“I don’t know, Tate. Maybe it’d just be better if I didn’t come in during your work hours.”
“To your own bar?” Tate said, raising his head and looking Logan in the eye. “To our bar? You own this place as much as I do. One of our homes is above it, for fuck’s sake. You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. One of the reasons I don’t let you anywhere near a courtroom is because—”
“Stop talking.”
“Excuse me?” Logan said, getting sick and tired of being cut off tonight.
“I said. Stop. Talking.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed on the irritated expression that had crossed Tate’s face, but instead of heeding the warning, he continued. “I don’t let you in there because I get distracted and it affects my job. I don’t want my being at the bar to be the cause for some customers to leave or to start fights with you.”
The muscle of Tate’s jaw ticked, and he shook his head.
“What? It’s true,” Logan said. “If I hadn’t come up to you when I did—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, though, because Tate let go of his hand and stormed into the living room to pour himself a glass of whiskey.
Fucking hell. I knew this would turn into an argument.
Logan kept his eyes on Tate as he brought the glass to his lips and downed the alcohol, and then he slammed the tumbler on the table and turned to walk back to Logan. The fulminating look from a second ago was still there, but when Tate stopped in front of Logan, he said, “Come with me.”
Logan watched in silence as Tate walked over to the stairs, and when he got to the bottom, he looked over his shoulder to where Logan still stood.
Okay…guess he’s not gonna ask twice, Logan thought, and headed over to where Tate was waiting, and was shocked when he held his hand out and said, “What you just said. You can fucking forget it.”
“Forget…?”
“Not coming to the bar. Come on, Logan, it’s not like you to let someone get under your skin like this.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I don’t like how it makes you feel.”
“And how do you think it makes me feel?” Tate said. “Please tell me, because obviously you have it all worked out.”
“Pissed off. Uncomfortable.”
“Of course I’m uncomfortable. I wanted to do exactly what you did and beat his ass for what he said. But instead, I have to play nice. I have to keep a level head and keep that place running. That’s enough to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“And is that the only reason you’re uncomfortable?” Logan said without even realizing he’d been going to ask. It wasn’t that much of a shock, really. This concern. This worry. It wasn’t a new one for him, that was for sure. But it was one that was always there, niggling away at some recess of his mind whenever someone was anything other than accepting of them.
Does Tate still think this is all worth it? Does he think that I’m worth it?
“Ahh. I see,” Tate said. “Now we’re getting to the real reason for you stewing up here. Aren’t we?”
Logan glared him down, and Tate, the bold fucker, held his stare and took a step forward until they were toe to toe.
“So what if we are?” Logan said. “You’ve been pushing at me since you walked in that door tonight.”
“You’re right. I have been. But you still haven’t said what’s really on your mind. Have you?”
Logan was the first to admit he was horrible at expressing himself, and even worse at arguing his point when it came to Tate. He always managed to somehow put his foot in his mouth, so he tried to avoid it as much as he possibly could.
When he remained stubbornly silent, Tate took his hand again and said, “Come with me.”
As Tate started up the stairs, Logan trailed behind until they reached the landing that housed their bed, and not much else. Tate stopped and pivoted so they were face to face, with only the slivers of moonlight filtering through the large windows, and then he stepped in close enough that he could touch their lips together.
“Go on,” Tate whispered, and a shiver skated up Logan’s spine. “Ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“The question I can see in your eyes,” Tate said as he cupped either side of Logan’s face, making him hold his stare.
“And what question is that?”
“The same one I see each time someone questions me about us,” Tate said in a tone that dared Logan to deny it. “Ask me.”
Logan searched Tate’s expression, and the raw honesty he saw there finally had him lowering his guard and voicing his greatest fear: “Do you ever regret it?”
