Tate Morrison. Logan hadn’t been lying. There was nothing easy about what he was feeling when it came to that man. Scary and surprising—yes.
He wasn’t one to give much credence to the whole love notion. Very little of it had been passed around in his life so far, and he just figured it was something people made up to make themselves feel better. That was, until Tate.
He’d managed to make Logan feel something only one other before him had, and Logan wasn’t sure if that made him happy or terrified. All he knew was that whatever it was, he needed to keep a close handle on it.
Raising the bottle, he took another sip, well on his way to the relaxed state he was craving.
Cole was also running through his head tonight. It had been a long time since he’d fought with that guy, and he hated it. They’d decided many years ago that it was neither of their faults that life had dealt them an asshole for a father, but every now and then, the old resentment came through, and Logan couldn’t help feeling pissed that he was the one their father had thrown away.
Placing the bottle down beside him, his cell phone started vibrating on the table. Reaching forward, he picked it up and saw Tate’s name flashing across the display. Sitting back in the chair, he snagged the bottle again and answered.
* * *
Tate settled into his couch and waited for Logan to pick up. He’d been thinking about their conversation ever since Logan had left the bar earlier. A lot had been said in the few words Logan had actually spoken, and when he’d told Tate they should just meet up sometime tomorrow, Tate had known he, too, felt their relationship had shifted directions.
Glancing at the digital display on the DVR, he saw that it had just turned one fifteen. Maybe he’s sleeping? It was late. Just as he was about to hang up, the phone connected, and Logan’s voice washed over him.
“I was just thinking about you.”
Tate lay back on his couch and placed his head on the end pillow. “Should I even ask?”
There was a longer pause than he would have expected before Logan spoke.
“I don’t know. Do you want to?”
Tate knew this conversation could go one of two ways, and as much as he wanted to take the easy way out, he also wanted some answers if Logan were in the mood to give them.
“You asked me that like you expect me to say no,” Tate stated, and when there was no response, he asked, “Do you? Expect me to say no?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe I do.”
Wow, well, that’s honest, Tate thought as he closed his eyes. “Want to tell me why?” He heard something—liquid, maybe—through the phone.
“I don’t know. Maybe because a couple of weeks ago, the thought of kissing a guy disgusted you.”
Logan sounded so different compared to the way he usually did that Tate couldn’t help himself from asking, “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
Tate wasn’t surprised that Logan was just as blunt when it came to the hard truths as he was with the easier ones.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Does it still disgust you?”
“The thought of kissing a guy? Or the thought of kissing you?”
Silence met his question as though Logan was thinking about it. “Isn’t it one and the same?”
Tate tried to imagine himself kissing another man, other than Logan, but since he’d never even entertained the thought before, he really didn’t have an answer. “It might be, but before you, I’d never thought about it.”
There was another louder swish in his ear, and Tate knew what the sound was. Logan was drinking.
“What are you drinking?”
“Jack.”
“You’re drinking cheap whiskey? Why not the usual?”
“Because Jack was here, and he’s real nice to swallow.”
“Do you just come up with this shit? Or do you have it all written down somewhere?”
“Hmm, I should write it down, shouldn’t I?”
Again, the sound of Logan taking a drink came through the phone, and then he asked, “So…why did you think about kissing me?”
Tate couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“What?” Logan questioned. “Why?”
“I’m asking because it must have impaired your brain. I thought about it with you because you wouldn’t give me a minute not to think about it. Every time I turned around, you were there.”
Awkward and tense silence greeted Tate after the final words left his mouth.
“So, you only did it because I was always there?”
Tate wasn’t quite sure, but he was almost positive that Logan sounded unsure, on the verge of vulnerable. That was something he’d never heard in him—ever. Logan didn’t strike him as the type of guy who usually poured his heart out.