by Ella Frank
“You fucking asshole!” Tate boomed as he crowded in against him.
Taking a hold of his jacket lapels in his fists, Tate yanked him up, and Logan had never, ever seen him look so volatile. He also had never realized how fucking strong Tate was when he was angry.
“You ask everything of me, everything, and risk absolutely nothing in return.”
Releasing him with a rough, hard push, Tate glared at him in a way that made Logan feel like the piece of shit he knew he was being.
“I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Did things get a little too real for you, Logan? Well, fuck you! My whole goddamn life just changed, and here you are, backing away like a pussy.”
Logan straightened and stood up as Tate moved to the door. He was about to call out to him, stop him from leaving, when Tate placed his palm on the handle and turned back, pinning him with a look that shouldn’t have, but did, cut him to the core.
“Why don’t you understand that everything I’ve done and just did, I did because of how you make me feel, Logan? Even when I knew my family wouldn't understand, I did it anyway, just to get closer to you. How stupid was I?”
Logan couldn’t find the words to even begin to explain what he was thinking, and as Tate walked out of his office, Logan knew that Tate hadn’t wanted to hear them anyway.
* * *
Logan stood in the deafening silence that Tate had left behind. He felt the ache that had been growing, since Rachel and Jill stepped into his office, fester into a wide gaping hole that was now threatening to swallow him.
One minute, he’d been kissing Tate and planning exactly what he was going to do to the man that night, and the next, World War–fucking-female broke lose. Tate had pushed him for more, Logan had shut down, and now, Tate was gone. Fucking gone.
Jesus, he thought, storming around his desk to take a seat.
Just as his ass hit the leather, there was a knock on the door, and Rachel, Cole’s wife, poked her head into his office. “Hey.”
Looking up at her, Logan rested his head back against the chair and tried for a smile. “Hey.”
He watched the woman he loved as a sister walk in and stop on the other side of his desk. She placed her pink-tipped fingers on the surface and leaned in. “Oh God, how badly did I screw this up for you?”
Logan’s mouth quirked as he thought about how angry Tate had been, but the fault wasn’t anyone’s but his own. “You didn’t.”
Rachel made her way around the desk and when she was beside his chair, she turned, rested her hip up against the wood desk, and looked down at him.
Logan had known Rachel for a little over three years, and as usual, today, she looked gorgeous in her black leather pants and pink polka-dotted blouse. She was beautiful in a wild in-your-face kind of way, the complete opposite to her—
Knock, knock.
“Hello?” Cole called out as he pushed open the door.
Husband.
“Hey,” Logan replied.
Cole stepped through the door before shutting it behind him. Rachel was still staring down at him as though she was waiting for him to speak, but he really had nothing to say.
Huh, that has to be a first.
“Did Mr. Morrison leave?”
Logan raised a brow at his brother. “His name’s Tate, and he’s not here, and neither is the bitch you’re working with, so you can cut the polite shit.”
“Look, I was just—”
“Just what?” Logan snapped.
Rachel cut in by moving forward and placing a palm on his shoulder. “Hey, relax. He’s just trying to—”
“Tell me what I did wrong? That he was right? No, thanks, heard it all before.”
Rachel laughed softly. “You’re just like him.”
“Him is right here, Mrs. Madison,” Cole reminded her in a tone Logan figured worked for Rachel since she looked back over her shoulder to where her husband was standing.
Smoothly, she told him, “Oh, I know exactly where you are, smartass,” before turning back to face Logan, “Like he’s easy to ignore. But what I was going to say is, Cole’s just trying to see if you’re okay. He knows how much Tate means to you.”
Logan took off his glasses and tossed them onto the desk. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure he just dumped my ass.”
Rachel frowned. “What? But I don’t understand. He said—”
“What’d you do?” Cole questioned, stepping forward to the desk.
“Excuse me?”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
Logan glared across at Cole with a look that screamed, Fuck off.
