by Ella Frank
“Huh?”
As Logan slid into the seat opposite him, Tate continued his bold appraisal until Logan’s voice snapped him out of it.
“If you think the way you’re looking at me is any less of an indication that you had your cock inside me last night as opposed to simply touching my hand today, then you’d be wrong.”
Tate shifted in his seat. “And how am I looking at you?”
“Like you want to undress me.”
“I do want to.”
Logan placed his arms on the table and clasped his hands together. “But you have an aversion to holding hands?”
Tate leaned across and spoke softly, “Well, I won’t be undressing you in public, will I?”
Logan tilted his head to the side and sat back in his chair. “Ah, I think I understand.”
“Good,” Tate replied, thinking that would be the end of it.
“So we’re…secret friends?”
Tate shook his head, rubbing his palm over his face.
What did I think would happen? That Logan would be happy with a quick fuck at the end of each night and that he wouldn’t tell anyone? Did the guy ever keep his mouth shut?
No.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
Logan’s expression reflected his incredulity as he responded. “I’m being the asshole? I’m just trying to work out what exactly is going on here, so I know what I can and can’t do.”
“You can show a little patience while I get used to everything. You’ve been doing this for…” Tate paused, and then asked, “How long have you, you know?”
“Nope, I don’t. If you want to know something, then spit it out.”
“Liked both? Swung both ways? Whatever, you know what I mean. Stop being difficult,” Tate stated, impatiently.
Logan’s laugh was derisive, and Tate knew it had nothing to do with what he’d asked but more to do with his discomfort at the question.
“Well?” Tate demanded.
“Since I was nineteen.”
“Nineteen?” Tate questioned in a much louder voice than he’d anticipated.
Just as Logan was about to say something else, Tate heard, “Tate! One, extra-nutty hazelnut latte, and an espresso!”
Tate scooted out of the booth and stood. As he brushed past Logan, he felt a hand grab his wrist. Stopping, he looked down at eyes that were laughing up at him.
“That’s the drink you ordered? A nutty hazelnut?”
“Yeah, so?”
Logan shrugged. “Awful lot of nuts for one drink, don’t you think?”
Tate scowled as Logan continued to laugh.
“You know, nutty hazelnut fits you quite well this morning, I’d say.”
Tate shook his head. “I like the nut flavor, that’s all.”
“Oh Tate, you make it so easy every time. Go, or I can’t be held responsible for what comes out of my mouth.”
“Are you ever?”
“More than you’d think, trust me.”
Tate pondered that for a moment. “You got the espresso?”
Logan inclined his head without saying another word, and Tate decided that was his cue to go and get their drinks.
* * *
Logan remained where he was, staring at the back wall, waiting for Tate to return. He was having an internal conflict, something that didn’t happen often with him. He’d been hurt when Tate had pulled away from him earlier.
Hurt.
The concept was almost humorous, considering his stance on relationships in the past, but the thought of Tate being embarrassed by him—
Yeah, that fucking hurt. The guy has managed to turn me into an emotional head case in less than two weeks.
Logan was resolved to telling him that he was not down for the hiding bullshit just as soon as he got back. Before he even finished thinking it though, the seat opposite him filled, and it was not by Tate.
Oh, just fucking great.
“I knew it was you,” the new arrival announced.
Logan stared across the table at Robbie.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed Robbie was a one-night several months ago, lapse in judgment.
“Did you?” Logan asked, trying to speed things along.
Robbie wasn’t shy at all as he looked over Logan’s suit and licked his lips suggestively.
“I did. I told Libby it definitely looked like you even though she swore it wasn’t. But I was right, and here you are.”
Looking over his shoulder quickly, Logan was happy to see that Tate was still at the counter, waiting behind a group of people. Turning back to face the guy, Logan tried to remember exactly why he’d gone home with him as he replied, “Yep, here I am.”
“You’re a hard man to get a hold of. Always gone before I see you.”
Until today. How could I have been so stupid? Logan aimed a forced smile at Robbie and hoped that Tate took his sweet-ass time getting their coffees.
Robbie leaned in across the table, similar to the move Tate had done a little earlier, and licked his top lip again. Unexpectedly, that night came back to Logan in a hot flash of mouths, cocks, and cum. Specifically, his cock in that mouth.
“I tried calling you,” Robbie told him quietly.
Logan remained where he was, but admitted. “I know.”
“But you haven’t answered.”
The guy isn’t stupid at least. Logan hated stupid.
“That’s true. I haven’t.”
Some men might have taken offense to that, but Logan was fairly certain that when they’d decided to go home for a quick fuck, he’d very clearly explained the rules up front. So, he was surprised when Robbie continued talking instead of getting up to leave.
“I thought we had a good night together.”
Trying his hardest not to lose patience, Logan raised a brow. “We did. And then it was over.”
As the word over left his lips and seemed to hover in the air, Logan felt, rather than saw, Tate stop beside his side of the booth. He watched as Robbie lifted his eyes to Tate, and then the young man’s mouth split into a smile that was pure sexual invitation. It was the same invitation Logan had once taken him up on, and an invitation that was not going to work here. It was a pity Logan didn’t have a chance to warn him of that before he opened his mouth and engaged Tate in conversation.
