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?”

Logan looked to Tate, who was now standing in his living room with his hands in the pockets of his shorts and the newly added T-shirt. Tate looked over to where he was standing almost as if to gauge how he was supposed to be reacting, but Logan didn’t have time to warn him one way or another.

Evelyn was Evelyn, and nothing he did or did not say would change that.

“I’m Tate,” he offered in the end, and then he flashed that smile of his that made Logan’s heart thump and his dick hard.

She took his hand, shook it, and then said, “Good taste, son. He’s gorgeous.”

When Tate chuckled, Logan rolled his eyes and turned to pour himself some scotch.

“Have you two eaten yet? We should—”

“Yes,” Logan lied just as Tate replied, “Not yet.”

“You see what he’s trying to do?” She tsked. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother, Logan.”

“It’s late,” he stated as he faced them, a glass in his hand. The last thing he wanted to do was go out to a restaurant, not to mention be stuck, with her. “We both have work tomorrow.”

“You can go in late. That’s the beauty of owning your own company,” she retorted then aimed a “please say yes” look up at Tate, who was standing beside her. “What do you say? Want to have dinner with me and hear all about Logan when he was still sweet to his old mom?”

Tate smiled at him. It was obvious he wanted to go. It was also clear as a fucking bell that, once again, Evelyn had charmed her way into another man’s life.

It all would’ve been amusing if her track record didn’t make it so fucking tragic.

Chapter Nine

Twenty minutes later, Tate found himself seated next to Logan in the back of a cab, while his mother was up front. After he’d finally given in, Logan had mumbled something about this being a “fucking disaster waiting to happen” and then had gone to his room to change. Tate had decided that a quick shower and borrowing Logan’s clothes were in order since Evelyn had mentioned wanting to take them somewhere fancy.

Now they were in the cab, and he’d been smart enough to avoid engaging the volatile man beside him…until right this second.

As Evelyn started to speak to the driver, Tate leaned over and put his lips by Logan’s ear. “I know what you mean now.”

Logan faced him, a scowl of annoyance still firmly in place, but there was a definite question in his eyes.

“You know when you tell me how crazy it makes you when I scowl? This prickly, ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude you’re throwing around? It’s all kinds of sexy.”

One of Logan’s dark eyebrows rose. “Really? You’re coming on to me here? My mother is sitting in the front seat.”

Tate hummed and put his hand on Logan’s leg, sliding it up his thigh as he flicked his tongue over his earlobe. “Do you want me to stop?”

Logan coughed a little and shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

With a smile against Logan’s cheek, Tate flexed his fingers into the material under his hands. “No, you didn’t, did you? Did you—”

“It’s so nice to spend an evening with family. We never get to do that, do we, Logan?” Evelyn’s question broke through Tate’s rapidly growing lust and reminded him that Logan was right—they were in a cab with his mother.

He shifted so he was sitting back in his seat, and just when he was about to remove his hand, Logan’s came down over his to guide it farther up his leg.

“No, we don’t. And I’m so distraught I can hardly speak of it,” Logan said in a droll voice while he interlaced their fingers, locking his in place.

“Don’t get sassy with me, young man. I’m still your mother.”

Tate’s eyes moved to Evelyn and then shifted back to Logan as he spread his legs a little wider and turned his head toward him—all the while carrying on a perfectly normal conversation.

Damn his ability to be so in control while turned on.

“I’m well aware of who you are, Evelyn. I’m just trying to work out what it is you want.”

Tate bit down on his lower lip, thinking of exactly what he wanted in that moment, and Logan’s eyes practically dared him to come get it. After making sure the other occupants in the car were facing forward, Tate glided their hands over to the growing erection under Logan’s black pants.

“Is it a crime that I wanted to come and see my boy? I hardly think so. And it’s a good thing I did. You never would have told me about Tate.”

Tate wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation. He was too busy squeezing his fingers around the hardness under his palm, and when Logan’s lips parted and he pushed his hips up a little, Tate had to bite back a groan. Goddamned exhibitionist.