“That straight guy just told his ex-wife and sister that he was dating you, then you came in here, and now, you say he left and dumped you. So, what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Logan stood, hoping that would make him feel better about the situation, but it didn’t. Cole, meanwhile, stared him down until he had Logan rolling his eyes.
Screw Cole and his ability to wait me out. Two can play at that game.
“Go away. I have a busy morning and a boring night to look forward to, so please, leave.”
“He said something about family, didn’t he? His sister, his ex? What happened, Logan? He wants you to meet the parents?”
Rachel stood beside him and touched Logan’s hand. “Was that it? Because that’s great. He must really like you.”
Logan looked down into the wide blue eyes staring up at him. They were hopeful, sweet, and not-so-innocent since he knew his brother.
“Look, not everyone’s like you two. It’s too soon for all of that.”
From across the desk, he heard a mocking laugh, and his head snapped around, so he was once again facing Cole.
“You dumb shit. He just got outed to everyone he knows and stood up for you, and you told him no to meeting his parents?” Cole laughed again. “I would have fucking punched you before I left, if I were him.”
He very nearly did, Logan thought, remembering the rage on Tate’s face. But then he also recalled the disappointment and pain in the expression he’d seen right before Tate had walked out.
As Logan stood there silently, Rachel ran a hand up his arm to his shoulder. “Go to him, and apologize. Swallow your pride.”
Logan looked down at her and tried to diffuse the much-too-emotional moment with inappropriateness. “It’s not pride I’d have to swallow.”
A small smile tipped her lips as her eyes sparkled. “I’m not rising to your dirty bait, Logan Mitchell. If it’s not pride, then swallow your fear.” She looked over to Cole and whispered, “I did. It was the best thing I ever could have done.”
Logan glanced at the other man in the room, and the look on Cole’s face as he stared back at his wife made Logan—
Envious?
“You’re right. You’re both right. I have a few meetings, and then I’ll go and track him down.”
Rachel practically squealed as she bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “See? Family can be a good thing! We just did a good thing, right? And we’re family. Now, make up you two, so Cole can ask you something.”
Logan frowned over at his brother.
“Go on,” Rachel urged.
Shaking their heads, they both grumbled out a pathetic excuse of, “I’m sorry,” and then Rachel patted his arm and moved around the desk to go and stand by Cole.
Taking her husband’s hand in hers, they both looked over at him, Rachel grinning and Cole looking as serious as ever.
“Okay, ask him.”
“Rachel,” Cole warned as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to right now.
“You told me you wanted to ask him as soon as we knew, but you both had a fight, and—”
“Rachel?” Cole interrupted.
“Yes, dear?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Logan stood there, looking back and forth between the pair, and when Rachel turned and placed her hands on her belly, Lo
gan felt a genuine smile spread across his face.
“Will you please be one of our baby’s guardians? You know, in case—”
“Don’t say it,” Logan grumbled quickly, raising a hand. Then, he laughed out loud. “Congratulations, you two! But are you crazy? Me? Are you sure?”
“No, not really,” Cole replied dryly.
Rachel whacked him in the chest. “Yes. We wanted both of our brothers.”
Logan looked over at Cole, extremely moved by the gesture he never would have expected, and when his brother finally smiled, he felt their relationship shift back to where it belonged. The only thing that was missing was the one thing that he’d driven away.
“Then, I’d be honored.”
As Cole hugged his radiant wife to his side, he glanced over at Logan and mouthed, We good?
Logan tipped his chin in agreement as his mind began spinning—spinning, planning, and plotting his next move. It all revolved around one thing—getting Tate back into his life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three and a—fuck, something hours later, and I still can’t stop thinking about him, Tate thought as he stared at the fan rotating slowly above him. Nothing would have been odd about that, except that his fan was turned off. Yep, the alcohol was doing its job, and he was nice and buzzed.
