A couple of people by the bar turned to face them, and Logan walked up alongside him and once again took his hand. Tate caught Chris observing the gesture before his eyes reconnected with Logan’s.
“Please,” Logan managed to say in a calm voice Tate barely recognized. “Enjoy your dinner and tonight’s entertainment, Mr. Walker.”
Tate’s head snapped around, and he was glaring so hard that he practically drilled a hole in the side of Logan’s. But it was clear that Logan was done talking and telling him, in no uncertain terms, to shut it also.
“Oh, it’s been very entertaining so far,” Chris replied, his tone slithering down Tate’s spine. “I imagine it will only improve from here…”
What a nightmare. Chris’s appearance at the function had been exactly that—a damn nightmare. Not only because of who he was, but also because he seemed to like stirring shit up.
Tate knew full well that Chris wasn’t one to advertise his sexual preferences, yet he’d shown absolutely no compunction while hitting on him and wearing his wedding band. That meant that, even with Mrs. Walker milling about somewhere, he’d been determined to get Logan’s attention—at any cost. Arrogant or stupid? Tate had no idea, but he didn’t like it one little bit. Add in the smug expression that had crossed Chris’s face at Logan’s interference and, yeah, it was clear that Chris had known full well what he was doing.
Tate had to give Logan credit though. He’d blown him away by how easily he’d recovered. Pity the same couldn’t be said for his own reaction.
“Logan?” Tate asked as he was ushered away from Chris and directed toward their table.
“What?” Logan didn’t spare him a glance as they continued through the throng of patrons, but when Tate yanked his arm free from his grasp, he soon came to a standstill.
“Would you hang on a minute?” he asked.
Logan’s feet shuffled to a stop as he pivoted to face him. “What’s the problem?”
“The… Are you serious?”
Logan’s jaw hardened, still tightly wound after he’d dealt with Chris, and then he leaned in so they were only inches from one another. “Not now, Tate. It’s neither the time nor the place.” Logan’s voice was carefully restrained as to not include any bystanders.
He could tell that Logan was trying to pacify him, so when he reached his hand out in a gesture of unity, Tate automatically took it. “Although I do love how you wanted to defend me. That’s hot.”
“Just…not now, right?” Tate asked, his voice low as he tried to temper his own annoyance.
“Yeah. Now isn’t the time.”
Tate gave a nod. “You’re the boss. You want me to shut my mouth. Consider it shut.”
“It’s not that—”
“Yes, it is,” Tate interrupted. But he was quick to add, “It’s okay. I get it.”
Logan’s eyes moved past him, and Tate knew he was looking at Chris again. He wondered what was going through his mind and hated that he wanted to ask. Feeling insecure was not an emotion he was comfortable with.
Then Logan glanced back at him and gave a tight smile. “Why don’t you go and sit down? Dinner’s about to be served. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Tate sat up in bed and looked at the clock on the wall, groaning at the early hour. He had work later this evening, and he could never sleep during the day, so the fact that he was up at the ass crack of dawn was just fucking great.
After pushing the covers aside, he then walked out into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to fall back asleep for a couple of hours before the sun decided to rise.
When he was halfway to the kitchen, a quick rap of knuckles on his front door brought him to a halt. Thinking he must’ve been mistaken, he continued across the hall until, again, there was a firm knocking more urgent than the last.
What the—
“Okay, okay,” he called and ran a hand through his hair.
Once he’d reached the door, he switched the light on and winced at the bright glow that reflected off the cream paint. With one eye closed, he pressed the other to the peephole and was shocked to see Logan standing on the other side.
He’d been expecting a neighbor who’d locked himself out, not the broody man who’d dropped him home and kissed him on the cheek. Actually, now that he thought about that…
He pulled the door open, and Logan’s eyes widened in stunned surprise.
“The cheek? You kissed me on the fucking cheek when you said goodnight to me earlier. What was that about?”
Logan studied the road ahead, anywhere but at his passenger, as he weaved through the traffic. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Tate shifted in the seat beside him, and Logan knew he’d turned to look at him. That was one thing he loved about Tate. If he was coming at you with the truth, especially the hard stuff you didn’t want to hear, he never backed down. He always did it with his eyes on the target.
“I don’t understand how you managed to just sit there for the rest of the night and act as if everything was okay. It was as if it didn’t even bother you, seeing him or talking to him. I guess I’m just…confused by how easy you made it seem. That’s all,” Tate said into the dark confines of the car.
“It wasn’t easy. Acting like that,” Logan said, thinking back to the way he’d forced himself to smile and greet everyone who’d stopped by their table. It was a miracle he’d even managed that much considering he’d wanted to find Chris and tell him to take his business and shove it up his ass.
“It sure seemed that way.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” he reiterated. “Tonight was supposed to be about you and me. I was simply choosing not to play his games.”
“By letting him have the last word?” Tate asked, his tone rising with his incredulity.
“Yes. If the choice was between a brawl or a public retelling of my past, then yes, he got the last word tonight. Not me.”
“Fuck that,” Tate spat out, disgusted all over again at the entire situation.
“What would you have had me do? I was one of the hosts. The people in that room conduct their business though my office. Tell me, Tate. Do you think they want to see me or my boyfriend in a fight with my ex?” Logan demanded, turning to see Tate’s pissed-off expression before returning his eyes to the road. “They want to trust the person they pay thousands—sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars, too—to protect them. What kind of message am I sending if I can’t conduct myself like an adult for five fucking hours? Now, drop it, would you?”
The silence in the car was heavy, remaining that way for several minutes until Tate said, “Consider it dropped.”
“Good.” Christ, this is so not the night I had in mind.
“By the way,” Tate added, his voice cutting through the tense space. “Your brother knows about you and Chris. Rachel told me earlier, and I thought you might appreciate the heads-up.”