by Ella Frank
“Well…” Tate started, as Logan kissed the side of his neck. “I was thinking.”
“Yes,” Logan said, as he began a slow grind of his hips. “That’s your first mistake. You should stop.”
Tate let his head fall to the side as Logan gnawed along his jawline to his ear, and then one of Logan’s hands was slipping between them to palm him through his jeans. A groan left his throat as Logan massaged his throbbing erection and said, “I want to feel you in my hand.”
Fuck yes, I want that too, Tate thought. But when Logan’s fingers went to the button of his jeans, he finally kicked his ass in gear, lowered his hands from the door, and placed them over Logan’s, stilling them.
When Logan frowned, he swallowed, and then before he even knew he was going to, Tate said, “I want to take you to church.”
LOGAN FROZE WITH his hands under Tate’s, and tried to discern whether Tate was messing with him. But the earnest expression in Tate’s eyes told Logan all he needed to know—he was serious.
He wants me to go to…church?
Logan opened his mouth, and then paused, then tried again to speak, and Tate started to laugh.
“Don’t tell me I’ve rendered you speechless.” Tate laced their fingers together and brought Logan’s hands up to either side of his head against the door, caging him in.
“I…uhh.” Logan let his words drift off as Tate kissed the spot right below his ear, and when his cock reacted as though it’d been sucked, he gave Tate a gentle shove back. “Let me make sure I’m understanding this. You want to take me to church.”
Tate’s grin was infectious as it curved his lips into a full-on mischievous smile. “That’s right.”
Logan couldn’t stop the sound of disbelief that slipped free. “And just so I’m clear, we’re not talking about you on your knees worshiping me until I shout, ‘Oh my God.’ Are we?”
One of Tate’s eyebrows rose as he glanced down Logan’s body to where, yeah, fuck me, I’m totally goddamn hard.
“Well,” Tate said, moving in against him until one of his legs was wedged between Logan’s. “No. But if you come to my church today, then I’d be more than happy to come with you tonight, at yours.”
The gorgeous fucker. He has me right where he wants me, Logan thought, as he turned his head to the side and Tate’s teeth nipped at his ear and his thigh moved higher between Logan’s legs, massaging his hard-on.
“Please,” Tate said. “I really want to go. And I’d like you there with me.”
Shit. How can I say no to that? The answer was that he couldn’t. And wouldn’t. Not if Tate asked him. Not if he needed him. Logan was willing to do anything when it came to Tate—he’d proven that from the minute they’d met and he’d agreed to Tate’s “relationship” policy. And yeah, that’d turned out pretty well in the end. But…church?
Logan brought his face back around so he was looking into Tate’s eyes. “Is this how you ask everyone to Sunday mass?”
Tate’s eyes widened a fraction. “You even know what it’s called. I’m impressed.”
Logan swiped his tongue along his lower lip and then looked to either side of the door, where his hands were still pinned in place. “Believe it or not, I’m not completely ignorant when it comes to matters of religion.”
“Been to Sunday mass often, have you?”
“Not even once,” Logan said quickly, making Tate laugh. “But Tate?”
“Hmm?”
“If you plan for that to change this morning, you need to let me go so I can go and console myself in the shower before we leave.”
When Tate released his wrists, Logan lowered his arms and pushed off the door to step around him, and as he went, he heard Tate say, “Make it count. That way you won’t be bored during confession.”
Logan stopped in his tracks, looked back at Tate, and said, “You didn’t say anything about confession.”
“I’m just messing with you.”
“Oh, well, I wasn’t too worried. I haven’t been to church once in thirty-seven years. Do you really think I’d be lacking in things to atone for?”
“Definitely not,” Tate said. “In the last week alone I can think of enough points to mention that you’d be in there for hours. But…I figured if you only focused on your most recent transgression, maybe we’d get out of there by the time evening mass started.”
Logan narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “Laugh it up, Morrison. You’ll eventually pay for this.”
Tate threw his head back and laughed as Logan headed into their bedroom, and just as he stepped into the bathroom, he heard Tate call out, “I can’t wait.”
And for those three words right there, Logan figured the least he could do was wash up and go and thank God.
Chapter Seventeen
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Logan was pushing open the glass doors of their building’s lobby, where Tate had said he’d meet him with the car. He straightened his tie for at least the twentieth time and tugged on his shirt sleeves, feeling uncomfortable for the first time ever in his outfit.
Am I really going to do this? Logan thought, as he slipped his sunglasses on. It was a warm day today, but not as hot as last week, otherwise he’d be sweating in his pants and dress shirt before they even got to Elmhurst.
The throaty rumble of Tate’s car had Logan’s head turning to see the black ’68 Shelby Mustang GT500 coming down the street toward him, and he wandered down to the curbside to enjoy the view.
There’d been a time where he couldn’t imagine anything sexier than seeing Tate straddling the motorbike he used to ride, but that was before the accident he’d had that almost cost him his life. It was also before he bought the vehicle he was currently sitting in.
As Tate pulled to a stop beside him with his window down and his elbow resting casually on the door, Logan shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly shook his head. Today was going to be an exercise in restraint…because holy shit, Tate sitting behind the steering wheel of this beast of a car in a black V-neck tee, dark blue jeans, windswept hair, and Aviators was tempting as all hell.
“You’re wearing that to church?” Logan said, and Tate offered him a slow smile and pulled his sunglasses partway down his nose.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Other than the fact it’s going to be impossible to be close to you and not be hard as a fucking rock? “Aren’t you supposed to dress”—Logan pulled a hand from his pocket and gestured to himself—“like this?”
Tate chuckled and shrugged. “Pretty sure God doesn’t care either way. But you look very smart this morning, if that’s any consolation.”
Logan reached up and whipped his sunglasses off to glare at Tate. “Are you having fun?”
“A little,” Tate said with a grin, then pushed his glasses back in place. “You better get in if we’re going to get there on time.”
Logan walked around the front of the car, suddenly feeling as though he were dressed more fittingly for a funeral, which was apt, considering where he was going, and made sure the road was clear before he climbed in the passenger seat and looked over at his driver for the day. “Please remind me again why I’m doing this?”
“Because you’re a good guy?”
“No,” Logan said, shaking his head. “That’s definitely not it.”
“Then it must be because you love me,” Tate said as he lowered a hand to place it on Logan’s thigh. But there was no way Logan could keep himself decent if Tate was in one of his teasing moods, which clearly he was, judging by the crook of his lips when Logan caught hold of his wrist, halting him.
“Something the matter?” Tate asked.
“No,” Logan said as he directed Tate’s hand to the chrome gear stick with the polished head. “But if you could please keep your hands on the steering wheel and stick shift, I’d feel…”
“Yes?” Tate said, and Logan pinned him with a fierce stare.
“Less inclined to fuck you in the back seat before church.”
Tate let out a bark of laughter and leaned over to kiss him quickly on the lips. “In that case, I’ll be sure to keep my hand on you when we head home.”
Logan rubbed his forehead. “Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Drive. Now.”
And with a chuckle and a flick of his wrist, Tate turned the radio on blast and hit the gas.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, with his hands full, Tate pushed through the screen door at the back of his father’s house. He had a glass tumbler in one and an ice-cold Coke in the other. It was just a little past three, and after they’d gotten home from church, his father had handed Logan a glass of much-needed bourbon and directed him to the outdoor patio, and then they’d fired up the grill.
He’d cooked them all some spicy shrimp skewers, served with a wild rice pilaf, and after they’d finished eating, Tate had told Logan to sit and relax while he helped clean up. With the food covered and the kitchen counters wiped down, Tate’s father had sent him outside while he stacked the dishwasher and finished up.
As the door slapped shut behind him, Logan turned his head in Tate’s direction and offered a lazy smile. He’d removed his tie once they’d gotten home and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, but as always, his lawyer looked handsome.
“Dad thought you could do with another one of these,” Tate said as he slid a second glass of Widow Jane across the glass tabletop and took a seat in the white wicker cushioned chair beside Logan. “He’s impressed you made it through the entire service without bolting.”
“Well, the two of you boxed me in. Where was I going to go?”
Tate grinned at the memory of Logan shifting uncomfortably in the pew between him and his father at Cathedral of the Sacred Heart and then winked. “That was his suggestion, not mine.”
“Your dad knows me well.”
Tate raised the Coke to his lips and took a gulp, before lowering it to the table. “Who ever would’ve thought that would be the case.”
Logan saluted him with the tumbler. “Not me. But…”
“But?” Tate said, when Logan’s words drifted off and he looked out at the backyard.
“But I like it,” Logan said, staring at the big tree in the back corner where Tate had built his first treehouse. “Every time we come here, I feel like I learn a little more about you.”
Tate rested an arm along the back of the chair, and when his fingers grazed Logan’s shoulder, Logan turned his head and aimed those perceptive eyes toward Tate.
“And what did you learn today?”
The side of Logan’s lips quirked up. “That you have your father’s smartass tendencies. Did you know he called me a heathen, right in the middle of the service? Told me to relax because no one knew I was a total heathen. As if that was going to help.” Tate grinned, and Logan took hold of his chin and brushed a quick kiss over his lips. “But I also learned that this part of you, the Sunday family lunches and church? This tradition was important to you.” Tate was going to answer, but Logan placed a finger against his lips. “Don’t deny it.”
Tate shook his head and threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Logan’s neck. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to say that the tradition you’re talking about no longer exists.”
“That’s not true. We just did it with your dad. We could alternate if you wanted to? Since it’s something you grew up with.”
He leaned in and kissed Logan gently. “That’s really sweet. But not necessary.” When Logan’s eyes narrowed, Tate laughed and sat back. “I don’t want you to start attending church on Sundays, Logan. That’s not what this is about. I don’t need to be in a church to believe in God. I pray every night just fine without it.”
The look that crossed Logan’s face then was a mix between disbelief and incredulity. Which only made Tate’s amusement escalate.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Good to know I can still surprise you,” Tate said, and took another sip of his drink. “All I’m saying is that if a tradition can’t bend, if it can’t be flexible over the generations, then it won’t survive. And this one didn’t survive. How could it when there were stipulations involved like the one my mother placed on it about you?”
“Tate…”
“No. You need to hear this,” Tate said. “You’re right in one sense. This tradition was important to me. Family always was. And if you asked me four years ago if I ever thought I’d be sitting in this house and that it would be empty because of a choice I made? Then I would’ve told you there was no way. That this family was stronger than that.”
Logan clenched his jaw and looked away, and Tate hated the fear he saw flash into Logan’s eyes. This topic was always such a difficult one between them. For him, it was the pain and loss of his mother and sister over the person he fell in love with. For Logan, it was the guilt of being that person. And seeing Jill had brought all of those feelings rushing back to the surface—for the both of them.
He reached out and brought Logan’s face back around. “My tradition was always about family, and you, Logan, are my family. So if we want to go to Cole and Rachel’s or visit with my father or, hell,” he said, and nipped at Logan’s lower lip, “if we want to stay in bed naked all day on a Sunday, I don’t care. As long as you’re there. That’s my new tradition and the one that’s most important to me.”
Logan’s eyes darkened at the declaration, and Tate had to remind himself that his father was just inside, otherwise he was liable to kiss Logan. And God knew once that happened, he’d have a difficult time stopping.
“You really pray each night?” Logan said, pulling Tate’s thoughts from the idea he was currently having.
“Mhmm,” Tate said, and reached for his Coke again.
“When? I don’t ever see you.”
Tate chuckled. “Yes, you do, you just don’t know it.” When Logan just stared at him, Tate knew he was waiting for him to continue. “Usually right after you kiss me goodnight. You wrap your arm around me, and it’s peaceful. That’s when.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected from Logan after he said that—maybe some smartass comment about him being able to really show him heaven. But instead, Logan’s eyes glistened and Tate was momentarily stunned by the wave of emotion that seemed to have overtaken the man staring at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, touching Logan’s arm.
“Yes. I was just thinking about what you said.”
“What about it?”
“About where you find peace,” Logan said. “I thought that was why you went to church today.”
“It was. But it was also for answers. To quiet all the questions and doubts in my head so I could think more clearly about Jill. Does that make sense?”
Logan took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Yes, it makes total sense. Sitting there next to you today in church, I too found my own brand of peace. And while it wasn’t due to the man everyone else was there to see, I still found the experience an enlightening one, because it was with you. So thank you for that.”
Wow. Tate had not expected that at all, and as he sat there staring at Logan, there were no words to tell him just how much love he felt.
Then the back door swung open and his father came out with the bottle of Widow Jane in his hand.
The two of them looked over to see him raise it and then point to Logan’s glass, effectively ending the moment. “Drink up. There’s more where that came from.”
LOGAN COULDN’T SAY he was unhappy about Will Morrison’s timely arrival. Things had been getting intense on Tate’s father’s porch. But damn, everything Tate had just said? It was like he’d somehow crawled into his brain, found all of the demons he worried about, and slayed them in one fell swoop.
“How are you two doing out here?” Will said, as he pulled up the seat opposite them.
Tate left his hand where it was resting along Logan’s back, and used the other to raise the Coke can to his lips. After taking a long drink of it, he lowered it and no
dded. “Good. We’re good, Dad. Lunch was great.”
Logan cleared his throat. “Really, the shrimp was amazing. We need to find out what you put in that marinade.”
“Remind me before you leave and I’ll write it down.”
Logan brought the tumbler up to his lips and took a sip before sliding his glass over to Tate’s father with a wink. “Your bourbon’s not bad either.”
Will gave a hearty laugh as he tipped the bottle up, refilling the glass. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”
Woo, I’m gonna be feeling that in the next few minutes. “Do you like scotch?” Logan asked, thinking of the Macallan that Cole had given him last week.
“I do.”
“Ever had a glass of Macallan? My brother finally cracked open his twenty-five-year-old single malt the other day, and damn,” Logan said, remembering the smoothness of it. “That was some potent stuff.”
Tate started laughing. “Potent, meaning he had three glasses and fell asleep at the office. Wonder if you’re gonna pass out after this one.”
“Excuse me,” Logan said, aiming a pointed look Tate’s way. “I had had a busy few weeks. Months, really.”
“That’s right,” Will said, pushing the glass back Logan’s way. “Your big case was this week. How’d it go?”
Fucking brilliant, was Logan’s initial thought, but he managed to catch himself. “It went well. We won.”
“Congratulations,” Will said, and Tate chuckled before saying, “What he’s not telling you is the case settled at thirty-five million dollars. It’s almost unheard of to win against the big pharmaceutical companies.”
Tate’s father’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he looked from his son to Logan, then back to Tate.
“Did you say thirty-five million dollars?”
“I sure did,” Tate said. “He kicked their ass.”
Damn, Logan thought as he looked over at Tate, who was smiling broadly at him. The pride that was evident on his face… That makes me feel like the king of the fucking world.
