Halfway between arousal and pure frustration, Logan caved. There was no way he was going to get anywhere when Tate was in one of his cock-tease moods.

“Fuck you, Morrison. Just tell me your goddamn name.”

“Guess.”

Logan’s eyebrow winged up as Tate pushed off the jamb and stepped forward. He didn’t bother asking if he could come in—he already knew he was wanted. The scent of cologne and leather hit Logan as he shut the door and watched Tate move toward the living room.

“Guess, huh?”

Glancing back, Tate smirked. “Sure. Guess.”

Logan made his way barefooted to the couch he’d been sitting on and took a seat as Tate removed his jacket.

“Harry.”

With his jacket in his hand, Tate froze. “Do I look like a Harry?”

“How the fuck should I know? To me, you look like a Tate.” Logan paused and ran his eyes down Tate’s black vest, tie, and white shirt. “My Tate.”

After tossing his jacket over the back of the couch, Tate kicked out of his shoes. “Don’t try and charm it out of me.”

“Are you saying I’m charming?” Logan questioned for the second time that day, turning on the couch to face the man behind him.

“No. I said don’t try to be. It’s just not right. You do better when you’re quiet and unassuming.”

Logan scoffed, “Smartass.”

Unbuttoning his vest, Tate agreed, “Maybe so, but better than being a dumb one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of the name I want to shout while you’re—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Tate interrupted.

Logan closed his eyes and ran through several names, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the name on Tate’s file, and it was pissing him off.

When the couch beside him dipped, he rolled his head so he was looking at expectant eyes and stubble he wanted to trace with his tongue.

“Sorry, I don’t give a fuck what anyone else calls you. To me, you’ll always be Tate.”

With his tie and vest removed, Tate had undone the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his unbuttoned pants.

“I like that,” he admitted as he settled into the couch and closed his eyes, beat from his shift.

Logan fought back a yawn of his own, reached over, and tugged on Tate’s arm, pulling him in so he was pressed up against his side.

“You like what?”

“That you don’t give a shit what others think.”

Logan started playing with the curls tickling his shoulder. “Bullshit. You hated that when we met.”

“No, I’ve always liked it.”

“Just not when it applied to you,” Logan joked. “Okay, what about David?”

Tate shook his head. “Nope. You really don’t remember?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously. How about Lance, Blake, Todd?”

“No, no, and no. Come on. Do you really think my mother would call me Todd Tate?”

Logan twisted his fingers into the waves he was stroking and tightened them as he lowered his mouth down to Tate’s. “Tell me. Your name,” he demanded.

Logan loved the way Tate responded to him with parted lips and challenging eyes.

“Make me.”

He tumbled Tate down on his back and cupped the sides of his face before lowering his mouth and pressing their lips firmly together, tracing his tongue across the seam. As Tate opened to him, Logan slipped inside and tasted.

Ahh. There was the cinnamon. There was the hint of tobacco. And as Tate pushed his hips up grinding against him, Logan groaned. There is Tate.

Before it went any further though, he pushed back and made himself move away to stand beside the couch. Tate slowly got up onto his elbows and crooked his head with questioning eyes.

“I told you,” Logan explained. “I don’t have sex with someone whose name I don’t know.”

“Ohh, morals. You’re right. They’re very important.”

Tate flopped back down onto the couch and made sure he kept his eyes on Logan’s as he unzipped his pants. “So you’re telling me that you’re going to lie in bed all night and not touch me? Not have sex with me?”

Logan placed his hands low on his hips and nodded. “I am capable of self-control, you know.”

He followed Tate’s movements as he sat up, unbuttoned his shirt, and then stood, shrugging out of it. Once he’d thrown it on the couch, Tate stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest.

“I never said you weren’t.”

“You don’t think I can do it. You don’t think I can resist you?”

Tate’s fingers traced down to the top of Logan’s sweats. Then he fingered the elastic as he gave him a smug-as-fuck smirk and admitted, “No, I don’t. But I guess we’ll soon find out, won’t we?”

Logan watched silently as Tate stepped around him and walked farther down the main hall to his bedroom. Tate stopped in the doorway, pushed his pants and boxers off his hips, and stepped out of them.

Logan winced and rubbed the hard-on he was sporting. He knew the fucker was going to drive him out of his goddamn mind before he gave in, because when Tate set his mind to something, he was stubborn as hell.

* * *

Tate was feeling pretty fucking good as he climbed into Logan’s bed and looked at the doorway. It was always a thrill to get the better of Logan. It didn’t happen often, but when finally rendering the man speechless, it always felt like an accomplishment of sorts.

That was, until he remembered his day.

He’d ignored several phone calls from his family and put off the inevitable with the excuse he was giving himself a day.

A day to work out how to explain what exactly his sister had seen.

Tate wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he knew he had to do it, and soon. He couldn’t hide forever, even if he’d done a hell of a job pushing it aside.

As that unwelcome thought lingered in his mind, Logan stepped into the room and made his way around to his usual side of the bed. Stopping beside the mattress, he hooked his thumbs into his pants and regarded him.

“You look so damn good in my bed.”

Those few words made Tate realize, How can I ever deny what I’m feeling?

“Do I?”

He’d never been as strongly attracted to anyone as he was to the man currently eyeing him. But he had a lot on his mind, and shelving it wasn’t going to do much good. It was better to just face it…Well, maybe in a minute.

Logan pushed his pants from his hips and went to remove his glasses. Before he got them off though, Tate rolled to his side and said, “Don’t.”

Logan left them in place and pulled back the covers to get under, lying on his side so they were facing one another, his head propped up on his hand.

“I like them. You appear so serious when you wear them.”

“As opposed to not serious when they’re off?”

Tate rolled to his back and studied the ceiling. “No. When they’re off, you look…”

Logan lowered his head and nuzzled in against his ear. “Yes?”

Turning his head on the pillow, Tate caught the blue eyes pinning him with an intense stare. “Sexy. Like you could get into trouble in seconds. Stop,” he sighed as Logan’s lips touched his neck. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“So glasses on makes me less sexy and easier to talk to? Good to know. I’m thinking I need to buy some contacts.”

“No,” Tate groaned. Nothing about having Logan naked and pressed up against him made it easier to talk. It just made him horny.

“Then what?”

“They make it less likely that you will…I don’t know…do anything.”

The deep laugh beside him had Tate reaching over to shove Logan’s shoulder.

“I’m being serious.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Logan replied when he stopped laughing. “Your mood has done a complete one-eighty.”

Tate remained silent as he looked at nothing in particular.

Logan had left the side lamp on, and the room was quiet as they lay there, each of them understanding exactly what was on Tate’s mind.