Cole seemed to contemplate him for a moment and then asked, “What about me and Rach?”

Confused, Logan eloquently responded with, “Huh?”

“What if you come and spend some time with me and Rachel’s family as a couple. Get him used to the idea of being out in public with you.”

Logan mulled over the idea. “When you say family, exactly how many—”

“Six of us plus you two,” Cole finished for him.

Logan wasn’t sure. He’d heard about Rachel’s clan, but he didn’t know them enough to—

“Trust me when I say they won’t bat an eyelash at the two of you being together.”

“I thought you said her brother wanted to kill you when you first met. He sounds like a tight-ass.”

Cole leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “He did, but on the plus side, you haven’t just married his sister after a week.”

Logan sighed. “Would this be for dinner?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

With a shit-eating grin, Cole announced, “Game night.”

“Game night? Should we wear pajamas and braid each other’s hair too?”

Cole started chuckling and pointed out, “You could probably braid Tate’s.”

“I don’t do game night.”

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”

Logan leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t know since I’ve never had the desire to host one or go to one. Which begs the question, if you don’t think it will be that bad, why are you so insistent we come?”

Cole ran his palm down his tie. “I promised Rachel I would ask you both. I knew you wouldn’t be interested, but she asked, and she’s pregnant and…”

Cheap shot, bastard. “She really asked?”

Cole nodded. “She thought it would be good for Tate after everything that happened.”

Logan pushed back from the table and stood, hating that he now felt guilty and was giving in. “I’ll check these in my office. Call your wife and tell her I’ll ask him. What night?”

“Friday.”

Grumbling, Logan moved toward the door and opened it. “Okay. I’ll ask, but I promise nothing. Oh, by the way, what happened with Miss Cline?”

Cole shrugged. “She took her case elsewhere. Tate should find out in the mail sometime soon. Unless you feel like telling him.”

Fuck. As if their lives weren’t complicated enough…Let’s throw in an ex-fucking-wife, a real bitch of one at that.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

“And don’t forget—”

“I know, I know. Game night.”

Cole shook his head. “No. Don’t forget to ask him about the function. He may just surprise you.”

Logan opened the door, thinking about the time Tate had pulled away from him in the coffee shop. That had been a mild rejection compared to the kind of sting he’d feel from a “No, I don’t want to be your date in public”—and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that.

4.

Logan was out of the office and on his way home the minute the clock hit five. He used to be the one who lingered and enjoyed the quiet that came with the after-hours. He’d since traded that in after stepping in to the actual After Hours and spotting Tate.

He wondered as he took the elevator up to his floor if Tate had stayed the day like he’d suggested. The thought of him in his condo when he wasn’t there was incredibly appealing to Logan. Whether it was because it showed he finally trusted someone other than himself or it was just the thought of having Tate in amongst his belongings, he couldn’t be sure.

Hell, it’s probably a mix of both.

He knew Tate would’ve left for work already since his shift had started at five, but he was betting he’d have some company around one a.m., and he was eagerly anticipating it.

Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and dumped his briefcase down on the floor. He dropped his keys in the glass bowl with loose change and reached up to unknot his tie.

As he made his way down the main hall and into the living room, he was brought to a halt when he saw Tate sitting on his couch, dressed exactly as he’d left him hours ago.

There was no light on, just the muted glow from surrounding buildings filtering in through the balcony window and door. Tate’s jeans were still unbuttoned, he hadn’t added a shirt, and he was just sitting there, staring off into space.

Logan spotted the empty pack of cigarettes by Tate’s leg and a glass clutched between tight fingers, and he knew whatever had happened in the last ten hours was nothing good.

Deciding it was time to break the ice, he spoke. “Hey there.”

Tate turned his head toward him, and Logan could tell from the glassy eyes trying to focus that he was three sheets to the wind. When no reply came, Logan shrugged out of his jacket and held it in one hand.

“Whatcha drinking?”

“Your scotch,” Tate finally replied, holding up his empty glass. “But I ran out.”

The only scotch he’d had in the place was the Black Label that had been a little over a third full, and when he looked at his kitchen island and saw it now sat empty, Logan wondered how Tate was still awake.

He walked into the kitchen and laid his jacket over the counter before slipping the tie from around his neck. “So, what’s up? I thought you had to work tonight?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “I called in.”

“Hmm,” Logan mused. “So you’ve been here all day?”

Tate turned on the couch and rested his chin on top of it. “You told me I could.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Want me to leave?”

Logan unbuttoned his left cuff and then moved to the right before answering. “Not at all.”

“Wanna fuck me?”

Now he knew Tate was half gone.

There were many ways he’d imagined Tate saying those three words, but visibly upset was not one of them.

“I do want that,” Logan admitted, realizing that rejection wasn’t something that would help this situation.

He’d known after Tate’s first time he should exercise some patience, and he’d been waiting for him to get curious again, but not like this—not as a knee-jerk reaction to whatever the hell happened today.

When a drunkenly sensual smile stretched across Tate’s mouth, Logan cursed his own fucking morals. He would have sold his left nut right about now to go over to the couch and pound Tate into it.

“Then why don’t you come closer?” Tate suggested as he got to his knees and rested his hands on the back of the couch.

Ahh, Tate the tease—nothing was harder for him to resist.

Instead of answering, however, Logan pulled his shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it. That was when he was struck with inspiration.

“Why don’t we play a game?”

Hell, why not get into the spirit of game night?

Tate raised a hand and swayed slightly as he placed his fingers over his lips, and Logan had to remind himself to stay right where he was. He would get to touch…eventually.

“A game?”

“Yes. I’ll ask a question, and when you give me an answer I’m happy with, I’ll take something off.”

Logan felt his cock react to the intense sexual inspection he was given.

“And then?” Tate asked without raising his eyes.

Damn. He was more than aware that Tate’s eyes were zeroed in on the taut material now trying its hardest to conceal his hardening flesh.

“Then I’ll fuck you.”

When Tate’s gaze returned to his own, the arousal there made Logan’s semi turn to full-on rock-hard status.

“Deal?”

Tate lifted a hand from the couch, and Logan could do nothing but watch as he reached down and cupped the denim that was cradling his erection.

“Deal.”

Satisfied he would now get some answers, but frustrated he had to wait, Logan removed his glasses and placed them on the counter.

“What time did you start drinking?”

Tate rolled his eyes before he tipped his head back toward the ceiling, exposing his throat.

“What time, Tate?”