Lying on his back, he picked up his cell phone from his bare chest and stared at the screen. Still nothing. No calls of outrage from the family and not one call or text from that asshole telling me how sorry he is.
Well, fuck him, Tate thought, dropping the phone back to where it had been, as he lifted the bottle of Cuervo to his lips. Actually, don’t fuck him. He’d like it too much, Tate told himself just as his phone vibrated.
Picking it up, he made out the name and text he’d been waiting for. Swiping open the message, he stared at the two words on his screen and felt his mouth fall open. Twisting around and sitting up way too fast for his head, Tate continued to stare at the screen.
That arrogant fuck. Instead of the two words he’d expected—I’m sorry—there, staring back at him, was, I’m coming.
Tate glared at the phone as if the man who had typed it would be able to see. Placing the bottle down on the floor beside him, he typed back.
You’re not coming here.
Logan was in for a rude surprise if he thought Tate was going to let him in, and an even ruder one if he thought he was going to come in any way, shape, or form near him until he apologized.
Logan: Be ready.
“Unbelievable,” Tate sputtered, reaching down for the tequila.
Fuck you.
Not ten seconds later, there was a loud pounding on the door that startled him as his phone lit up. Looking down at it, Tate read a reply that made his buzzed brain take notice and his traitorous cock stiffen.
Logan: No, Tate. I’m gonna fuck you.
“Open the door!” Logan called out.
Tate stood, making his way—one foot in front of the other—to the door. “Go away, Logan. I don’t wanna talk to you,” Tate called out, leaning against the wood as he raised the bottle back to his lips.
“That’s too damn bad because I have a lot to say to you.”
Bringing the bottle down by his leg, Tate closed his eyes. “Then, say it.”
There was a long pause, and then Logan’s voice, softer this time, vibrated through the door. “This morning at my office—”
“Yes, Lo-gan—” Tate half-sang through the door.
“Are you drinking?”
Again, Tate repeated, “Yes, Lo-gan.”
“Open the door, and say that to me,” Logan demanded, calmer this time around.
Tate rolled his shoulders along the door until he was resting his left side up against it. “And why would I do that?”
He heard a thump and wondered if Logan had used his fist or his head to hit the door. “Open the fucking door, Tate.”
“Apologize,” Tate countered, determined to hear the words.
“Open the door, and I will,” Logan argued back.
Sighing, Tate knew they were at an impasse. He unlatched the dead bolt, turned the lock, and opened the door. Logan was standing there, with his arms stretched out, bracing him against the door frame, with his jacket parted and his tie falling forward.
Guy’s all fucking sex, Tate thought as he stared at the eyes behind the glasses.
Being this close to Logan with only his jeans—oh shit, they’re Logan’s jeans—between them, was not going to help him resist the man in front of him. So, as soon as Logan dropped his hands off the frame, Tate raised the bottle to his lips and downed more of the smooth, warm alcohol, trying to keep some distance between them.
“You going to let me in?” Logan asked.
Tate had a feeling that statement meant a lot more than permission into his apartment.
“You going to apologize?”
Logan ran a hand along his jaw. “You want me to do this here?”
Taking another drink as he thought about it, Tate scratched a hand over his naked chest, and then he moved it down to the button on his jeans. “Yeah, I think I do,” he agreed, and then blamed the alcohol when he added, “Down on your knees. That’s where most people grovel.”
* * *
Logan managed to keep his mouth from falling open—barely—as the words Tate had just spoken made it to his brain.
Glancing at the bottle of tequila in Tate’s hand, Logan questioned much more calmly than he felt, “How full was that?”
Tate lifted the quarter-empty bottle and shrugged. “Unopened. Why?”
“I’m just thinking about how brave you’re being,” Logan drawled out suggestively.
“Maybe I should always be drinking around you then.”
Logan reached up to loosen his tie. “No doubt. Now, what exactly is the criteria for me to get into your place? Me on my knees, apologizing, right?”
