“You’re right. I wouldn’t have told you. Because it’s private. If and when I was ready, I would’ve called.”

“Which means I never would have known.”

Logan closed his eyes then and pressed their hands hard against his groin. Tate’s tongue almost rolled out of his mouth. He knew that, if the cab were to pull up at the restaurant right this second, getting out and walking inside would be a major fucking problem.

“And that would be a shame, right, Tate?” Evelyn finally addressed him, but there was no way he could find the brainpower to talk. “You seem like such a nice boy.”

The look that filled Logan’s cobalt eyes was full of irony, and so was his positively immoral smile. “He is very nice. But would you stop calling us boys? We’re not sixteen.”

Knowing he didn’t have the same control Logan possessed, Tate realized he needed to get his shit together—something that wouldn’t happen while massaging Logan’s cock. So he pulled his hand back and straightened in his seat.

Logan also sat up, and when their eyes met, he mouthed, “You started it.”

Tate shook his head and stared out the window at the passing cars, trying to calm down. He couldn’t believe he was sitting in a cab and going to dinner with Logan’s mother and he had a fucking hard-on. Who would’ve guessed?

He’d borrowed a pair of dress pants from Logan and a burgundy, button-down shirt, which was under his jacket, and when he’d stepped out of the en suite earlier, he’d known Logan approved. Even with the surly look on his face, he hadn’t been able to mask the heat in those eyes.

Logan had also cleaned up. Wearing all black, he resembled a dark prince as he sat there with his broody expression, which was now heightened by the flush of arousal staining his cheeks.

“This traffic is terrible tonight. Is it always so busy?”

Thankful for the question from the oblivious woman, Tate managed to reply politely. “This is fairly slow compared to some nights.”

“See, this is why I don’t live in the city.”

Logan shifted beside him and said, “That’s not the only reason.”

Curious as to what Logan meant, Tate was about to ask, but before he could, the driver informed them that they were almost there.

Logan glared at the back of the headrest where his mother was sitting, knowing that that was a surefire way to get his body to cooperate as the car pulled up to the front entrance of—

“The Peninsula? Are you out of your mind? This place is ridiculously expensive.”

“Logan,” Tate said softly beside him, but he wasn’t in the mood to be placated.

He clenched his fists as his mother, who hadn’t even bothered responding, pushed the car door open and stepped onto the sidewalk as if she were royalty. Tate followed silently, probably realizing the sour mood he was fighting, and left him seated and fuming.

Why am I so fucking surprised? She does this all the time.

Taking a fortifying breath, Logan shoved his door open and climbed out, coming around the back of the car and over to where Tate was standing beside his mother. He watched her carefully as she pressed something into the cabbie’s hand before giving a little wave. And like every man under Evelyn’s spell, he smiled like a true sap before he got back in his car and left.

“What are we doing here?” Logan asked as she started walking toward the revolving door, where a valet greeted them with polite smiles.

“We’re having dinner. I’ve been here for a week now and thought it would be nice to invite you back to my place,” she said with a flourish as she pushed the door and stepped in as it spun.

Tate glanced his way, and Logan grit his teeth. He was trying to think of a way to explain his mother, one that would make any fucking sense, but in the end, he figured that the best way for Tate to understand would be to just let things play out—after all, she never failed to disappoint in a spectacular way. It was only a matter of time.

“This place is insane,” Tate said and whistled as he looked at the lights above.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed and took his hand. “Evelyn never does anything halfway.”

“Like you, huh?”

Logan stopped in his tracks and said more curtly than he’d intended, “Nothing like me.”

“Okay,” Tate said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, trying to brush it off, but his ill temper seemed determined to stay.

Tate released his hand and pushed his fingers through his hair. It was obvious he was getting annoyed, and Logan knew he was acting like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he started, but before he could continue, Tate was walking away.

Fuck…fuck, he thought as Tate shoved through the revolving door with a little more force than necessary.

Irritated at his own churlish behavior, Logan followed him inside and through the elegant lobby area. He didn’t bother taking the time to observe. He wanted the night over with as fast as possible, which in turn meant no time for sight-seeing.

Once he’d spotted both Tate and his mother waiting for him by the elevator banks, Logan made his way over. When he stopped by the two of them, Evelyn ran a hand down the lapel of his black sports jacket.

“Give me a smile, Hot Wheels.”

Logan saw Tate trying to bite back a grin, and he decided to try to loosen the fuck up.

“If you want to live,” he told Tate in a most serious manner, “don’t ever think about repeating that.”

Tate pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a smug look, and Logan knew that his tease would definitely not heed that particular warning.

When the elevator doors opened, Logan turned back to his mother and asked, “Where are we going? Please don’t say your room.”

“No, silly. We have a table up on the Shanghai Terrace.”

As they followed her inside, Logan mumbled, “Of course we do.”

“What was that?” she asked as she walked over to stand by his side.

Logan looked down at her and let his eyes search her face. He was hoping to see something that would indicate she’d changed, but so far, there was nothing.

“I said, ‘Of course we do.’”

“Well, yes. Only the best for the Mitchells.”

Logan leaned back against the wall of the elevator and felt Tate step beside him. He recognized the move for what it was—a silent show of support should he need it. Not that he really deserved it with the way he was acting.

As they were ushered out of the elevator and into the dimly lit waiting area, Logan scanned the dark, wooden furniture, stunning oriental silkscreens and paintings, and the large wall of windows letting in the lights of Chicago’s skyline.

It was stunning. He had to give his mother that. Her taste, as usual, was impeccable.

“Good evening,” the beautiful, young hostess greeted them. “Welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. Do you have a dinner reservation?”

“Good evening, dear. Yes, I booked a table under Evelyn Mitchell for two. However, there’ll be an extra person dining with us. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“No, certainly not, Mrs. Mitchell.”

They then followed her past several full dining tables to a nice corner one by large double doors that led out onto a terrace.

“Will this work for you this evening?”

Logan decided he should probably locate his manners and pulled his mother’s chair out as she told the woman that it was indeed okay. Then he took the chair opposite Tate. Once they’d ordered their drinks, he looked over to where his mother was shaking her hair back behind her shoulders.

As usual, she was immaculate, wearing an elegant A-line dress in crimson, the same color as her coat. It was amazing the way she never seemed to age—or not so amazing when modern medicine was to thank.

She sat forward as if about to ask state secrets and addressed Tate. “All right. Time to start talking. How long have you known this charmer over here?”