Trust (Temptation #3)(18)

Sitting forward on his chair, Logan put his hand over Tate’s, where it remained on his thigh. “Of course not. You don’t ever need to worry about him,” he said, curling his fingers around Tate’s. “If it’s not Chris and it’s not me, then what is it?”

Tate entwined their fingers, a habit of his that always reminded Logan of how far they’d come since their first coffee date at The Daily Grind.

“I…” Tate trailed off, and Logan waited, figuring that it was best to let Tate get off his chest whatever was making him feel so uneasy. “I’m not comfortable moving in with you because…” He looked up then, and the emotion in his eyes made Logan feel anxious.

“Because?” he encouraged.

“I have nothing to fucking offer you,” Tate finally said on a rush of air.

Wait. What the…“What are you talking about? I don’t need anything—”

“Exactly. That’s exactly my point.” Tate let his fingers go and sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re Logan Mitchell.”

Logan was sure Tate hadn’t meant for it to sound like a bad thing, but right then, that was exactly how it had sounded.

“And what does that mean?”

Tate abruptly pushed out of his chair as though he couldn’t sit still and turned away from him. “It means you’re thirty-four years old and own your own company, not to mention a cabin with practically an entire forest behind it. You wear the best clothes, drive the best car, and live in and own a fucking high-rise in downtown Chicago.” Tate stopped talking and turned with a frown. “It just means that it’s a little intimidating is all. I had so many plans for myself… I still do.”

For once in his life, Logan didn’t know what to say. He’d had no idea that was what had been bothering Tate. It’d never even occurred to him. But as he remained seated and Tate walked into the living room, Logan knew he needed more information.

If that was what was standing between Tate living on his own and moving in with him, then he needed to know exactly what Tate wanted.

“Tell me.”

Tate faced him, leaning his back against the small windowsill and crossing his arms. “They’re just ideas in my head. They probably won’t ever happen.”

Logan stood and walked toward Tate, but feeling as if he might still need his own space, he stopped by the couch and sat. “Tell me anyway.”

“Well,” he started and then gave a self-deprecating laugh as he shook his head. “You can’t laugh at me.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don’t know. Any time I’ve ever told anyone this, they just kind of laughed as if it would never happen.”

Logan cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at him. “Anyone as in Diana?”

Tate said nothing, and Logan knew he was right.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, there are a lot of ways in which Diana and I differ.”

Tate’s eyes roamed over him. “Believe me. I noticed.”

“Good,” Logan said. “Then you’re also aware that my reactions to most things also differ from her. You once told me not to compare you to Chris. I’m telling you right now—stop comparing me to her.”

Logan could tell that the tone of his voice had gotten through because Tate’s lips pulled tight and he replied with a curt, “Okay.”

He nodded once and relaxed back into the couch, putting an ankle across his knee. He tapped his thigh several times, waiting for Tate’s next move, and when he came over and sat beside him, Logan said again, “Please, tell me your plans.”





* * *



Tate angled his body toward Logan and thought about his next words carefully. For years, he’d had an idea he’d kept on the back burner, waiting for the right opportunity, and it wasn’t until recently that he’d really started to think of the possibilities.

“Well, you know how I’ve worked behind a bar most of my adult life?”

Logan’s brow rose, and when his lips curved into a smile, Tate wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t have to wait long though, because he told him.

“Yes, I seem to remember frequenting one just to see you.”

Tate narrowed his eyes and reminded him, “You were going there long before I showed up.”

“I used to go in once a week, maybe twice. I didn’t start hauling ass downstairs every day until you arrived.”

Tate dropped his eyes down to Logan’s fingers, which were still tapping against his jean-clad thigh, and then he raked them over his bare torso and lightly-haired chest. “I used to watch the door for you.”