AND THERE IT is, Tate thought, as one of his curls fell forward and Logan automatically moved to brush it back from his forehead. For a man who claimed he wasn’t sweet and said the wrong things, Logan always managed to take the wind right out of Tate’s sails in moments like these. He wasn’t even sure Logan was aware of what he was doing. But the look of absolute devotion in his eyes as he fingered the strand of hair put into words everything he was unable to say out loud. And Tate loved that this was a side of Logan that was all his.
“It?” Tate asked, recapturing Logan’s attention.
“You know which it I mean… Me. Us. This.”
Tate bent his head until his forehead was resting against Logan’s. “There’s only one thing I regret. And that’s that I didn’t meet you sooner.”
Logan’s breath caught, and when his entire body trembled, Tate took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him forward. As their lips met, Logan opened immediately, letting him inside, and as soon as he got the taste of Logan on his tongue, Tate groaned and tightened his grip, holding Logan in place so he could devour the mouth now consuming his own.
Tate closed his eyes, allowing the wave of emotions to crash over him as he reached for Logan’s shirt next, and when it became clear what he was about to do, Logan tore his mouth free and raised his arms so Tate could pull the fabric off him. Tate tossed it to the floor and then went to work on his uniform as Logan removed the rest of his clothing, and by the time the both of them were naked and climbing beneath the sheets, Tate was desperate for the feel of Logan’s body pressed alongside his.
With the shadows dancing over their skin, the two of them stretched out on their sides, their legs tangling as their mouths reconnected, and Logan’s fingers threaded through his hair, causing a groan to emerge from the back of Tate’s throat.
Christ. He loved being with Logan like this. It was everything. It was what he lived for, and as Logan’s cologne enveloped him, Tate closed his eyes and let his senses go into overdrive.
He basked in the man destroying him and then reviving him with every touch and sound he made. Then Tate rolled Logan to his back and hovered over him.
As he looked down at the man under him, Tate stroked his fingers through the thick strands of black hair on the pillow and said, “When are you going to understand that nothing anyone says to me will ever change how I feel about you?” As Logan’s blue eyes glistened, the depth of his vulnerability had Tate lowering his head to kiss his temple. “I love you, Logan Mitchell. That’s never going to change.”
Logan wrapped his arms around him, cupping one hand at the back of his neck, and Tate took another inhale of the intoxicating scent—the cologne he’d given Logan for his birthday. It was masculine and woodsy, yet had a floral undercurrent that enhanced the dark, sultry blend. And on Logan, it was downright potent.
“God, Tate,” Logan said, as he smoothed his hands down his back to his waist, and when Tate raised his head to look at him, Logan shut his eyes, but Tate wasn’t about to have that. What he was about to say next he needed Logan to hear, understand, and believe.
“Look at me,” he said, and when Logan’s eyes opened and found his, Tate traced a finger down his jawline. “After all this time, you still don’t realize how important you are to me. And you need to. This, what we have, is the reason I wake up in the mor
ning. And Logan?”
Logan swallowed once, and his nostrils flared. “Yes?”
“I will never leave you. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I don’t ever want to.”
Logan’s eyes darkened as Tate stared at him, and just when Tate thought he would stay silent, Logan said, “Never, huh?”
A slow smile curved Tate’s mouth as he lowered his head and bit Logan’s lower lip. “Not. Fucking. Ever.”
Logan’s answering smile was so damn rewarding that Tate would’ve gone through tonight over and over again just to see it before he fell asleep. But luckily for him, that wicked grin was one Logan offered up to him on the regular, and it was a more than welcome sight tonight.
He nestled in between Logan’s thighs and kissed him once more before he laid his head down on the broad chest beneath him. The storm had finally passed, and as the tension in the room faded into the shadows, he felt a hand smooth over his hair as the steady thump thump thump of Logan’s heart lulled him to sleep.
Then, right before he drifted off, Tate heard Logan whisper, “I love you so damn much. I can’t believe there was ever a time when I didn’t.”
And if Tate had his way, Logan would never know a time like that again.
Not. Fucking. Ever.
