Ella Frank - Take

“It means that sometimes you can be charming.”

Logan felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Shoving his hand inside, he pulled it out to see Tate’s name on the screen.

“You can leave now,” he said as he answered the phone and brought it to his ear. Then he added, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!”

Cole opened the door and gave a blasé wave of his hand. “As were you with my problem. Have a good day, brother.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, asshole.”

Two hours.

It’d been two hours since Logan had left his bed and Tate was already missing the guy. How is that even possible?

That arrogant, smart-mouthed lawyer had pushed his way into Tate’s life and managed to take a tight hold of his heart—which was currently jackhammering at the thought of talking to him.

Why am I so fucking nervous?

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d spoken to Logan today. It wasn’t even the first time they’d woken up in the same bed together. It was, however, the first time he was acknowledging things were dramatically changing—especially since Logan had agreed to meet his family.

Last night had been…incredible. Logan had been incredible.

He’d been so controlled and gentle but then fierce and passionate when he’d told him he was ready for more. He’d taken everything Tate had feared and made it acceptable. In fact, he’d made it desirable.

Tate couldn’t even begin to explain to Logan how he was feeling, so he’d been lying there instead, remembering the way they’d rolled around in the same bed only a couple of hours ago. Now, he was left between empty sheets that smelled of Logan, and he had a raging hard-on that was a throbbing reminder of how much the guy had gotten to him.

Reaching across to the nightstand, he lifted his cell and dialed Logan’s number, needing to hear his voice. After several rings, the phone connected and he heard, “You were absolutely no help at all. Thank you for that!” and found himself smiling.

“And what exactly do you need help with this morning, Mr. Mitchell?”

Tate could imagine the humorous look on Logan’s face as his deep voice filtered through the phone.

“Well, well. Look who finally woke up…again.”

Leaning back against his headboard, Tate rubbed a hand through his hair. “I was awake when you crept out this morning.”

“I wasn’t creeping out. I thought you might need a little extra sleep to recuperate.”

Tate’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a laugh. “Are you trying to say that I can’t keep up with you?”

“Are you trying to say that you can? Because if so, we should definitely test that statement tonight.” Logan’s voice was smooth. So smooth that, as it settled over him, Tate slid back down under the sheet.

“You do know that you’re older than I am, right?” he joked, feeling more at ease now that they were back to their usual sparring.

“Am I? And how would you know that?”

“I saw your driver’s license on the counter the other day, old man.”

Logan chuckled, and Tate gave up and laughed along with him.

“So how old are you? Since you know that I’m practically ancient…”

“Thirty-four is hardly old. Except to someone in their…twenties,” he pointed out.

The line went silent, and then Logan said, “Please say you’re older than twenty-five.”

“Why? What would you do if I’m not?”

“I’d be fucking shocked for starters,” Logan informed him, sounding surprised already.

It was funny how something like age had never come up between the two of them before, and he was having too much fun with the fact that it had never even occurred to Logan to ask.

“ Tate ,” Logan warned, his voice dropping down an octave or three.

Tate couldn’t help himself from continuing the tease. Plus, it was distracting him from more serious matters, like the two voicemails already on his phone.

“I mean, I’m obviously over twenty-one since I can sell you alcohol. And what we did last night would still be legal even if I wasn’t twenty-one. So why does it matter?”

“Tate.”

“Yes, Logan?”

“How old are you?” he practically growled.

“Twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty next month.”

He heard a relieved sigh through the phone.

“You fucker.”

Tate busted out laughing. “What would you have done if I’d said twenty-one?”

“I want to say that I’d have walked away—”

“Bullshit,” Tate cut in. “You can’t walk away from me any more than I can from you.”

As Tate realized what he’d just admitted, he shut his mouth. Then Logan’s voice surrounded him in his room that now felt empty.

“Tate?”

He swallowed and placed his palm on his chest, trying to calm the thumping. “Yes?”

“I didn’t even stop to think how old you were. I just had to have you. That should tell you everything.”

Jesus, talk about a wake-up call. It was clear to Logan that it was time the two of them started getting to know one another. He hadn’t even known how old Tate was. That was pretty fucking bad, even for him.

There was more going on here right now, and Logan wasn’t anyone’s fool. He could tell by Tate’s tone that something else was on his mind, and if he were a betting man, he’d guess it was—

“About Sunday…”

Yep , he’d guessed right.

“I don’t want you going because you feel obligated.”

As Tate fell silent, Logan turned his chair so he was staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling window. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that last statement.

Am I only going because I think I have to?

“I mean, this thing between us is really new, and I was pissed off after everything that Jill—”

“Tate?” Logan interrupted.

“Yeah?”

Logan pictured the serious look Tate was probably sporting and felt the side of his mouth turn up. “Do you want me to go with you on Sunday, yes or no?”

He knew that if he was direct about it the man at the other end of the phone would always be brutally honest, and Tate didn’t let him down.

“Yes. I want you there.”

The smile that stretched across Logan’s mouth at that admission surprised him. “Then that’s where I’ll be.”

As the silence hung between them, Logan noted the shift in the mood.

He was busy thinking about Sunday, and he wondered if Tate was too. He could hear him breathing and wanted to ask if there was anything else on his mind, but like always, Logan fell back to the usual when he was uncomfortable—sarcasm.

“That doesn’t mean I have to go to church, right?”

Tate’s chuckle echoed through the phone, and the sound eased his mind somewhat.

“Heaven forbid. Logan Mitchell in a church? You may get struck by lightning. I wouldn’t want that.”

Logan nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. “Well, I never claimed to be an angel.”

Tate’s rumbling laughter continued. “No. You most certainly did not.” He paused and then asked, “Are you religious at all?”

The fact of the matter was that Logan wasn’t in any way, shape, or form religious, but he wondered how Tate, a good Catholic boy, would feel about that.

“ Ahhh, here come the big questions. You do realize that, until only minutes ago, I didn’t even know how old you were.”

Logan heard a knock on his office door as Tate stated, “And you still don’t know my real name.”

Sherry stuck her head around the door, and Logan felt his mouth fall open as Tate’s words penetrated his brain.