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As Tate took another long drag, he turned around completely, leaning back against the rail, as he unapologetically checked him out.
“You’re really good-looking. It pisses me off.”
Logan brought his arm down and leaned against the door. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you, minus the pissed-off part. Why does it annoy you?”
Shaking his head, almost as though he didn’t believe his own thoughts, Tate admitted, “Because you make me want to do things that I shouldn’t.”
Logan wanted to know every little thing Tate was thinking, but he also knew he desperately needed a shower. So, he walked forward to Tate, reached out, and took the cigarette from him. Bringing it to his own lips, he took a drag, and as he gave it back, he blew the smoke out just past Tate’s face.
“Sorry, I just really wanted to suck on what you were sucking. I’m going to go and take a shower. If you want one, the second bedroom has an en suite. Then, Tate?”
Tate was staring at him with unflinching focus, holding the cigarette down by his leg, forgotten.
“I want to know all the things you want to do but shouldn’t.”
Tate’s tongue came out to moisten his lips.
Logan couldn’t help himself as he added, “So, we can start crossing them off the list.”

“You smoke?” Logan asked. “Ah, that’s what it is.” He thought about the faint taste of tobacco under the overpowering cinnamon as he made his way to the dark drapes behind the single recliner. “That’s a nasty habit, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Tate stood and pushed his hand into his back pocket, presumably to get out his pack of cigarettes. “I only smoke when I drink.”
As Logan pulled the curtain back, revealing the door to his balcony, he looked over to where Tate had moved around the couch. “But you’re not drinking.”
When Tate got to him, he brought the white pack up and tapped it against his palm before opening the flap. Bringing it to his mouth, he pulled out one of the white cylinders between his lips.
“No, I’m not,” he mumbled around the tip in his mouth. “But I just came from a guy giving me a blow job, so my nerves are shot to shit.” Fishing a blue lighter out of his jeans pocket, Tate gave him a wiry smirk. “Don’t judge me.”

“Tate? Start fucking talking before I decide to really shut you up.”
Tate regarded the man opposite him, and he knew that he wanted his mouth on Logan’s. Problem was he didn’t know how to go about it.
Do I just lean forward and grab him?
All of their personal encounters in the past had been brought on by anger and adrenaline. This time though, it was premeditated. Tate wanted to kiss him. He wanted to feel those lips under his, and as the thought settled, he leaned forward and slid his palm along the back of the couch.
When his fingers were in line with Logan’s shoulder, he asked in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “How would you shut me up?”
Logan didn’t move a muscle as he watched him intently. “You want me to tell you — or show you?”
Tate knew that answer. He’d thought about nothing else for days. “Show me.”

“I don’t know what you expect from me.”
Logan didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until that confession hit his ear, and he let it out in a rush.
“I don’t expect anything.” He thought that was a pretty basic response. He didn’t have any expectations. He never did since a certain person had crushed all of his.
Tate didn’t give him time to dwell on that though as he interrupted his thoughts.
“And that’s just another part of this whole mess, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Logan asked, even though he was positive he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“You can’t even decide what gender you want to screw this month, yet I’m supposed to pick you. What kind of joke is that, Logan? Let’s see. First, there was Jess, whoever the hell that is. Then, apparently, everyone I work with, not to mention Amelia’s invite. Is there anyone you don’t want?”
Okay, so the guy has a point, but—
“Then, why are we still talking?” Logan expected to hear a click and then nothing, but instead, he got—
“Because I can’t seem to get you out of my fucking head.”

Logan walked back to the locked door, but before he left, he had one more thing that needed to be out in the air between them. “Tate?”
Tate’s stare met his own.
“This? This changes things. If you think I’m going to walk out of here and you’ll conveniently forget about what happened, you should think again. This wasn’t a fluke, no matter how much you try to pretend. You wanted it as much as I did, and you should remember that tonight when you jerk off, thinking about my tongue in your mouth,” Logan said, using a tone more serious than even he knew he was capable of.

“You forget my name?”
“No.”
“Then, don’t call me sir. It turns me on,” Logan admitted, finding that the word sir from Tate’s full lips really did turn him on.
“Doesn’t everything turn you on, Logan? You seem willing to do anything at every opportunity.”
Logan tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Why not, if it feels good and someone offers? However, fucking wise? As of a few days ago, I just want one thing, and since he hasn’t punched me in the face yet, I’m thinking I may have a shot at it.”

“Will that be all?”
“Drink-wise, yes.”
“That’s all that’s offered at this hour. Food shut down at ten,” he stated plainly.
“That’s fine. I’m not hungry for food.” Logan clasped his hands on top of the bar.
Tate didn’t know what to say to that unless he was going to slip into the same behavior he had a moment earlier. It was obvious that engaging in conversational-sparring matches with Logan, no matter how innocent, led to dangerous territory and wreaked havoc on Tate’s mental health.
“In that case, I’ll go and let Amelia know.”
“Oh, could you? Because she is exactly who I’ve been picturing naked and bent over for me since I sat down here tonight. And yes, I know that was inappropriate. But, Tate?”
Tate focused on the shameless lawyer, who was definitely checking him out this time, and tried to remain professional. “Yes, Logan?”
“That’s when I’m at my best.”

"...I would bet the last two tips you gave me that you’re a lawyer.”
Logan twirled the black plastic between his fingers. “And if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re awfully certain all of a sudden. Did you ask someone?”
Tate answered almost immediately, “No.”
“Then, why so sure?”
“You’re smooth, too smooth, and you always have an answer for everything.”
“Maybe I like debating.”
“Maybe you’re full of shit. Just admit it. It’s okay that I’m right,” Tate announced, full of confidence, as he leaned even closer to add on a whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”
And that, right there, was his biggest mistake.
He saw the precise moment when Logan dropped his focus to Tate’s mouth, and his expression changed from interest to lust, and Tate found himself preparing to fight off an unwanted kiss.
“Careful, Tate.”
“Huh?”
“I am a lawyer, and I’m always looking for a loophole. And I think you do like this, but don’t worry,” Logan told him before promising, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t understand you. You pick a woman one week and a guy the next? So…” Tate trailed off, wondering what exactly he was asking.
When Tate felt Logan’s hand finally move away from his own, he quickly released the glass as if it were on fire. He watched Logan intently as he lifted the drink to his lips, seemingly contemplating the question.
After taking a sip of the liquor, Logan lowered the glass slowly. “So…I like to try a little bit of everything and everyone.”
The words sank into Tate’s head, settling in, and then they started to make a whole lot more sense—until Logan, as usual, threw another can of gasoline on the fire.
“I’d like to try you.”