by Ella Frank
A fear Logan probably now believed was founded due to his very actions.
The truth of the matter was, walking away from Logan last week was what had been right for him. He’d needed some time to regroup, time to assess what he wanted—really wanted—without the charismatic man clouding his judgment.
Ever since the night he’d first turned up at Logan’s place, Tate had barely stopped to think, let alone spent more than a day or two away from him. But after five days without the sexy-as-sin lawyer, Tate was more than aware of who he wanted in his life.
“Hey there.” The bubbly female voice found him over the loud thump of music.
He raised his drink, took a sip of the cool, clear alcohol, and looked her over. Blonde, stacked, and wrapped up nicely in one of the smallest pieces of black material he’d ever seen.
She was hot and knew it.
“Hey,” he replied, not overly interested but not rude enough to ignore.
“I’ve seen you in here the last couple of nights,” she told him, moving in closer. Her sweet perfume was overpowering as it wafted over to him.
“Oh yeah?”
She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his black jacket and licked her red lips. “Mhmm, yes. I’ve been watching you.”
Well, shit.
He’d wanted to see if anyone could interest him, and as the woman beside him tried her best, Tate felt…nothing.
“And what have you seen?”
“You. Standing against the wall, which is a complete waste. Drinking, observing, then leaving. Without one dance.”
He shrugged. “Haven’t really felt like dancing.”
“What about tonight?” she dared to ask.
He knew where this was going, but unfortunately for her, it wasn’t going to work.
“What about it?”
“Want to dance with me?”
Not really, but— “What the hell.”
Tate placed his glass on a table and took her hand, moving out onto the packed dance floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, and right now, the idea of losing himself in the pulsating rhythm appealed to him.
Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and began moving with the beat.
This is what he needed. Well maybe not exactly this, but for right now, it would do.
When two hands took his waist, Tate imagined they were stronger and much larger. He placed his arms on her shoulders, and as her fingers crept around to the middle of his back, he pictured opening his eyes and seeing smoldering blue. He thought of the way Logan would feel while moving his hips against him. He wouldn’t leave an inch between them. No…he’d have their bodies plastered against one another, and his hands would definitely be on his ass. Or one would be in his hair.
Tate also knew he’d feel his mouth somewhere on him, probably his neck. Yeah. He could almost feel it. Logan’s full lips trailing up his neck to his ear, where he’d no doubt say something absolutely filthy—
“Well, isn’t this fucking cozy.”
Okay…not what he was thinking, but Tate kept his eyes closed and went with it, hoping to hear his voice again. It wasn’t until the body pressed to his moved away that he opened his eyes.
“Excuse me,” his dance partner complained as she faced the person who’d interrupted them.
Tate also turned to see what the problem was, and what he saw, he couldn’t have dreamed up.
The man currently glaring at him was in no way smoldering. He was fuming mad.
Gone was the immaculate, clean-cut version of Logan he was used to, and in his place was an unshaven, sexier-than-imaginable version. And he was clearly pissed.
Holy shit.
“You needed some time, huh?” The words were full of rage as Logan glared at him.
Tate checked on the woman who was glancing between the two of them and then returned his attention to the more imminent threat—Logan. He didn’t move as Logan placed his mouth by his ear.
But instead of the sexual come-on he’d been imagining, he heard, “Feeling like a little pussy lately, huh, Tate?”
Tate turned his head so their lips were closer than acceptable for just friends, and every part of his body reacted.
Before he had the opportunity to say a word, Logan stepped away and shouted over the music, “You may want to dance a little closer than that, hun.”
Shit.
A defensive Logan was like a bull in a china shop. He didn’t stop and think about the best way to leave the situation. He just rammed into everything, to hell with what he broke or smashed along the way.
“And enjoy him while you can. Because this guy? He likes his space.”
Tate got between the two of them and put his hands up as if to calm Logan. “You done?”
“I haven’t even started.”
Tate reached out a hand to stop Logan from walking around him and stated loud enough that he’d hear, “I was going to call when I got home. You’re making a scene, so shut it, would you?”
He didn’t budge as Logan came closer, and when the strong hand he’d imagined earlier snaked down between them to cradle his stiffening cock, Logan narrowed his eyes on him.
“Want to make me? Or do you want to take this hard-on you got just by seeing me and do something useful with it instead of sticking your tongue in this woman's mouth and trying to get off?”
Tate closed his eyes as the pleasure of having Logan near him—touching him—hit him all over again. “I didn’t have my tongue in her mouth.”
Logan brought his face in close enough that the scruff on his cheek abraded his own smooth one. “Why not? She has a very nice mouth.”
Tate grabbed Logan’s arms as a low groan left his throat. He’d forgotten all about the woman and was now focused on the throbbing music that was matching time with the blood pumping through his veins.
“I wanted yours.”
“Did you?” Logan teased, flicking his tongue over his lobe. “Could’ve fooled me. Five days is a long time.”
