When he got to the other side, Tate said Logan’s name. He waited until he turned his head, and then he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and slapped it down on the desk.

“Here are my results. Tonight, your ass is mine.”

Yeah, Tate thought as he backed away, remembering what Logan had told him. You’re gonna go out of your fucking mind.

He picked his helmet up, well aware of the wild eyes tracking him. Logan looked like a caged animal, and Tate couldn’t wait to unleash him.

Chapter Eleven

Logan had to hand it to him. Tate had finally managed to take his mind off his fucked-up week. With his parting line, the presumptuous bastard had firmly planted a new obsession in his head—one he was still thinking about now, hours later.

He looked himself over one last time. Navy-blue pants, a light-blue shirt, and a grey pullover that made his eyes appear exactly how he felt—stormy. He then grabbed his black, woolen trench coat from the coatrack by the door. Tonight, he’d dressed with one thing in mind: to bring Tate Morrison to his fucking knees.

With his keys in one hand, he shoved his and Tate’s papers in his pocket and set out to find his bartender. It was time to remind him that, sometimes, things were more interesting when there was a fight for who was on top—and I want it with the sexy fucker who left cocksure and victorious. Yes, it’ll be real nice to get one up on him.

It took him less than twenty minutes to get over to the parking garage attached to the building his office and After Hours were located in, and by the time he made it up the elevator and through the front doors of his local haunt, Logan was pleased to note he’d arrived with five minutes to spare.

There was a good amount of activity in the downtown bar, but that wasn’t surprising since it was a Friday night. As he unbuttoned his jacket and walked through the tables, he let his eyes scan the interior, searching out his man.

Tate wasn’t anywhere to be found, and as he settled at the far end of the bar, Logan saw Amelia making her way toward him. With a smile on her face and a towel tucked into the side of her pants, she gave a flirty wink and leaned up against the counter to put a coaster down in front of him.

“Evening, stranger. It’s been a while.”

Logan placed his arms on the bar top and clasped his hands together as his eyes shifted past her to see Stacy, another employee, push through the doors of the back room.

Where is he? he thought before he answered Amelia. “It has been, hasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. So, how’ve you been?”

Logan brought his eyes back to hers and noticed a sparkle in them. “I’m just fine. How are you?”

She flashed him a mischievous grin. “I’m good. