, black V-neck, and a black sports coat seemed safe enough.
I want to fade into the shadows.
Just as that thought entered his mind, he saw Tate push open the door, step out into the garage, and make his way toward him. If he thought he was showing his nerves, the stranger walking toward him had him beat.
Tate looked like he hadn’t slept for a month.
His curls were all over the place, and the stubble lining his jaw was a couple of days old. While the result was hot, it wasn’t Tate.
As usual, he was in jeans, but instead of the ripped ones, these were dark and in one piece. He had on a white long-sleeved shirt that was creased and looked as if he’d slept in it, and he was holding his leather jacket down by his leg.
In his other hand, he was flicking the lid of a lighter.
Up, down. Up, down.
He walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger’s side door, and got inside. His left leg was bouncing up and down, and if Logan didn’t know better, he would have thought the guy was high. He was a completely different man from the one he’d dropped off yesterday afternoon.
Logan reached over and put his hand on top of Tate’s, causing the metal clinking to cease. The interior of his car now smelled like a combination of tobacco and leather.
“Hey there.”
Tate turned to him, and Logan frowned.
“You’re a mess.”
“Awesome,” Tate replied, his tone surly as he looked away.
Logan removed his hand and placed it on the headrest behind Tate’s head. “Did you eat anything last night?”
Tate eyed him as he buckled his seatbelt. “Yeah, at work.”
“Okay then,” he responded. Then he asked, “Did you speak to your mom?”
Tate faced him, and immediately, he knew the answer—no.
“Do they know we’re coming?”
Again, the silence confirmed the answer—no.
What a goddamn disaste
r.
Logan looked out the windshield and tried to calm himself, but he knew that, no matter how long he sat there, he was not going to calm down.
“Jesus, Tate! This is hard enough when they know it’s about to happen, but they don’t even expect us? What the fuck?”
“I tried,” Tate stressed. “She didn’t answer.”
Logan gripped the steering wheel. “Fucking great.” He leaned his head back against the car seat and muttered again, “That’s just fucking great.” The air in the car was tense as they both sat there thinking, and then he asked, “Got a cigarette?”
Tate’s head whipped around, and when their eyes met, Logan shrugged.
“I’d prefer a fucking joint, but I’m assuming you don’t have one of those.”
As Tate picked his jacket up off of the floor and fished the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Logan opened the car window.
“Here,” Tate said, offering him one.
Logan took it, and when he placed it between his lips, Tate raised his hand and flicked open the lid to the lighter. As the flame lit up the dark interior, Logan inhaled, then sat back and closed his eyes. If ever a time called for a smoke, now was it.
“I’m sorry.”
Logan’s eyes opened, and he turned his head on the seat. “What are you sorry for?”
“All of this shit.”
Logan stretched his arm across the car to touch Tate’s jaw. “I started all of this shit. Did you forget that?” He took another drag of the cigarette and then blew the smoke out the window.
“Are you ever less than put together?”
Logan felt the side of his mouth quirk as he turned back to Tate. “Is that your way of saying you like what I’m wearing?”
Tate sighed and brushed a hand down his shirt. “No. It’s my way of telling you I feel like a fucking slob.”
“Nah, it’s not that bad.”
“Liar,” Tate huffed. “You just said I look like a mess.”
“Yeah. But it works for you.”
“Thanks, asshole,” Tate grumbled.
Logan searched his car, grabbed a half-empty bottle of water from the back, and dropped the butt inside. He put the cap on and threw it behind him before leaning across the car and grabbing the back of Tate’s neck.
He gave him a hard kiss, and when he pulled away, he said, “Pull yourself together and tell me how to get to your parents’ house. I may be an asshole, but you knew that before. So deal with it.”