“Consider it said,” Tate said, chuckling at Robbie’s audacity. “He’s still with me, and I’m not letting him go.”
“Well, if it had ever been an option, I wouldn’t have either. Showoff.” Robbie sighed as though he were totally put out. Then he gave an impish grin and turned to search behind him again.
This time, Tate knew he saw exactly what he did: Logan walking toward them with two coffees and a brown paper bag in hand —and damn, he looked fine.
After Logan’s eyes shifted to Robbie and then came back to his, Robbie turned around, slumped against the booth, and put a hand to his chest. Closing his eyes, he mouthed, “So fucking hot.”
When Logan stopped by the table, he looked down to where Robbie was sitting with his eyes still closed. Then he turned to him with a question in his eyes.
“It’s okay. He’s having a moment,” he explained as Logan took his lips in a swift kiss.
When he pulled away, he smiled. “So am I.”
Tate licked his lips as Logan straightened. “Nice coat.”
“You like? Some pain in my ass insisted I wear it this morning.”
“Pretty sure I was nowhere near your ass this morning, but—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Logan interrupted. “There are children listening.”
Both of them then turned their attention to Robbie, who had sat forward and was watching the exchange avidly. “Oh, come on. It was just getting good.”
“Afternoon, Robbie,” Logan said as he started to unwind his scarf. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us for lunch.”
With mischievous eyes, Robbie informed him, “I’d love to join in and eat you two any time.”
“I’m sure you would,” Logan said dryly while removing his coat. “You going to get out of my seat?”
Robbie stood and bowed before sweeping his hand toward the booth to indicate that Logan should sit. Then he turned his attention back to Tate. “You never said what happened to your arm.”
Tate’s eyes found Logan’s as he shrugged his arms in the sleeves of his shirt as if trying to get comfortable—in his clothes or with the conversation, Tate wasn’t quite sure.
“I was in a car accident,” he finally said, glancing up at Robbie.
“Oh my God,” he gasped, placing a hand to his mouth. “And your arm was broken?”
“His collarbone, among other things,” Logan interjected.
Robbie’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of them, and when he saw how grim Logan looked, it must’ve registered that what had happened was some serious shit.
“Yeah.” Tate gave a tight smile and then stretched his legs out under the table on either side of Logan’s. “But I’m getting better every day. So don’t get any ideas about trying to steal my guy. Got it?”
Logan coughed around the sip of coffee he’d just taken.
“Hey,” he said, running his eyes over Logan in a proprietary way. “I’m just letting him know you’re off the market—for good.”
* * *
Jesus. The words that had just come out of Tate’s mouth and the look he was aiming across the table at him had Logan placing his coffee cup down just in case he dropped it. It was full of heat and arousal, and it had been so fucking long since he’d seen it that Logan’s palms started to sweat.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it…” Robbie was saying, but as he continued to talk, Tate was busy rubbing his leg against the outside of his, and the small gesture was enough to have Logan shifting in his seat—“Logan?”
As his name was said with enough force to break through his sex-filled brain, he refocused on Tate, who smirked at him.
Tease. He knows exactly what he just did to me.
“Huh?” he managed.
“You need anything else?”
Tate to pass his fucking follow-up so I can… “No.”
Robbie must’ve sensed the “go away” vibe he was throwing off, because he backed away with a small grin, saying, “Ooo-kay, then,” and left him sitting there with the sexy, off-limits man opposite him.
“Stop it,” Logan ordered and brought his coffee cup back to his lips.
“What? I’m not doing anything.”
“Bullshit. You’re looking at me like you want to—” His words ended as Tate chose that precise moment to press his leg back against his. Logan glared across the table at him. “And you keep doing that.”
“I’m just stretching. I have long legs.”
Logan narrowed his eyes and lowered the cup. “So do I, but I’m not rubbing all over—”
Tate did it again.