Logan continued his die-now stare.

Cole turned to Tate and told him in his controlled-as-fuck voice—asshole had that down to a T—“If he doesn’t give you all the answers you came in for, make sure you let me know, and I will try my hardest to clear things up.”

“Get out, asshole,” Logan advised, looking on his desk for something to throw.

“Going,” Cole replied over his shoulder, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

Logan stared across the wide space to where Tate was pinning him with a fuck-you look if ever he’d seen one. Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan rested back against the desk behind him and perched his ass on the surface. He crossed his legs out in front of him and remained silent as Tate continued to fume. Just when Logan figured he would have to be the one to say something, Tate took a step forward.

“What did you tell him about us?” he spit out at Logan.

That right there, Logan knew, was Tate’s biggest fear, presented to him like a giant fucking billboard. The thought of people knowing exactly what he’d done and enjoyed the night before—

Screw that, Logan thought. Time for a reality check, Mr. Morrison.

* * *

Tate was mortified, and he was pissed. He knew coming here was a terrible idea, but he’d stupidly let Logan and his silver tongue talk him into doing it anyway. As soon as he had stepped off the elevator and told the receptionist he was there to see Logan, Tate had been instructed to go straight through. Halfway inside the actual offices, he’d run into the tall blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember, that he’d first seen at the bar, and second, at his fucking ex-wife’s meeting.

At first, Logan’s partner had sized him up as if he were trying to remember if he had forgotten something, and then Tate had watched his shrewd—yes, they are definitely shrewd— eyes almost smile, if it were possible for eyes to do so.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Morrison? I didn’t realize we had a meeting?”

The minute that had come out of his mouth, Tate had known he was screwed. He’d stammered around his words and pretty much tripped all over the damn place until he’d finally told the lie that he was called by Logan.

Something on the guy’s face had given away the fact that he knew Tate was lying, and Tate had felt the heat in his cheeks as he followed, like an obedient child, to Logan’s office. As if that wasn’t enough, the interaction that had then taken place inside the office had confirmed everything.

The guy knows about us for sure, and that angered Tate more than anything.

He was still fuming at Logan, who was casually propped up against his desk, with his arms crossed.

“What did you tell him about us?”

Still gripping his helmet in his hand, Tate was determined not to put it down because once he got an answer from the man opposite him, he was getting the hell out of there.

What he hadn’t expected was for Logan to quietly push away from the desk and move forward.

Jesus, the man is enough to drive me out of my mind.

When Tate finally wanted him to say something, of course, he kept his mouth shut.

“Would it have killed you for one minute of your life not to say something to everyone about who you’re fucking?”

That was when Logan stopped directly in front of him and finally spoke, “I’m not fucking you…yet.”

Tate scoffed and decided this would all be over after this conversation. Might as well throw my own jab in. “And now, you never will be.”

Before Tate could anticipate the move, Logan reached out and grabbed the helmet from his hand. Dropping it on the floor beside them with a loud thump, he then moved in close, shoving Tate until his back hit the wall.

“You have a bad temper, Mr. Morrison.”

“Get the hell off me,” Tate snarled through his teeth.

“I’m not on you.”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“I’m against you. There’s a mighty big difference. Take last night, for example, when you were lying on my bed, naked, with your legs spread and me in between them—that was me on you.”

Tate’s breathing quickened as Logan raised a hand and placed it against the wall by his ear.

“Do you understand the difference?”

“I don’t give a shit about specifics. Get. Off. Me.”

Instead of listening to him, Logan placed his other hand by his head in the same position as his opposite one. “Shut up, Tate.”

“Fuck—”

“Don’t offer unless you’re going to follow through,” Logan warned.

Tate swore if he had agreed, Logan would have undone his pants right there.

“Now, if I remember correctly, you told me that I could kiss you the next time I saw you.”

Clenching his fists by his sides, Tate felt his jaw tick. “I didn’t say that, and that was before.”

“Before?”

“Before I found out that you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut!” he thundered.

Logan blinked at him from behind his glasses, his face a mask of annoyance. “And what exactly do you think I said?”

“Get off me,” Tate reiterated.

“No. Talk,” Logan said with a calmness that further infuriated Tate. “What do you think I said?”

“You obviously told your partner about us. I bet you had a real good laugh about the straight guy who’s sleeping with you.”

Logan brought his face to within an inch of Tate’s, and Tate could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. Logan was so close that his black hair ghosted over Tate’s nose as he shook his head from side to side before raising his face again and licking his tongue along his bottom lip.

Yeah, fuck me, I looked.

“Well, let’s clear one thing up right now,” Logan stated in a lowered voice.

That should have probably indicated to Tate that Logan’s temper was steadily climbing to the boiling point, where his was now teetering.

“That work partner of mine? His name is Cole, which I already told you, and he also happens to be my brother. He was merely speculating because I told him I wanted you when we were at the bar the other night. He’s giving me shit, not you, and I didn’t say a damn thing.”

Tate was beyond listening at this point, and he just wanted to leave. He tried to take a step forward, only to have Logan muscle him back to the wall by connecting their hips.

Logan asked quietly, like the calm before a storm, “Is that all cleared up for you now?”

Refusing to budge, Tate lifted his chin, scowling back at the unyielding man in front of him.

“Jesus, you’re pig-headed. Fine. If you aren’t going to talk, you just stand there and try not to enjoy exactly what you’re too fucking scared to admit to wanting.”

As Logan moved his head toward him, Tate lifted his hand and placed his palm against the strong chest that had been naked against him last night, preventing that mouth from touching his own.

“You’re so brave, aren’t you, Logan? Walking around life, pretending to have all your shit straight. Oh, I’m sorry, that’s the wrong word, right? Who are you trying to hide from? You’re even more messed-up than I am. You want me to accept everything that’s going on, but you can’t even pick a side.”

When the final word fell from his mouth, Logan’s hand left the wall and circled his wrist in a viselike grip. “Stop talking, Tate.”

“No.”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking. You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“Too fucking bad.” As Tate spit those three words out, he thought Logan looked like he wanted to punch him for a change. But instead of getting hit in the jaw, Logan pulled him off the wall, and in one quick move, turned him around.

Before Tate could even ask what the hell he was doing, Logan shoved him up against the wall front on, so Tate had to move his head to the side or break his nose, and favoring his nose, his left cheek met with the cool surface now in front of him. His left arm was twisted up behind his back, and Logan pressed his hips so tight against him that Tate could feel the outline of his cock, long and rigid.