Ah, so I can touch him—but only in private. Logan couldn’t pinpoint why that utterly galled him, since it never had before, but it did. Usually, he was the last person who needed assurance or commitment of any kind, but the fact that Tate was now acting like this, after almost demanding it from him—really got Logan hot under the collar.

As Tate finished his order, he turned and indicated to the corner where he was going to sit. “I’ll meet you back there,” Tate told him.

Logan found himself biting back what he really wanted to say, which would have sounded something like, Oh, I’m allowed to sit with you? But he didn’t say it. Instead, he nodded briskly and inhaled the scent of soap clinging to Tate’s skin. The man smelled extraordinary.

Walking up to the counter, Logan greeted the familiar young woman behind it. “Hey, Libby.”

“Logan, hey. How are you?”

Libby had been working at The Daily Grind for the last two years, always on the morning shift when he came in. She was cute and sweet with auburn hair and freckles everywhere. She also enjoyed hassling him at every opportunity she got.

“Oh, pretty good. Running a little late today.”

When she looked around his shoulder and over in the direction where Tate had gone, Logan made sure not to turn and follow her gaze.

“For a good reason, I hope?”

Logan chuckled and grinned. “Am I ever running late for a bad one?”

“Good point. Then again, you’ve never come in here with anyone either.”

Logan shook his head and then lowered his voice, “Tell me Robbie isn’t working today, and I’ll love you forever.”

“If only it were that easy to win your love, Logan.”

Feeling hopeful, he pressed, “So, he’s not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Libby, come on, help me out.”

“He’s here, but I’ll keep him away. Sound good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Logan supposed. What the hell was I thinking, bringing Tate here? “I’ll have an espresso, please.”

“Anything else?” she asked with a smile.

Logan gave an absent shake of his head. “Nope, that’s all.”

“Okay, I’ll call it out when it’s ready.” She paused and picked up the other cup before giving him a mischievous look. “With Tate’s?”

Amazing, even his name excites me. Logan turned and made his way over to the booth where the man who belonged to that name waited.

* * *

Tate sat toward the far back corner of the coffee shop and let his eyes take in his surroundings. Several couches were on the opposite side near the large windows that showed all of the businessmen and women—just like Logan, he supposed—making their way to work. Several of the tables in the middle of the shop were full, and as his gaze finally came back to Logan, who was still talking to the redheaded barista, Tate knew he needed to wake up and get his brain in gear.

Last night was still running on a continuous loop through his head, and when Tate had woken up to find Logan sitting fully dressed on the chair in his room, he’d known it was time to think fast. Real life was about to come calling, and there was no way to hide from what he’d done.

* * *

 “I need to go and get clean clothes for work. Meet me for coffee? Nine thirty at The Daily Grind on LaSalle?”

Tate nodded his head against the pillow and could smell Logan’s aftershave all over his sheets. He had an insane urge to bury his face in it and then maybe masturbate all over them, but instead, he rolled onto his back. “Yeah, okay. What time is it now?”

“Six.”

“Oh shit. Of course you’re a morning person,” he mumbled.

Logan stood and crossed the space to the bedroom door. “So, nine thirty?”

Tate agreed halfheartedly, resting an arm across his eyes.

“Tate?”

As his name was called, he lowered his arm and watched Logan’s tongue moisten his lips.

“Yeah?”

“If I didn’t have a mandatory meeting today, I’d take the day off, crawl back into your bed, and somehow convince you to lie back and let me have you.”

Tate felt his body react to Logan’s words, and he knew that he was definitely going to get himself off the minute Logan left.

Last night, after that first time, Logan had told him to sleep. Tate had figured the guy realized how overwhelmed he had been. But this morning, he’d surprised himself because Tate wanted nothing more than to start all over again.

“I’ll see you at nine thirty,” Logan confirmed, giving him one last look-over, before he walked out the door.

* * *

Now, here they were, after Tate had spent the morning lying in bed where he’d jerked off and come all over his sheets. He’d then showered and pulled on jeans with a gray V-neck.

Logan, on the other hand, looked as though he’d had twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and was immaculately dressed as usual. Tate observed Logan as he made his way through the smaller tables toward him and tried to connect this man with the one he’d had naked and under him just last night.

Dressed in a three-piece suit today, Logan appeared like he usually did when he came into the bar. But this time, as Tate took in the cut and tailored fit of the navy blue material, his palms itched to touch. The perfectly styled hair and the glasses framing serious eyes added up to one seriously hot and sophisticated package—a package Tate wanted to unwrap. He wanted Logan back in his bed. He wanted him naked, and waiting for him on his hands and knees. Just like last night.

“So, am I allowed to sit here? Or should I find a different table?”

Tate blinked at the annoyed tone from the man he was currently fantasizing about, and he tried to work out why the hell he was on the receiving end of the sarcastic remarks.

“Huh?”

As Logan slid into the seat opposite him, Tate continued his bold appraisal until Logan’s voice snapped him out of it.

“If you think the way you’re looking at me is any less of an indication that you had your cock inside me last night as opposed to simply touching my hand today, then you’d be wrong.”

Tate shifted in his seat. “And how am I looking at you?”

“Like you want to undress me.”

“I do want to.”

Logan placed his arms on the table and clasped his hands together. “But you have an aversion to holding hands?”

Tate leaned across and spoke softly, “Well, I won’t be undressing you in public, will I?”

Logan tilted his head to the side and sat back in his chair. “Ah, I think I understand.”

“Good,” Tate replied, thinking that would be the end of it.

“So we’re…secret friends?”

Tate shook his head, rubbing his palm over his face.

What did I think would happen? That Logan would be happy with a quick fuck at the end of each night and that he wouldn’t tell anyone? Did the guy ever keep his mouth shut?

No.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Logan’s expression reflected his incredulity as he responded. “I’m being the asshole? I’m just trying to work out what exactly is going on here, so I know what I can and can’t do.”

“You can show a little patience while I get used to everything. You’ve been doing this for…” Tate paused, and then asked, “How long have you, you know?”

“Nope, I don’t. If you want to know something, then spit it out.”

“Liked both? Swung both ways? Whatever, you know what I mean. Stop being difficult,” Tate stated, impatiently.

Logan’s laugh was derisive, and Tate knew it had nothing to do with what he’d asked but more to do with his discomfort at the question.

“Well?” Tate demanded.

“Since I was nineteen.”

“Nineteen?” Tate questioned in a much louder voice than he’d anticipated.