true. Okay, I was heading down to After Hours. Does that work for you?” Logan moved past Cole and shut off the light.
Apparently it did, because that was where they turned up ten minutes later.
* * *
Tate had just finished with a rush of customers when a tall blond man took a seat at the end of the bar. Making his way in that direction, Tate was ready to take his order when the seat beside the guy was filled by— fuck— Logan.
The two men were chatting, and the blond must have said something particularly funny because Logan let out a loud laugh and slapped his palm on the bar top. Deciding to just suck it up and deal with the cards he was dealt, Tate stopped in front of the two just as Logan turned to him.
Tate made it a point to look at the blond. The guy could’ve been an actor or a model. He was so well put together. Like Logan, he was wearing a suit and palming a cell phone, but unlike Logan, his expression was the usual distant friendly one of a stranger sitting down for a drink. Tate didn’t think Logan had ever looked at him like that once since they had met.
“Hi. What can I get for you tonight?”
Tate waited as the blond brought his free hand to his chin. He rubbed it once and then looked to Logan.
“You getting your usual?”
Tate watched the exchange curiously.
“You know me, creature of habit.”
The blond laughed at that and turned back to Tate.
“I’ll have a scotch, thanks. Macallan, if you have it, and this guy will have a gin and tonic.”
Tate flicked his eyes to Logan’s, framed once again by black glasses.
“Anything to eat?” Tate hoped the spark he saw there didn’t mean he was about to be handed his ass.
“Nothing to eat,” Logan told him, and as Tate was about to move away, he added, “Right now.”
Choosing to ignore that, Tate turned away to grab the scotch off the back shelf, but he kept his focus on the two men in the mirror he was facing. Logan was angled toward the blond and was chuckling at whatever the much more serious guy had said.
He wondered how they knew each other. Maybe they work together? That’s the most logical explanation , Tate thought, until he saw Logan push the big guy’s arm and leave his palm on his bicep in a familiar fashion. Or maybe they are something altogether different. Lovers, maybe?
Turning back to them, Tate pushed the drinks across the bar top, and with a quick, “ Thanks,” from them, that was it. Over, painless, easy—right?
Walking away from the men, Tate found that he was relieved, yet at the same time, he was also experiencing a different emotion, an emotion he didn’t understand—anger.
He was pissed-off. All of last week, this guy, this stranger , had decided to wreak havoc on his brain. Not to mention, all weekend it had bothered him and made him worry about coming to work today.
And now, this! Fucking nothing? After all that worry? But then again, did I want something to happen?
Logan was lucky that Tate wasn’t a violent man because, at that precise moment, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to keep his fists to himself.
* * *
“So, that’s him?” Cole deduced as the bartender turned and walked away.
“Yep, that’s him. What do you think?”
Cole lifted the tumbler to his mouth and took a sip of scotch. “I think he hates your guts.”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, I think you might be right.”
“I also think he’s straight.”
Logan looked down the bar to where Tate was now laughing with a group of women. He then glanced back at Cole. “So? When has that stopped me?”
“Never,” Cole admitted. He took another sip as he turned in Tate’s direction. “Just be careful.”
Logan laughed. “Don’t worry, dad, I’m always careful. I use condoms too.”
“Not because of that, you idiot. The guy looked pissed off. Be careful you don’t get into something you can’t get out of—like a back alley with a group of guys about to beat the shit out of you.”
Logan glanced back at Tate
Apparently it did, because that was where they turned up ten minutes later.
* * *
Tate had just finished with a rush of customers when a tall blond man took a seat at the end of the bar. Making his way in that direction, Tate was ready to take his order when the seat beside the guy was filled by— fuck— Logan.
The two men were chatting, and the blond must have said something particularly funny because Logan let out a loud laugh and slapped his palm on the bar top. Deciding to just suck it up and deal with the cards he was dealt, Tate stopped in front of the two just as Logan turned to him.
Tate made it a point to look at the blond. The guy could’ve been an actor or a model. He was so well put together. Like Logan, he was wearing a suit and palming a cell phone, but unlike Logan, his expression was the usual distant friendly one of a stranger sitting down for a drink. Tate didn’t think Logan had ever looked at him like that once since they had met.
“Hi. What can I get for you tonight?”
Tate waited as the blond brought his free hand to his chin. He rubbed it once and then looked to Logan.
“You getting your usual?”
Tate watched the exchange curiously.
“You know me, creature of habit.”
The blond laughed at that and turned back to Tate.
“I’ll have a scotch, thanks. Macallan, if you have it, and this guy will have a gin and tonic.”
Tate flicked his eyes to Logan’s, framed once again by black glasses.
“Anything to eat?” Tate hoped the spark he saw there didn’t mean he was about to be handed his ass.
“Nothing to eat,” Logan told him, and as Tate was about to move away, he added, “Right now.”
Choosing to ignore that, Tate turned away to grab the scotch off the back shelf, but he kept his focus on the two men in the mirror he was facing. Logan was angled toward the blond and was chuckling at whatever the much more serious guy had said.
He wondered how they knew each other. Maybe they work together? That’s the most logical explanation , Tate thought, until he saw Logan push the big guy’s arm and leave his palm on his bicep in a familiar fashion. Or maybe they are something altogether different. Lovers, maybe?
Turning back to them, Tate pushed the drinks across the bar top, and with a quick, “ Thanks,” from them, that was it. Over, painless, easy—right?
Walking away from the men, Tate found that he was relieved, yet at the same time, he was also experiencing a different emotion, an emotion he didn’t understand—anger.
He was pissed-off. All of last week, this guy, this stranger , had decided to wreak havoc on his brain. Not to mention, all weekend it had bothered him and made him worry about coming to work today.
And now, this! Fucking nothing? After all that worry? But then again, did I want something to happen?
Logan was lucky that Tate wasn’t a violent man because, at that precise moment, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to keep his fists to himself.
* * *
“So, that’s him?” Cole deduced as the bartender turned and walked away.
“Yep, that’s him. What do you think?”
Cole lifted the tumbler to his mouth and took a sip of scotch. “I think he hates your guts.”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, I think you might be right.”
“I also think he’s straight.”
Logan looked down the bar to where Tate was now laughing with a group of women. He then glanced back at Cole. “So? When has that stopped me?”
“Never,” Cole admitted. He took another sip as he turned in Tate’s direction. “Just be careful.”
Logan laughed. “Don’t worry, dad, I’m always careful. I use condoms too.”
“Not because of that, you idiot. The guy looked pissed off. Be careful you don’t get into something you can’t get out of—like a back alley with a group of guys about to beat the shit out of you.”
Logan glanced back at Tate
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