Trust (Temptation #3)(3)

“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.”

Logan pulled to a stop at a red light and turned his head on the headrest. “Tate?”

Tate’s brown eyes found his, and as always, they made Logan’s heartbeat pick up pace.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

Tate didn’t smile. Instead, he kept a steady gaze on him as he replied, “I’m not the one you need to apologize to. I knew what I was walking into. Cole didn’t.”



“Logan?”

Logan was pulled from his thoughts and brought back to the present as Tate crossed his arms over his chest.

He looked good. Hell, he looked better than that. He looked fucking amazing in his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt.

“I asked you why you kissed me on the cheek tonight. Is that some kind of punishment for losing my temper?”

Logan was positive that that wasn’t supposed to make him happy, but he was rather pleased that Tate thought a kiss on the cheek from him was a bad thing.

“I don’t remember you losing your temper. I actually think you held yourself together pretty well, considering. When I dropped you off, I had a lot going through my head. It was just an absentminded gesture. That’s all. Not punishment. Do you really think I would do that?”

Tate let out an irritated sigh. “I don’t know what to think. It’s four thirty in the morning. I’m surprised I can think at all.” He paused and then finally took in his appearance. “What are you wearing? You look like you ran a mile.”

Logan glanced down to his black hoodie, grey running shorts, and navy-blue Northwestern University T-shirt. “Seven actually, but who’s counting?”

Tate scoffed. “You, apparently.”

“Well, I can’t have you thinking I lack stamina.”

Tate rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “That thought has never once crossed my mind. Are you coming in this time? I assume you’re not here to stand in my doorway?”

“And I see that you’re still a little—”

“Irritable?” Tate supplied.

Logan took a step forward and ran his gaze over the tangle of brown curls falling by Tate’s face. “Yeah. Irritable seems about right.”

Tate didn’t move, but he did hold his ground. “Well, do you blame me? Tonight was—”

“A total fucking mess?” Logan finished, hazarding a guess.

“Something like that.”

He walked inside and scanned Tate’s apartment as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. When no response came from Tate, he continued. “I kept thinking back to when Chris put his hand on you and all I wanted to do was kick his ass. But then…” He watched Tate close the door and lean his back up against it—silent and focused on him. “But then I remembered the last time I’d seen him. I’d been doing exactly that. Kicking his ass.” He came over to where Tate was standing and—quite unexpectedly—confessed, “I have trouble sleeping without you.”