Chapter Eight
BY THE TIME Sunday rolled around, things were back to normal, and by normal that meant they’d spent Saturday lounging around the condo catching up on the shows Logan had missed over the past few weeks and doing not much else. And today they were making the sixteen-mile commute from downtown Chicago to the northwest suburbs, just as they did every Sunday.
“Wait a minute,” Logan said, glancing at Tate out the corner of his eye. “You’re telling me that I should just demand Robbie tell me what’s going on with him?”
About halfway to Skokie, Logan had remembered the reason he’d wanted to talk to Tate on Friday before the shitstorm had broken out. And after explaining the weird vibe he’d gotten during his meeting with Robbie, Tate had suggested he use his biggest weapon—himself—when it came to the ex-barista.
“Yeah. The Robbie I knew could barely remember his own name when you were around,” Tate said.
“And your answer is for me to charm him?”
“No. No,” Tate said, around a chuckle. “You don’t get it. Let me see if I can explain this better for you.”
“Plain English usually works. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I know. But you have no idea the effect you have on people.” Logan frowned as Tate squeezed his thigh. “You’re fucking hot.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
Tate started laughing loudly. “I am. It’s that simple. You, Logan Mitchell, are sexy. I used to always think of you as sex on legs.”
“Used to?” Logan asked, only mildly offended.
“Still do,” Tate said, flashing him a grin. “But when we met, I was so damn confused by you. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t get you out of my head. Then I’d get so angry when you’d constantly show up. And even when I wanted you to go away… God, I loved looking at you. You’re…” Tate’s words lingered as he let his eyes rove all over Logan.
“Hard as hell now,” Logan said, shifting in the driver’s seat.
“Well, I’m just trying to explain that you have a very commanding presence,” Tate said. “It’s one that Robbie used to trip all over himself to get close to. The next time you see him, sit him down, and make him listen to you. I guarantee the second your attention is focused on him and you’re asking him questions, he’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Logan thought about that and shook his head. “I think you’re a little biased.”
“Logan?”
“Yes?”
“Trust me on this. I thought about you even before you touched me, and considering I was adamantly straight, I’d say that’s one hell of a presence.”
Logan eyed him as he exited the highway and licked his lips. “Tate?”
“Hmm?”
“Stop talking now. We’re about to be in the company of minors, and I’d rather do that without a raging hard-on.”
“Okay,” Tate said. “But the next time you see Robbie, treat him the way you used to, not carefully or differently. See how he responds.”
Logan nodded, and decided that tomorrow, when he saw Robbie, he’d see how he was going to play it out. He reached down and placed his hand over Tate’s in a familiar move, and when Tate interlaced their fingers and brought them to his mouth to kiss his bruised knuckles, Logan looked over and said, “Thank you.”
He wasn’t sure which part he was thanking him for—maybe both the advice and the kiss—but when Tate grinned and said, “Anytime,” Logan sighed and looked back out at the road, thinking he had to be just about the luckiest man on the planet.
As he took several turns and drove past the Welcome to Skokie sign, Logan looked at the familiar homes lining the streets.
A couple of years ago, when Cole and Rachel had found out they were expecting their second child, they’d made the decision to move out of the city and head for the suburbs. A decision that Logan took great delight in busting Cole’s balls over to this day. He still couldn’t believe his brother had gone from Mr. Cool and Controlled to this warm, domesticated father-of-the-year type. But hell if that role didn’t suit him. He’d never seen Cole happier than when he was around his wife, son, and daughter, and as Logan finally pulled into the driveway of the Madison’s two-story colonial home, evidence of the family who lived inside was littered all over the front lawn.
As he and Tate shoved open the car doors and got out, Logan spotted a blue bike with training wheels lying on its side on the perfectly cut grass and smiled. Beside it was a soccer ball, and over by the garden that lined the path to the front door was a small pink bucket with a shovel beside it. It looked like the Madisons had been out enjoying the warm August day.