Tate dipped his head forward and gave Logan a confident leer. “That’s right.”
Looking up and down the narrow hall he was standing in, Logan lowered down to his knees in the doorway and had to admit that the game, which was most definitely on, was making him horny as hell.
Tate took a step back from the door and then another before he stopped, widened his legs, and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. Logan’s mouth practically watered as he remembered exactly what Tate did not have on under the denim he’d borrowed this morning.
“Tate…”
Tate focused his eyes on him and unzipped his jeans. The cocky shit is going to tease me to death. When I finally get my hands on him, he is in so much trouble.
“Yes, Logan?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For?” Tate urged as he slowly pushed his hand into his jeans.
Logan was finding it difficult to concentrate, as he remained kneeling in place. “For being an ass.”
Tate moved his hand around behind the material, and then he pulled his erection up straight with a relieved groan. It was visible through the open zipper, and Logan wanted it. He wanted it so bad that he was close to crawling across the floor and begging for it, but why crawl when—
“And…”
And? There’s supposed to be more? Logan thought and then decided, Enough is enough. Moving to his feet, he took a step inside, and he was satisfied when Tate did nothing to stop him.
Shutting the door with a loud slam, Logan loosened his tie further and pulled it over his head before throwing it to the floor. Game on. It was his turn to hunt.
This time, it was he who was stalking Tate, and if Tate knows what is good for him, he’ll run and hide. Or at least, he would run if he didn’t want to be caught and attacked because that was exactly what was about to happen.
Something must have triggered Tate’s flight response because he started to slowly back up, and that only made this all the more fun in Logan’s opinion.
“Where are you going? I thought you wanted me to elaborate.” Logan shrugged out of his jacket and tosse
d it on the ground.
“Not going anywhere,” Tate told him stubbornly, the alcohol making him slightly less aware of the calculation in Logan’s eyes.
“You sure look like you’re going somewhere,” he pointed out as he pulled his shirt from his pants and started to undo the buttons one by one.
Tate stopped by his kitchen table and placed the bottle on it. “I’m still angry at you. It’s going to take more than that half-assed apology before you’re forgiven.”
Logan yanked his shirt open after becoming impatient with the small buttons, and removed it as he stopped in front of Tate and threw it on the table, next to the bottle of tequila. Swiftly, he took Tate’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah, I figured as much since you’re pretty much buzzing and still drinking.”
“Yeah, well, you’re enough to make anyone drink,” Tate fired back, surly as hell.
“Is that right?” Logan asked with a curl to his lip.
He didn’t know what this said about him, but this was the attitude he loved on Tate, and he hadn’t seen it for a while. It was pissed-off, it was confident, and as his eyes remained locked with Logan’s, it was arrogant as fuck.
“Yeah, it is. I’m not going to give in until you really mean it.”
Logan couldn’t help the taunting laugh that escaped him as he took Tate’s bottom lip between his teeth. Pulling it out and then letting it go, he ran his tongue over it and tasted the tequila as he promised, “Well, we’ll just have to see who gives in first, won’t we?”
He covered Tate’s mouth in a furious mating of lips as he pushed his free hand down into Tate’s open jeans. As Logan’s fingers curled around Tate’s hard cock, Logan felt him shudder, and he smirked against his mouth.
“I’m going to make you tremble so fucking bad, your knees are gonna give way.”
Tate breathed heavily against his mouth and challenged, “Bet you can’t.”
Letting go of Tate’s chin, Logan cupped the back of his head and twisted strong fingers into his hair. Pulling Tate’s head back, Logan sucked on his neck and throat and then licked over Tate’s Adam’s apple where he promised, “I will, or I’ll die trying.”
A harsh moan left Tate as Logan worked the responsive flesh in his hand and then kissed Tate’s jaw. He bit it gently, and then with a tinge of desperation, he pleaded with the man, “Say you forgive me, say we’re fine.”