“Was gonna call tonight,” he managed.
Logan’s teeth bit his ear, and he said, “You’re too late.”
He was released abruptly, and as quickly as Logan had appeared, he was gone.
* * *
Fuck this night. In fact, fuck this entire week.
Logan stormed out of the club and handed his ticket to the valet.
When Cole had told him Tate was down at HAZE, he’d assumed he’d find him sitting at the bar, drinking—possibly as miserable as himself.
But to walk into the club, scan the dance floor, and find him gorgeous as ever in his jeans and leather, draped all over some big-titted blonde…That was not what he’d expected to see.
So yeah, fuck this night.
Still fuming, he started tapping his foot on the concrete.
Where the hell is my car?
“Running away?”
Logan grit his teeth and turned to face the man he’d somehow known would follow him outside. “Me? You’ve got some fucking nerve, Tate. Just go back to your little lady, would you?”
Tate handed his own ticket to one of the other valets, and as he left to go and get his death mobile—no doubt—Tate moved around to stand in front of him.
“I was going to call.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he replied, looking around—anywhere but at the temptation in front of him.
“Yes, you do.”
He was done. He was sick of wondering where the hell he stood when it came to Tate, so maybe it was time to tell him just that.
“So what if I do? Does it make you feel good knowing I waited around for you to call? You know what, step up or fuck off.”
Logan watched as Tate’s eyes widened, but he said nothing, and when his car was pulled to a stop at the curb, he walked around Tate and tipped the valet.
As he got in the car, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Tate climbing on the back of his bike. It had him pushing his foot hard on the accelerator.
If you want me, come fucking get me.
* * *
Tate kept his eyes on the taillights of Logan’s silver Audi R8 as he floored it through the quiet night streets. It was late, nearly midnight, and even though there was some traffic, it wasn’t enough to stop Logan from running—and him from chasing.
He watched as the car ahead of him crossed over to the outside lane and floored it up a straight stretch of road. When they came to a stop at a red light, he pulled up beside Logan and made sure to look at the tinted window. He couldn’t see in, but he knew Logan was watching him, and it was made clear when the car behind them honked at the green light they’d both missed.
Like a gunshot, Logan punched the car into gear and hurtled down the road. Tate fell back so he was following behind, and when Logan took a left, he was sure to follow.
He knew where Logan was going—home—and he had to wonder what exactly he expected would happen once they arrived.
Making a right at the final turn, Logan pulled into the drive that led them down to the underground parking, and Tate followed in after. Apparently, that was okay because the gate remained open long enough for him to drive inside.
The parking garage was quiet except for the low rumble of Logan’s engine, and when he turned into his parking spot and shut off the vehicle, Tate maneuvered his bike in to fit beside him.
He took his helmet off, placed it on the fuel tank between his thighs, and waited. His heart was hammering and his blood was rushing around his ears as Logan opened his door and got out.
He looked at him over the roof of his car and then slammed the door shut. The echo of it was thunderous in the dark garage as he made his way around the back of the car and over to him.
Tate climbed off the bike and tried to imagine what was about to go down. In his mind, it could go one of two ways.
Logan could tell him to fuck off or he could get the first word in.
He went with the latter.
“It’s rude to leave in the middle of an argument.”
“We weren’t in the middle. We were at the end,” Logan stated, stopping in front of him.
God, he looks amazing.
His black hair was slicked back, and the black pants and white shirt he was wearing paired with a suit jacket that seemed velvety to touch all came together to make Logan look like a fucking rock God—but he would not let that distract him.
“No,” Tate told him. “You got pissed off because someone didn’t do what you wanted. Someone told you no. Told you that they needed space.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It's not what I think. It’s what I know. Everyone knows that Logan Mitchell is the player. The one who never gets turned down if he wants something. I also imagine you’ve never heard the words ‘I’ll call you.’ How’d that feel?”
Tate couldn’t believe the stuff flying out of his mouth, but the more he talked, the angrier he became. He was angry that Logan would accuse him of going elsewhere, and angry that he’d question his own feelings in the first place.
“God, you’re being an asshole right now,” Logan growled as he shoved him slightly until his back was against the concrete pillar. “You made me wait for five fucking days! No phone call, no text, no ‘Hey, I still want to do this.’ Just nothing—silence. So your parents freaked the fuck out. Whose didn't? Did you expect them to greet you with open arms?”
Tate shook his head, frustrated with Logan—but more so with himself. “I expected them to be a little more fucking compassionate, yes!”
Logan scoffed at him. “Yeah? Well, welcome to the real world.”
In an instant, Tate’s fury turned to dejection. “I don’t even know why I bothered following you tonight. I’m just gonna go.”
Logan scratched the thick stubble covering his chin. “Wow…you know what? Yeah, just go,” he said, his voice deceptively low as he started pacing. “Leave…Why not, right?”
