welcome relief, not to mention he’d developed quite the fantasy revolving around Logan in full lawyer mode.
Forty minutes into his shift at the bar, the door to After Hours opened and Logan stepped inside. As predicted, he appeared irritated, and Tate could spot the frown a mile away. The shrewd blue eyes behind the glasses scanned the tables and chairs then found him standing behind the bar with his coworker, Amelia.
“Oh watch out. He is not happy. What’d you do?” the woman beside him asked tongue-in-cheek.
Tate turned to Amelia with an unrepentant grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A smile touched the corner of her lips, but she seemed doubtful. “Sure you don’t. Should I leave? Or do you need the backup?”
Tate glanced back to where Logan was muscling his way through the customers and across the hardwood floor toward them. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I can handle him.”
“I have no doubt about that. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need me, just yell.”
Tate agreed absentmindedly as she moved away, and Logan finally reached him on the opposite side of the mahogany bar. The lighting in After Hours was muted and low, making the surroundings cozy and private, and as Logan stared across at him, the other word that came to mind was…intimate.
“Good evening,” Tate started, but before he got any further, Logan placed his hands on the bar and angled his head.
“Cut the crap, Morrison.”
“Morrison, huh? That’s the second time you’ve called me that today. Have to say, I’m not a fan.”
“Tough shit. That’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Apparently, it’s the only thing about you that I know is real. Did your phone break?”
Tate was having a hard time being serious in the face of Logan’s irritation. “I’m pretty sure you had access to my file at your office. My name was on that. Or did you forget, old man? And no, my phone’s not broken.”
“Then you’re ignoring me?” Logan questioned, his eyes narrowing. “As well as insulting me.”
“Nope. I’m talking to you and stating the facts.” Tate waited several beats and then leaned a little ways across the bar. “What’s bothering you the most? That you didn’t know my age or my name?”
Logan looked him over before he accused, “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little.”
Taking a seat on one of the barstools, Logan placed his phone on the counter. “Okay then. Fair enough. I didn’t bother to ask many questions, I get it.”
“Well that’s not true. You asked a lot of questions. They usually just revolved around getting me naked and in your bed.”
Logan raised an agitated hand and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, shaking his head in disbelief or disgust—Tate couldn’t tell which. He’d wanted to play, not upset him, so Tate reached across the bar and placed his hand over Logan’s.
“Hey, I’m just having some fun with you.”
Just like that, the tables turned as a sensual smile split Logan’s lips and he tugged Tate forward across the bar, promising quietly, “Oh, I know when I’m being fucked with. But by the end of tonight, you will tell me your full name.”
Tate knew right then that Logan wasn’t angry. He was challenged and annoyed that he couldn’t remember, and Tate had no doubt that he would cave and tell Logan anything he wanted by the end of the night.
“Well, I like your confidence, but I have to tell you, I’m not going down without a fight.”
As his own words echoed through his head and Logan’s brow rose, Tate was hit with the full impact of what he’d said.
“A fight can be arranged if that’s all that’s needed.”
Laughing now, Tate pulled away and asked pointedly, “Do you want a drink? If not, can you please leave? I have work and you are distracting.”
“If I leave, will you come to me after?”
Tate wondered if the word yes had ever been easier for him to say, and as Logan waited for his response,
Forty minutes into his shift at the bar, the door to After Hours opened and Logan stepped inside. As predicted, he appeared irritated, and Tate could spot the frown a mile away. The shrewd blue eyes behind the glasses scanned the tables and chairs then found him standing behind the bar with his coworker, Amelia.
“Oh watch out. He is not happy. What’d you do?” the woman beside him asked tongue-in-cheek.
Tate turned to Amelia with an unrepentant grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A smile touched the corner of her lips, but she seemed doubtful. “Sure you don’t. Should I leave? Or do you need the backup?”
Tate glanced back to where Logan was muscling his way through the customers and across the hardwood floor toward them. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I can handle him.”
“I have no doubt about that. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need me, just yell.”
Tate agreed absentmindedly as she moved away, and Logan finally reached him on the opposite side of the mahogany bar. The lighting in After Hours was muted and low, making the surroundings cozy and private, and as Logan stared across at him, the other word that came to mind was…intimate.
“Good evening,” Tate started, but before he got any further, Logan placed his hands on the bar and angled his head.
“Cut the crap, Morrison.”
“Morrison, huh? That’s the second time you’ve called me that today. Have to say, I’m not a fan.”
“Tough shit. That’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Apparently, it’s the only thing about you that I know is real. Did your phone break?”
Tate was having a hard time being serious in the face of Logan’s irritation. “I’m pretty sure you had access to my file at your office. My name was on that. Or did you forget, old man? And no, my phone’s not broken.”
“Then you’re ignoring me?” Logan questioned, his eyes narrowing. “As well as insulting me.”
“Nope. I’m talking to you and stating the facts.” Tate waited several beats and then leaned a little ways across the bar. “What’s bothering you the most? That you didn’t know my age or my name?”
Logan looked him over before he accused, “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little.”
Taking a seat on one of the barstools, Logan placed his phone on the counter. “Okay then. Fair enough. I didn’t bother to ask many questions, I get it.”
“Well that’s not true. You asked a lot of questions. They usually just revolved around getting me naked and in your bed.”
Logan raised an agitated hand and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, shaking his head in disbelief or disgust—Tate couldn’t tell which. He’d wanted to play, not upset him, so Tate reached across the bar and placed his hand over Logan’s.
“Hey, I’m just having some fun with you.”
Just like that, the tables turned as a sensual smile split Logan’s lips and he tugged Tate forward across the bar, promising quietly, “Oh, I know when I’m being fucked with. But by the end of tonight, you will tell me your full name.”
Tate knew right then that Logan wasn’t angry. He was challenged and annoyed that he couldn’t remember, and Tate had no doubt that he would cave and tell Logan anything he wanted by the end of the night.
“Well, I like your confidence, but I have to tell you, I’m not going down without a fight.”
As his own words echoed through his head and Logan’s brow rose, Tate was hit with the full impact of what he’d said.
“A fight can be arranged if that’s all that’s needed.”
Laughing now, Tate pulled away and asked pointedly, “Do you want a drink? If not, can you please leave? I have work and you are distracting.”
“If I leave, will you come to me after?”
Tate wondered if the word yes had ever been easier for him to say, and as Logan waited for his response,
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