“I may have been told that once or twice before. Hmm,” Logan sighed, but the sound was one of satisfaction, not frustration. “You will say yes. It’s only a matter of time. Now, shh so I can sleep.”

Tate felt a small smile cross his lips as he pressed them to Logan’s chest in a light kiss. He wasn’t sure he could say yes to what Logan wanted any time in the near future, but for the moment, he was content to shut his eyes and finally get some rest.

It was three hours later when Logan cracked an eye open and saw Tate’s face pressed into the pillow beside his. His dark lashes were full where they lay against his cheek, his lips were slightly parted, and the stubble lining his jaw had thickened overnight. Logan had a hard time keeping his hands—and his mouth—to himself as he lay there.

“Stop staring. You’re giving me a complex.”

The gravelly voice made him smile as Tate rolled away. Never one to miss an opportunity, Logan shifted in behind him and nuzzled his nose into Tate’s hair.

“Liar,” he whispered before he kissed Tate’s neck.

“God, what time is it? Your enjoyment of early mornings is truly disturbing.”

Logan aligned the entire length of his body along Tate’s and wrapped an arm around his waist to circle his navel. “It’s not that early, but it is time to get up.”

One of Tate’s hands flattened over Logan’s and held it in place as he shifted to his back and stared up at him. “You’re already up.”

Logan bent his elbow and put his head against his palm, all the while drawing a line up the center of Tate’s chest. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“Hard not to when something that big is digging into my back.”

When his finger reached the base of Tate’s throat, Logan took his hand away and rested it on his own hip. “That may be so, but don’t try to distract me with compliments.”

Tate laughed. “Is that what I was doing?”

Logan nodded, and when his hair fell in his eyes, Tate pushed it back from his face.

“I need a haircut,” he commented.

“I kind of like it like this, longer on the top.”

Logan touched his lips to Tate’s, his hair flopping down around them. “Well, since you like it…”

“Yeah?” Tate asked, his mouth curving under his.

“I just might keep it. But don’t think I’m growing it as long as yours.”

“What’s wrong with my hair? Are you saying I need to cut it?”

“No, I’m fucking not,” Logan said as he fingered the hair by Tate’s ear. “And you know it.”

“What would you do if I did shave my head?”

“Kill you? And likely get away with it since I have connections to a very reputable law firm.”

Tate chuckled and shoved Logan until he was on his back beside him. “Be serious.”

Logan turned his head on the pillow and ran his eyes over Tate’s full head of hair. Then he returned his gaze to the eyes watching him. “I would quite possibly cry. For days.”

“Over my hair? It does grow back, you know.”

“Yeah, but not for months,” he grumbled. “Can you please stop talking so calmly about this? You’re making me nervous.”

Tate shifted until his long, lean body was stretched out above him, and Logan widened his legs to allow him to settle in between.

“Don’t worry,” Tate assured him as he lowered his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. He then moved those teasing lips to Logan’s ear and whispered, “I like your hands in it too much to cut it off.”

Logan threaded his fingers through the thick waves and asked, “Like this?”

With a groan, Tate rocked his hips against him, and Logan twisted his fingers tighter.

“Exactly like that.”

“Good,” he said as he wound his legs around Tate’s. “Because this way, I can have a tight hold on you when you’re trying to distract me. I’m onto you, Mr. Morrison. Don’t try to use your body against me.”

He almost lost his willpower when Tate, the cocky fucker, placed his hands on either side of his head and rubbed their erections together.

“You don’t want me to use my body on you?”

“Fuck you,” Logan said, knowing full well that, if he didn’t change the subject or get Tate the hell off him, he was going to roll him over and cease talking altogether.

Usually he’d love nothing more, but right now, he wanted to know why Tate had reacted so strongly to his question from last night—well, early morning.

“We need to talk.”

“Then you should have gotten up, gotten dressed, and then woke me.”

He had a point—not that Logan would ever admit it.

“Why are you so skittish about moving in together?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And sooner or later, you’re going to tell me why.”

As Tate was about to respond, Logan’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand and they both looked over at it. When Tate said that it was Cole, Logan immediately lost any desire he had to continue fooling around as he remembered his brother’s words from the night before…

“Your ex-boyfriend is a chatty asshole.”

Logan winced at Cole, who was holding a frozen, pink drink with a bright-blue umbrella. He was about to ask what he meant, but before the words could slip free, Cole continued.

“We can’t spend the evening dealing with your shit, got it? There are too many important people in this room for a spectacle. Deal with it, Logan. I want you to walk away. If you’re calm, then Tate will be calm. Do whatever the hell needs to be done. Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Logan eyed Chris where he was watching the two of them beside a tall, willowy woman.

“Logan?”

His attention was drawn back to Cole. He hated the thought of walking away but knew it had to be done.

“Fix it.”

Logan was convinced that, after his and Tate’s conversation on the drive home and his impromptu visit, he seemed to be relatively fine concerning the events from last night—Cole sure as fuck would be a different story altogether.

He reluctantly let Tate go, and when he rolled off him, Logan made sure to say, “We aren’t done with this.”

Tate pushed the covers away without responding and got out of bed. Then he walked into his bathroom and shut the door. Okay, so that was a subject he needed to approach with more caution.

How the hell was I suppose to know that?

Logan snatched the phone up, brought it to his ear, and barked, “What?”

The silence that met him at the other end was exactly what he’d expected. He’d known that this was coming.

Then Cole spoke. “Get up, and get your ass to my place. Now.”

Closing his eyes, Logan counted back from ten, trying to curb the instinct to tell Cole to fuck off. “Good morning to you too, Cole.”

He’d barely finished talking when Cole snapped back, “I’m not in the mood, Logan. Get over here, and make yourself useful—pick up some donuts on the way. Rachel’s hungry.”

“Rachel hates store-bought donuts.”

“Not this morning, she doesn’t.”

He was about to ask if there was any flavor in particular, but Cole had already hung up. Yeah, this is going to be ugly.

Somehow, Cole had found out about his little—okay, not so little—secret, and Logan knew there was absolutely no way to avoid talking to him about it.

Unless leaving the country was an option.

Tate heard Logan through the closed door as he snapped at his brother. He didn’t envy Logan’s position in that moment. He knew how it felt to have been keeping something from those you loved, and when they found out—well, you better be ready for the fallout, whether it was good or bad.

In Logan’s particular case, Tate wasn’t sure how Cole would react. But judging by the cool reception they’d been subjected to for the majority of last night, he assumed that it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.