“Well, hello. Who are you?”
* * *
Who am I? Tate thought, glaring down at the little dipshit currently seated opposite Logan. Who the fuck are you?
Since he seemed to have lost the ability of speech, Tate turned to Logan, who answered for him, “This is Tate. He’s…”
Logan seemed to stumble over what he wanted to say, which was completely unlike him, and Tate wanted to get in the blond man’s face and say, I’m his, so fuck off.
Instead, he remained mute as Logan ended with, “A friend of mine.”
Although that completely infuriated him, Tate knew that it was his own fault. He’d sensed the way Logan had backed off when he’d moved his hand away from him earlier. It had been a natural reaction to any guy who’d try and hold his hand. One that was going to be hard to break, but it had really rubbed Logan the wrong way, and now, he was obviously paying him back.
“I’m Robbie. Also a good friend of Logan’s.”
Tate felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the implications being thrown at him. It was obvious this guy knew Logan in the we’ve-fucked kind of way, and Tate wasn’t exactly sure what his part in this discussion should be, which also didn’t help in his annoyance.
“So sorry, I’m in your way.”
“Trust me, you’re not. But you are in my seat,” Tate pointed out.
“Am I?”
As Tate glared down at the intruder, he noticed that, for once in his life, Logan had shut the hell up. “Yes. You are.”
The blond finally removed his eyes from him and looked across to Logan—the man, Tate thought, he had met for coffee. Robbie licked his lips like he wanted a taste of Logan’s mou
th, and Tate almost dumped the coffees on the table, wanting to grab the guy.
Logan must have finally clued in to Tate’s mood because that was when he spoke up.
“Well, it was nice catching up, Robbie.”
Tate turned his head and pinned Logan with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me glare.
“It’s always nice to see you, Logan, under any circumstances. Or just under you in general,” Robbie replied.
That comment was almost enough to make Tate’s temper explode, as the little shit slid out of the booth.
As he stood, Tate noticed he was around the same height as him, but Robbie was rail thin. He was wearing black skinny jeans and a black Daily Grind polo shirt. He gave Tate a wide grin, obviously aware of the shitstorm he’d just stirred, and then he turned, and walked away.
Sliding into the vacated booth, Tate glowered at Logan who had an arm across the back of the black seat and one on the table. Tate pushed the espresso over to him and finally spoke. “Him? Really?”
Logan picked up the coffee and brought it to his lips to take a sip. Tate did the same but kept an eye on the man across from him.
“Why so surprised? He’s cute, and his mouth rivals the suction of a Hoover.”
Tate almost choked on his coffee at that analogy. He coughed, cleared his throat, and stared at Logan, whose eyes seemed to be laughing at him.
“Nice. So, that’s how you remember the people you’ve been with—by their…sucking skills?”
“Not at all. Take you for example. All I can remember is how hard you fucked me last night. Plus, you haven’t sucked my cock yet. Want to remedy that?”
Tate shook his head. “Not right now.”
“Thought so,” Logan responded, lifting the drink to his lips.
Tate watched Logan’s lower lip part from the top to take a sip, and that was when he found himself promising, “Later.”
“Later, huh?”
“Tonight.”
Fingering the cup Logan pointed out, “You work tonight.”
“You don’t.”
“No, I don’t, do I? What should I do instead?”
Tate crowded in, wanting this now more than ever. “Come to the bar.”
“Now, why would I do that? It’s not like you’re going to talk to me more than you usually do. I don’t feel like sitting in a bar and staring at a man who is too much of a pussy to admit what he’s doing behind closed doors.”
Oh yeah, Logan is pissed. Just like Logan had once told him, it was an absolute turn-on. Arguing with him was like foreplay. Tate couldn’t believe how hot it made him.
Lowering his voice, he suggested, “Call in sick and come home with me. I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I could,” Logan considered. “But I’m not in the mood.”
Tate let out a sound of disbelief. “Really? You aren’t in the mood?”
“Not with someone who acts like I’m no one in public, but expects something exclusive so he can get me on my hands and knees in private.”
Logan was right. What he was asking was unfair. Tate thought he just needed time, time to get used to it all. But he wasn’t kidding himself. He wanted Logan, and he’d probably do whatever the guy asked to have him.
“You’re really pissed because I wouldn’t hold your hand, aren’t you?”
Logan dropped the relaxed posture to lean in.
“Don’t you laugh at me.”
Tate let his fingers reach out to touch Logan’s.
“Why? If this was the other way around, you’d be rolling on the floor, laughing at me.”
“Fuck off, Tate,” Logan snarled.
Quick as a whip, Tate caught Logan’s tie and one of the guys’ hands, pulling him across the table. Tate watched Logan’s vision shift to his mouth in anticipation.
“You really want me to leave?”
Logan raised his gaze as he warned, “People are watching.”
Tate’s desire to get his point across was outweighing any kind of fear he might have been having. “So?”
“So? Aren’t you the one that—”
Tate cut him off by tugging on the tie. “I told you I needed some time.”
“And fifteen minutes is your version of time?” Logan questioned skeptically.