Logan headed around to the trunk and took several of the grocery bags Tate handed him, and couldn’t help stealing a kiss from the man whose eyes were hidden behind his Aviators.
“What was that for?” Tate asked with a grin as he reached up to shut the trunk.
“Do I need a reason?”
“Not ever.”
“Glad to hear it,” Logan said as he ran his eyes over the cargo shorts and white shirt that Tate wore. His hair was a stylish mess that somehow suited him, and the stubble lining his jaw was a little thicker today, and made Tate look casual and sexy in an effortless way.
“You ready to head inside out of this heat?” Tate asked.
“Sure am. After you,” Logan said, and stepped aside, but Tate flashed him a crooked grin and said, “Oh no. After you. I’d rather come from behind today, if that’s okay with you.”
Logan lowered his sunglasses down his nose. “You did not just say that to me when I finally have myself back in a somewhat decent state. You do realize we have to spend the afternoon in a house with a two-and-a-half-year-old and four-year-old.”
Tate chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I do. And I did. I would say I’m sorry, but you’re looking really hot in those tailored shorts and shirt all tucked in and proper.”
“Proper?” Logan looked down at his white Bermuda shorts and navy-blue polo. “There’s not one proper thought currently in my head.”
“I know,” Tate said. “That’s what makes you even hotter. Now get inside, Uncle Logan. I can already see someone waiting for you.”
Logan turned around and looked at the glass front door that was obviously locked, and Tate was right. There, waving so hard his little arm just might fall off, was Thomas Madison.
As the two of them headed up the paved walkway, Logan took in the fair-haired boy with hazel eyes who was the spitting image of Cole, and marveled, as he always did, that he was getting a glimpse of what his brother must’ve looked like when he was the same age.
When they got to the two steps leading up to the front door, he could hear T
homas shouting excitedly through the glass. “Uncle Logan! Uncle Tate!” And then Rachel appeared, a yellow sundress swishing around her as she hurried down the hallway to unlock the door.
As it swung wide, Thomas charged outside, like a horse from a starting gate, and launched himself at Logan. His arms wrapped around Logan’s legs as he hugged him tight and beamed up with a bright smile, his eyes twinkling.
“Hey there, big guy,” Logan said, as Rachel reached for the bags he was holding. Once his hands were free, Logan picked Thomas up and gave him a big bear hug. Thomas growled and squeezed him back as Logan kissed him on the cheek. “Are you bigger than you were last week?”
“Nooo,” Thomas said, and shook his head. “You say that every week.”
“Because it’s true,” Logan said as he stepped inside and kissed Rachel’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Rachel smiled at him as she pushed her black hair with purple highlights behind her ears. “Sure is. See, Thomas, if you keep eating your vegetables, soon you’ll be taller than Logan.”
Thomas scrunched his nose up, looking doubtful. “Will I be as tall as Daddy?”
“If you eat your veggies, you just might be,” Logan said, and put Thomas on his feet. “Between you and me, I think he’s shrinking.” As he ran a hand over the back of Thomas’s head, Logan moved aside so Tate could greet Rachel with a kiss.
“Hey there, Rach,” Tate said, as Rachel wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into his side.
“Hey yourself. You’re just in time. Cole was finishing up feeding Lila, then he’ll be ready to head out the back and fire up the grill.”
Thomas took hold of Logan’s hand and tugged on it, leading him up the hallway, which was lined with photo after photo of the Madison clan and their extended family.
As they passed by, Logan saw the image of Rachel with her brother, Mason, when they were kids, and right beside it the one of them just last Christmas. Both of them were laughing, their heads tipped back, and they looked the very picture of happy siblings. Above that image was one of Rachel and Cole, arms wrapped around one another, lips touching, and again she was all smiles, even as Cole’s lips were barely tipped up in a smirk. Knowing Cole, he’d probably said something he shouldn’t have—something his wife clearly appreciated.