He went to move around Logan, but before he knew it, he felt two hands on his shoulders pinning him in place. Logan’s blue eyes scanned his face in some kind of frantic search, and then he just…exploded.
“Leave? Of course, just leave. Fuck me for being so stupid,” he fumed and then dropped his hands away. “And fuck you for making me fall in love with you.”
Tate blinked several times as if Logan had just sucker-punched him.
He stood frozen as Logan walked back and forth, and then, as if he’d come to some inner conclusion, he spun on his heels and stormed back around to his car door.
But there was no way Tate was letting him go after that.
He ran around the other end of the car and got to the driver’s side just before Logan, blocking his way.
Finally finding his tongue, he asked, “What did you just say to me?”
“You need to move,” Logan advised, devoid now of all emotion.
Tate didn’t budge, not even to blink. He just stood there staring back at him.
Did he really just say—
“I said move, Tate.”
Logan reached out to push him aside, and still he stood his ground.
By that point, Logan was all bluster, his anger masking the emotions he’d let surface—the emotions that terrified him.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
Tate stubbornly shook his head. He’d be damned if he was going to let him leave without acknowledging his words. Plus, who knew where the hell he was going? They were already at his house.
What other options are there?
Apparently done with waiting, Logan grabbed his arm and shoved him aside. “I'm going to get in my car and drive out of here. You can either get in and come with me or never see me again. It's your choice, Tate.” Then he got in the car and slammed the door.
His choice, was it? Not any longer, it wasn’t.
It had stopped being a choice when Tate realized it wasn’t his head but his heart deciding.
He quickly walked around to the passenger’s side door, opened it, and got in. Once the door shut and secured him inside, he looked across the console to Logan.
“Logan?” He waited, and when nothing came, he whispered, “I love you too.”
The only sound in the car was his breathing—until Logan started the engine and revealed four words that almost shattered him.
“I don’t believe you.
18.
Logan stared out the windshield as he drove up the highway and told himself to focus on the road, not the mute man sitting beside him. He was still reeling from what happened back at his place, replaying the words over in his head.
They’d been driving around an hour now, and he was surprised Tate hadn’t spoken since they’d left. The last words he’d said were, “I love you too.”
Unable to help himself, Logan took a quick moment to glance at the passenger’s seat and found Tate angled toward him. His back was half pressed against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. Logan then looked up to find him watching his quick perusal with such quiet intensity.
“Where are we going?”
Finally. Something to focus on other than, “I love you too.”
“Do you care?”
Logan knew he sounded surly, but that was too fucking bad. He’d had a shitty week. His plan to go to HAZE and ask Tate to go away with him had not gone the way he’d anticipated.
Instead, everything had just gotten shittier until, “I love you too.”
“Yes, I care. Especially since I need to come up with a good excuse for being gone.”
“New Buffalo,” Logan told him, and when he got no response, he looked over at Tate who gave a few slow nods.
“What’s in New Buffalo?”
Logan saw his exit coming up and crossed several lanes, ready to leave the highway. “A beach.”
“I know that. I’ve been there before.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Tate sighed and then asked, “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”
“And how’s tha
t?”
“Pissed off, annoyed, moody?”
Logan took the off-ramp, and when he pulled to a stop at a red light, he turned to face his passenger. “Yeah, I think I might be. At least for the rest of the night.”
“It’s already the morning.”
“Then at least until noon. Smartass.”
The light changed to green and Logan put his foot on the gas. There was silence in the car again until, “I was going to call you.”
Logan ran a hand back through his hair but offered no reply.
* * *
Tate continued to watch the guarded man focused on his driving.
“Why can’t you ever just say what you’re really feeling?”
Logan whipped his head around and drilled him with an expression so fierce that Tate was surprised it didn’t leave marks on him where it held him in place.
“I do say what I’m feeling.”
“No you don’t.”
Logan made a turn onto a street and remained silent.
“Okay,” Tate mused. Then he stated quite adamantly, “I love you,” and waited for a reaction.
He watched Logan pull his bottom lip behind his top teeth as if he were holding back his words. Then he released it and said, “I told you how I feel about that.”
Tate remembered all too well. “You said you didn’t believe me.”
“That’s right.”
Tate shrugged as if it didn’t bother him, when really, it cut deep—really fucking deep. “You may not believe me, but it’s true. And at least I can say the words.”
“I can say them.”
“Ah huh,” Tate placated, but he said nothing else.
He felt his mouth curving into a victorious smile as Logan pulled off onto a side street and parked, keeping the engine idling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you always mask what you’re really feeling. Even earlier, you didn’t actually say the words.”
Tate knew he was slowly chipping away at Logan’s annoyance because he now had one hand up on the headrest and his fingers were very lightly—almost as if he didn’t even notice—touching his hair.
“I said them. Maybe you didn’t hear me after spending the night in a club.”