“No, not really. But I want that little shit to see exactly who’s going to be sucking you later, and I don’t want you going to work thinking about him instead of me.”
Logan scoffed. “Tate?”
“What?” He didn’t really care where they were anymore. Instead, all he could visualize was this man’s mouth on his own.
“Lately, you’re all that I think about.”
“Perfect.” Tate responded before he pushed off his seat and took Logan’s mouth in a blistering kiss.
Logan opened to his lips immediately, and Tate forgot all about his surroundings as he tangled his tongue with Logan’s, sinking into the connection. The moan that slipped from Logan’s throat made Tate want to drag him over the table and rip off his clothes. It wasn’t until the sound of an order being called out, that Tate was brought back to reality, back to the coffee shop, back to where he had just openly kissed Logan in front of anyone who walked on by.
Before he had time to analyze that, Logan flicked his tongue over Tate’s bottom lip. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”
“What?” Tate reluctantly let go of Logan and sat back in his seat.
Logan followed suit and calmly stated, “Of Robbie. You were jealous.”
“And if I was?”
“There’s no reason to be. But I like it,” Logan informed with a self-satisfied grin.
“Why?”
“Because you looked like you wanted to kick his ass for even talking to me, and that makes me want you even more.”
Tate lowered his voice, questioning softly, “You really like that idea, don’t you?”
“Hell yes.”
Tate felt his erection pressing against his jeans at the look Logan was giving him. The kiss had gotten him interested, but the look aimed his way had him ready to go.
Then, Logan opened his mouth to add to the torture. “All of that honey-colored skin, naked under me, your curls all over my pillow as I drive my cock inside you—oh yeah, Tate, that’s going to happen. Mark my words.”
Tate’s ass clenched, and he actually pushed his hips up as though he were trying to ease the ache. He was more aroused by the image Logan had just depicted than he’d ever thought he would be.
“What if I don’t ever want that?”
“Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you turned-on right now, wishing we were somewhere private?”
Tate closed his eyes, sighed, and then reopened them. “Yes.”
“Then, trust me, you want it. Think about it, get comfortable with the idea, and when you’re ready, I’m going to make you feel so unfuckingbelievable that you’ll wonder why you ever questioned it.”
Tate’s thoughts were all over the place, and all he wanted was to ease his ache by doing…well, anything with Logan.
“Sure you have to go to work?”
“Yeah, but I’ll come by the bar after.”
Logan slid out of the booth, and Tate had to wonder how the guy didn’t have a raging hard-on like himself. But when he buttoned his jacket and placed his briefcase in front of him, Tate had his answer.
He does, but he has props. Lucky fuck.
Casually, Logan walked over to his side of the booth, leaned down slightly, and relayed in a tone that made Tate look twice, “I don’t expect you to announce this to everyone. Hell, I don’t even want that. But if you ever pull away from my hand again, like I have the fucking plague, don’t be surprised by my reaction.”
Catching his breath, Tate dared to ask, “Which will be?”
“Depending on my mood? Either a quick lesson on how much you like my hands or my back as I walk the fuck away.”
With that parting shot, Logan turned and walked out, giving Tate a taste of exa
ctly what he did not want.
Chapter Eighteen
Six thirty rolled around, and so did the wind and rain. Damn, that wind is really humming. Tate had been lucky enough to get to work just before it had really started, but even he had raced against the fat drops of water that had started to fall.
One hour later though, and people were dashing into the bar from the sidewalk, drenched. It made for one messy entryway, but it was a busy Tuesday night with people trying to avoid the downpour.
Tate’s mind was preoccupied tonight—consumed by one person in particular. Ever since Logan had shown up, Tate’s life had gone from boring to one full of chaos and unanswered questions, but it was time to start working things out. He knew that the further he went with Logan, the more difficult the questions would become.
Dropping his insecurities though was a lot easier to think about than to actually do. Tate didn’t want his reactions to Logan to be based out of fear in any way—whether it be the fear of being seen together or the fear of losing what had just started. He wanted his actions to be made because of want and desire and the fact that what he was doing felt good for a change.
So, as he’d gotten dressed for work, Tate had made up his mind. He wanted Logan. He wanted to be able to touch him, kiss him, and do whatever the hell he felt like without having to worry about what anyone else thought.
And that—well, that meant accepting it himself.
As Tate wiped down the top of the bar, he let the thoughts he’d been contemplating start to really sink in. He knew he wasn’t quite ready to tackle people head-on, but he wasn’t going to hide how he felt either. He was going to act just as they did in private, and if someone wanted to question it, then they could fucking question it.
The bar door opened just as Tate glanced up, in stepped the man who had walked away from him hours earlier—except this time, Logan did not look polished and put-together. No, he looked like the complete opposite. Still dressed in his navy blue suit—well, half of it—Logan had the jacket over his head as he walked through the doors. When he lowered it, Tate saw just how ineffective it had been at keeping the rain from him. Logan was soaked.
As he moved the wet jacket in his hand, he looked to the hostess. She took it from him with a small smile, and Tate saw Logan mouth something, probably a thanks—or a, Damn, sorry about that—and then he turned.
