Then Tate’s face broke out into a massive grin. “You didn’t call the kid Ignacio, did you?”

“No,” Rachel said with a laugh, gazing over at Cole. “We decided Benjamin was a better fit after all.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

A couple of days later, it was Thanksgiving, and with Rachel still in the hospital and Tate’s family all over the place, they’d decided they would spend a nice, quiet evening together—or so Logan had thought.

It had just turned five o’clock when he looked down at the text he’d just received from Tate. He’d gone out a couple of hours ago, and all he’d said was that he wouldn’t be long.

Secretive shit.

Tate: We don’t have plans tonight, do we?

Logan typed back: I thought we agreed to stay in.

He settled back into the couch, picked up the book he’d been reading, and started again. He was halfway down the second page when his phone lit up.

Tate: Change of plans. Be ready in twenty minutes.

Logan frowned down at the text and wrote back: Be ready for what?

Not a minute later his phone vibrated, and he smirked at Tate’s response.

Tate: Don’t argue with me. Twenty minutes. Be ready.

Oh, I do love you all bossy, Logan thought as he put his book beside him on the couch and sat up.

Okay. You have my attention. What should I wear?

He was on his feet and heading to the shower when the phone vibrated in his hand, and on the screen was a message that had him coming to a stop.

Tate: Doesn’t matter. You won’t be wearing it for long.

Logan groaned, and when the phone rang, he answered it and brought it to his ear. “You’re being very demanding, Mr. Morrison.”

“You now have fifteen minutes,” Tate informed him in that spine-tingling way he had, all low and raspy.

Logan closed his eyes, imagining him there in the bathroom with him.

“Oh, and Logan?”

“Yeah?” he breathed out on a sigh.

“I haven’t even started to be demanding…yet.”

And before he could say a word, Tate hung up.

Tate was nervous.

As he stood inside the silent space where he’d been waiting for the last thirty minutes, he looked out at the street. He was fiddling with the set of keys in his hands, trying to get his heart to calm the hell down. It’d been racing ever since he’d ended the call with Logan.

The snow was gently falling to the sidewalk, and with every new layer, it hid the footsteps of the people who’d passed by earlier. There weren’t that many out tonight, though, being that it was Thanksgiving, and he liked the solitude that seemed to have taken over the usually busy part of town.

He spotted the black car he’d hired pulling onto the street, and as the headlights brightened its way, he stuffed the keys into the pocket of his black dress pants. Running a hand through his hair, he watched as the car stopped in front of the windows he was standing by.

When the door opened, he held his breath, waiting for that exact moment. And there it is, he thought as Logan stepped out of the car—that moment when he would first see him.

As always, Logan looked sexy and sophisticated. He was by far the most attractive man Tate had ever seen, and all he could see of him was that long, black coat of his and a charcoal scarf with light-blue and black checkers on it.

The driver was saying something to him, and when Logan reached out to shake his hand, Tate saw black leather gloves on his hands.

Oh yeah. He dressed up for me.

As the driver got back in the car, Logan finally saw him through the window. He cocked his head to the side and let his quizzical eyes move over him from behind his glasses, and Tate wondered what he was thinking. When he pointed his finger toward the front doors, Logan inclined his head and then made his way over to them.

Tate took the three steps up to the entry, and as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, he knew that it was time—time to invite Logan inside forever.

As Tate opened the door to the bar they’d looked at the other day, Logan ran his eyes over the gorgeous man in front of him, torn between being turned on and curious as hell about the outfit he was wearing. He had on a rich, burgundy dress shirt, a tailored, black vest and tie, pressed pants, and polished shoes—and he looked fucking amazing.

“Come in,” Tate said, his voice low and inviting.

He stepped inside and started to undo the buttons of his coat when he heard Tate shut the door and lock it. Then he was behind him, running his hands over his shoulders and down to squeeze his biceps.

“You made it okay.”

“I did. The driver you sent…he was very nice.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It was my turn to collect you for a change,” Tate told him, and Logan smiled at the sentiment. “You look…”

Logan caught a hint of Tate’s cologne and closed his eyes to take it in. He smelled unbelievably good. “Yes?”

“Sexy as hell,” Tate’s voice was hoarse in his ear.

As he came around beside him, Logan opened his eyes and watched him make his way toward the bar, which he then moved behind. His eyes roamed the open space before he walked down the stairs and removed his gloves. He could smell something delicious cooking and wondered where exactly it was coming from since he couldn’t see much in the low-lit area.

There were several candles along the wall separating the two main spaces, and there were more lining the bar, lighting the area with a muted glow. As he got closer, he noticed two tumblers on top of the bar and smiled.

“You planning to get me drunk tonight?”

Tate turned to the back of the bar, and as Logan stopped behind the lone stool in the place, he put his gloves on the counter. The silence in the building was ramping up the sexual tension humming between the two of them. Then Tate glanced over his shoulder at him, and Logan saw his eyes trail down the charcoal suit, light-blue shirt, and tie he was wearing, licking his lips as he went—it was obvious he approved.

Logan shrugged out of his coat, laid it across the counter, and then took a seat before zeroing in on Tate’s firm ass. This entire scenario felt very reminiscent of...me and my hot bartender.

“Excuse me? Bartender?” he asked.

When Tate turned, he saw a white fucking towel tucked into the side of his pants. Tate knew exactly what he was doing here. He’d set the stage perfectly, and as he came over to stand in front of him, he flashed that wide, friendly smile of his. Although, Logan noted, tonight, it was packed full of sexual invitation as opposed to the naïve charm it had held all those months ago.

“What can I get you to drink?”

Logan felt his entire body react to the question. His heart started to race; his cock took immediate notice. And when Tate pulled the towel from his pants and started to wipe the bar, he reminded himself, I already have this guy. I live with him. So squash the fucking nerves of trying to get him, Mitchell, and enjoy him.

“I don’t know what I feel like tonight. Why don’t you surprise me? ” he suggested, and when Tate lifted the towel and started to slide it back and forth between his hands, Logan followed the gesture then saw a gleam in those brown eyes he loved.

“Surprise you, huh?”

“Yes,” he said. “You can’t go wrong. I’m positive that I’d be open to trying anything with you.”

Tate gave him a mock frown and stilled his hands. “Sir, I’m talking about your drink. I’m not sure what you are talking about.”

Putting his arms on the counter, Logan pushed up with his toes on the rung of his stool to get closer to the teasing flirt opposite him. “Oh, would you look at that. I’ve shocked and scared the man behind the bar…”