Tate let out a sound of disbelief and walked to his bedroom. “Other than we had a terrible night, we were just arguing, and it’s almost five in the morning?”
“Oh, come on. This wasn’t really an argument,” Logan pointed out. “Tate? Hold up, would you?”
Tate took a deep breath and turned back to lock eyes with the blue ones trying to gauge his mood. “I can’t move in with you.”
Logan gave a slow nod before he asked, “Can’t or won’t?”
He wondered what the difference meant to Logan, but he repeated, “Can’t.”
Logan’s mouth split into a wide grin as he strolled over to where he was standing—tense as a fucking trip wire.
“What are you smiling about?” Tate knew that his tone was surly, but this was just like Logan. Impulsive, brash, and always picking the worst possible time to say shit. He hadn’t once stopped to think about how his request might make him feel. He’d just figured that, since he thought it was a great idea, so would everyone around him.
The problem was that it had instantly made Tate feel…inadequate. Although he was sure Logan would kick his ass if he ever told him so.
“I can work with can’t,” Logan said as he pushed past him into the bedroom. “Now, would you stop arguing with me so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep?”
Logan took his hoodie and shirt off before he walked over to the left side of the bed to toe his shoes off. He then pulled the quilt back, removed the rest of his clothing, and climbed inside as if it were his own bed. Once he was comfortable, he placed his hands behind his head and aimed his eyes toward Tate.
“Don’t act as if you get any more sleep than I do when you’re alone. I won’t believe you.”
Tate pushed off the doorjamb and moved to his side of the bed. “You’re a cocky bastard. You know that?” He removed his shirt and sweatpants and slid back under the covers; the warmth of Logan’s skin lured him in, and Tate automatically fit himself to his side.
“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.