Tate couldn’t seem to locate his tongue as he stood in front of the lady, wondering who the fuck she had expected to answer the door. Logan? If so, who the hell is she?
“You’re a lovely surprise if I do say so myself.”
Tate wasn’t sure, but maybe he’d fallen asleep and this was some kind of bizarre dream, because he didn’t have the first idea what this woman was talking about.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” he finally managed to ask.
The dark-brown eyes assessing him were intelligent, and he could tell by her perfectly styled, raven hair, her red coat, and her black stilettos that she was definitely someone who could belong in this building—but that still didn’t answer his original question.
“Oh,” she giggled as if she’d completely forgotten why she was there in the first place. “Sorry. I got distracted. I’m in town for a little while and thought I’d come visit my Hot Wheels. Is he around?”
Hot Wheels? What the…
“He can’t possibly be asleep yet. He’s always been a night owl, which I never understood. How does someone stay awake so late but then be up at the crack of dawn? It just isn’t right to function on so little sleep.” When her rambling came to an end, she cocked her head to the side and asked, “You going to let me inside, handsome? I don’t really want to stand out here for the rest of the night.”
And that’s when everything fell into place.
The hair color, the age, and that final sentence delivered in almost the exact same way as—
“Evelyn?”
Logan.
Tate looked over his shoulder to see that Logan had come to a stop in the hallway with a towel wrapped around his hips and his glasses back in place.
Yep, Tate thought, it has to be.
He rounded back to face the woman, who’d raised a hand to give an impish wave of her fingers. Logan’s mother.
* * *
What the fuck is she doing here? Logan thought as he marched into his bedroom. And how can I get rid of her?
He opened his closet and yanked the towel from around his hips, throwing it in the corner before reaching for his robe to wrap around himself.
“So,” Tate said from behind him.
He turned and saw a shit-eating grin spread across Tate’s face.
“You do come from somewhere. That’s a relief.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbled as he tugged the belt of the robe tight. Then he ran a hand through his hair. “Everybody comes from somewhere.”
Tate sat on the mattress and crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks for the biology lesson, smartass, but you never talk about your family, so I was starting to imagine maybe you just arrived on Earth all perfect and shit.”
Logan grabbed a T-shirt from his dresser and walked over to Tate, pressing it against his chest. “I’m nowhere near perfect, as you’re about to find out. Put that on while she’s here, please.” He walked past Tate to go and deal with the woman who was no doubt already rifling through his liquor cabinet.
But Tate joked, “I hardly think your mother is going to be caught up with the sight of my chest.”
Logan stopped in the doorway and turned back to eye Tate. “No, but I might be. And I need my brain fully functioning when she’s in the room.”
Leaving Tate to finish dressing, he walked out to find Evelyn exactly where he’d expected her—at his kitchen counter, pouring a finger of scotch into a glass she’d added ice cubes to.
“Sure, help yourself,” he said, stopping on the opposite side of the island, waiting for her to face him.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Logan.”
“Dramatic? Oh, don’t tempt me,” he said when she finally faced him. “What are you doing here?”
With her long fingers wrapped around his crystal, she brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she lowered the glass to the marble top. “I told you I was coming.”
“When? Memorial Day Weekend? That was months ago.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an aggravated sigh. “You need to call when you want to visit. I already had this conversation with you. Some people have lives, you know.”
“So I see,” she replied, raising the glass to drain the contents. She then aimed her gaze over his shoulder, and Logan knew that Tate must’ve come back into the living room by the devilment that lit her eyes. “My son is so rude. He hasn’t even introduced us yet.”
“I’m not being rude. I’m trying to work out why you’re here. There’s always a reason.”
“Oh hush,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand as she rounded the counter. “What’s your name, handsome?”