* * *

“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 and lifted his own glass. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Plus, he doesn’t seem the type.”

Cole’s eyebrow rose, as Logan took a quick sip of his drink, “I think he’s pissed about something else entirely.”

As Cole placed his empty glass on the counter, he narrowed his eyes at Logan. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, then just be careful.”

“Okay,” Logan added as he signaled for another round.

This time though, Amelia stepped forward, and she proceeded to flirt outrageously with them as they chatted and drank their second drink—Tate free.

* * *

 Finally, closing time.

Amelia had gone out the back around ten minutes earlier to do God knows what, and Tate was doing a final round of the bar tables and booths. As he made his way down the side row, he saw that someone was waiting in the last booth, and he knew instinctively that it was Logan.

The two of them hadn’t had any more interactions throughout the evening, and when he had seen Logan leave with the blond guy, Tate had figured that would be the end of that. But as he moved to keep walking past the booth, ignoring Logan completely, Tate was out of luck.

“Not even a hello tonight? You are mad at me.”

Tate stopped and looked down to where Logan was sitting, relaxed into the side of the booth. He had an arm up on the back of the seat, and his suit jacket was undone, showing off his white shirt and blue tie. Tate also noticed a glass between Logan’s fingertips. Amelia must have served him before heading out the back.

“I said it earlier when you were at the bar.”

“Well, you didn’t say it to me. You said it to Cole.”

Tate glared at the man staring up at him, and with the mood he was in, he decided it was better to walk away, so he did just that. Tate made his way around the wall separating the two main rooms of the bar before he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

Spinning around quickly, as though he had anticipated the touch, Tate almost ran into Logan as he came face-to-face with him.

Tate gritted his teeth, and as calmly as he could, he stated, “You need to take your hand off me—around four seconds ago. You have a nasty habit of taking liberties.”

“I have a lot of nasty habits. Want me to tell you about them?” Logan countered, removing his hand.

Tate felt his blood starting to boil. “You don’t fucking quit do you?”

“What can I say? I don’t like to lose.”

Tate had finally had enough of the cocky attitude and decided it was about time to put Logan in his place. Moving forward, he snarled, “Well, you aren’t going to win anything here. I’m not interested in this little game you’re playing. I work here. You drink here. That is where it ends.”

Tate felt his ears ringing as Logan licked his lips and argued right back. “Are you so sure about that?”

Disconcerted, Tate fumed, “Am I sure I don’t want to have sex with you? Yes.” Pausing, he took a tense breath, and before he thought better of it, he continued, “Surprisingly, I don’t want to fuck you, and I don’t want to be the third invite to your party of three. So, stop licking your lips like you want to suck my dick.”

It wasn’t until Logan raised his hands, palms up, that Tate realized he’d backed Logan up against the wall.

“You’re pretty pissed off, Tate. What’s wrong? Afraid you might like it? How do you know unless you try?”

Tate took a step back from the man who was radiating as much heat from his body as he was. But where his was from anger, Tate was positive Logan’s was from something else entirely, and for some fucking reason, that thought was making him hotter by the second.

Instead of acknowledging his body’s meltdown, Tate grabbed a hold of the emotion he understood and let the anger thrum through him. “That’s your motto, right? To try everything once? Well, newsflash, some people just know they won’t like something.”

With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tate didn’t even think to move as Logan pushed off the wall and came closer.

“Again, you didn’t answer the question. How do you know—unless you try?”

Tate tried to think of something, anything, to say in response, but he had nothing, so he stayed stubbornly silent.

“Because Tate, for someone who isn’t interested, your body certainly has different ideas. I’m all about doing what feels good. You see, I’ve never had a left-handed hand job, but I’m almost positive I would love it.”

Without even thinking, Tate raised his hands and shoved hard against Logan’s shoulders. The man didn’t budge. Instead, his eyes turned from the usual cocky blue to a steely don’t-fuck-with-me gray.

“You get to do that once. Unless the next time you shove me violently, it’s to fuck me against a wall, you got it?”

Tate jammed his hands into his pockets, disgusted with himself for reacting as he had. Glaring at Logan, he tried to rein in his bitter contempt—for the man before him, himself, or the situation he was now in, he wasn’t sure. “Stay away from me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why? I don’t even like you.”

“Your cock says otherwise. Stop fighting so hard, Tate.”

Logan brushed by him, and their shoulders met.

Tate couldn’t bring himself to look at Logan as he heard, “And just try.”

Before Tate could say anything else, Logan moved past him and disappeared from the bar, leaving him with about fifty-thousand questions and not one good goddamn answer.

Chapter Six

Two days later, Logan was sitting in the conference room, listening to Cole trying to placate one of their clients. She was a tall, dark-haired woman around five-eight, if he had to guess, and she was dressed like a sexy librarian or perhaps a schoolteacher. She was wearing a white pencil skirt, ending just above her knee, with a little black blouse and a red cardigan over it. The overall look was sexy and demure, and it made Logan want to yank her skirt up and lay her back on the conference table.

Maybe then she would leave satisfied, and the morning would be over quickly.

He wasn’t a fan of dealing with ugly divorces, but Cole was about to leave town with Rachel for a couple of days, and he’d assured Logan that this particular case was pretty much over, it just needed to be wrapped up. Today was about tying up loose ends and finally signing on the dotted line.

Logan was already bored.

He much preferred working with businesses than petty husbands and wives with trivial issues. That was part of the job though, and right now, as he looked down at his watch, the defendant still hadn’t shown.

“I’m sure he will be here soon,” Cole assured their client.

Seated in the corner of the room on a couch pushed up against the window, Logan watched her patience wear thin as she paced back and forth.

“Yes, I’m sure. He’s always so punctual. He can’t even be on time for something important.”