Logan stopped talking, realizing how loud his voice had risen, and then he lowered his eyes away from Tate’s. Jesus, I hate feeling vulnerable.

“Logan?”

When he didn’t raise his head, he heard Tate say his name again.

“Logan, would you look at me please?”

With his lips pulled into a thin line, he glared at Tate, irrationally angry at the way the conversation had turned. When Tate’s lips tugged into a full-on heart-stopping grin, it only served to make him surlier.

“Is something amusing, Morrison?”

“Oh, the last name. You are pissed.”

“I’m not pissed. I’m—”

“Really cute when you’re angry.”

The glower he aimed at Tate then should have had him dead and on the ground. “Fuck you.”

Tate laughed at that suggestion. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. But I’m not mad at your reaction. You have the right to be skeptical. I did act like a dick that first time. I pushed you away. That’s what I’m annoyed at. Me, not you.”

Logan’s heart thumped in his chest as Tate placed his hands on his chest and kissed his taut lips.

“I would never do that again. Not ever.”

Logan nodded slowly.

Then Tate took his chin between his fingers and asked, “Do you trust me?”

Swallowing, he looked at the earnest expression on Tate’s face and knew he was telling the truth. “Yes, I trust you.”

They spent a little over an hour wandering through the lush grounds of Strawberry Fields and taking photos. Then Logan suggested they have lunch at Loeb’s Boathouse. It was obvious he’d been to the city several times because he knew his way around it like it was second nature, and as they strolled under one of the old arches covering the winding path toward the restaurant, Tate found himself backed up against the cool, stone bricks.

“I’m going to miss you when you go back to work,” Logan said.

“Miss me? I live with you. You’ll probably get sick of me.”

“I actually think that would be impossible, but I meant that I’ll miss you in the evenings. I like having you there when I get home.”

Tate ran his hands down Logan’s black, V-neck sweater, moving his fingers under the hem to run them along the waist of his cream pants. “I’ll still be climbing in bed with you every night and waking you up in the mornings.”

Logan laughed at that. “I’m pretty sure I will be waking you up.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed.

Then Logan asked something he hadn’t even entertained. “Have you ever thought about not going back?”

“To work?”

Logan nodded. “Well, to After Hours. You’re still looking into the bar idea, right?”

He’d thought about it when he’d been released from the hospital and wondered if maybe he should hold off—wait until he was back on his feet and all of this was behind him.

“Maybe this is a good way to start over?” Logan suggested.

Tate scrunched his face up and shook his head. “I have to work, Logan.”

“I know. It’s just something to think about. You’d be leaving anyway if you decided to go ahead with the bar. And that in itself would be work.”

“I’ll think about it, but I promise nothing.”

“Okay. I can deal with that.” Logan smiled and then kissed his cheek. “Did I remember to thank you for coming here with me?”

Tate moved his hands to Logan’s ass and pulled him in between his legs. “If I recall, I didn’t have much of a choice. You stole me.”

“That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Logan whispered in his ear. “I stole you away from everyone.”

Tate had a feeling that Logan was referring to much more than Chicago in that particular sentence. “Mhmm. But I wanted to be stolen, so there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Logan looked around at the dark shadows they were hidden in and then returned his attention to him. “This is the Riftstone Arch. Did you know that?”

Not having expected that, Tate’s eyebrow winged up as he observed the jagged edges of rock arching across the top of them. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“Yep. It’s made out of Manhattan schist.”

“Schist?”

“Yeah. I read about it in an article the other day. It’s a metamorphic rock that’s found all around Manhattan. They blew them up from the outcrops in the park.”

Tate chuckled at Logan’s explanation. “You just happened to read that in an article?”

As he pushed off the wall and took Logan’s hand, Logan shrugged. It was interesting to see that confident, cocksure exterior of Logan’s vanish. It was rare, but when it happened, Tate always felt as if he’d been invited to see another side of him. A side he shared with no one but him.

“I may have done a little reading about the place.”

As Logan kicked the rock in front of him, Tate thought, If this is what he means about being awkward and nerdy, it turns me the hell on.

They started walking, and Tate said in his ear, “See? Nerdy can most definitely be hot.”

Logan’s head snapped around, and his eyes zeroed in on him. “Excuse me? There’s nothing wrong with being curious.”

Tate couldn’t help the laugh that boomed out of him at that. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. But you researched this place, didn’t you? What else did you research?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Tate teased. “When we get back home, I want to see you in your pressed polo shirt, proper pants, and glasses with a book in your hand. All nerdtastic.”

“You’re really starting to push it, Tate.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” he taunted and then lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me you didn’t fantasize about the jock…or the broody music student who played his guitar.”

Logan stopped just as they reached the steps that would take them to the front door of the boathouse and replied, “I had the jock, and he didn’t live up to any fantasies I had in my head. As for the broody music student…”

“Yes?” Tate asked, loving the smile that spread across Logan’s mouth before he answered.

“He far surpassed them all.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was Sunday evening when Logan turned his car onto Tate’s childhood street. It’d been around an hour and a half since they’d landed, and it had been bittersweet leaving New York behind. They both knew they had to come back to their real lives, but as he pulled the car to the curb in front of the two-story house, Logan thought, Why do we have to start with the ugliest part first?

Tate reached across the car to touch his thigh, and Logan glanced down and put his hand over the top of it. Bringing his eyes up to the concerned ones looking at him, he found himself smiling over at Tate.

“Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you right about now?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Why? I’m not the one who’s worried. Everything I want is right here in this car. That’s not about to change.”

Logan leaned his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “Sweet talker.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then remind me again. Why are we here?”

Tate let out a soft sigh. “Because I figure if my father can swallow his pride and apologize… then the least I can do is see where things stand with the rest of them.”

Logan couldn’t fault him for that. He was the one person who’d reached out to him during Tate’s hospital stay. Logan hadn’t seen him since, but he knew he’d visited with Tate, and it made him hopeful that maybe at least one of his parents would come around and accept his decision.

But will he accept us?

“All right, then. Let’s go and see if the Morrisons are home.”

Tate released his hand to open the door, and Logan climbed out also, rubbing his palms over the front of his jeans. He waited by the side of the car as Tate came around and held his hand out to him.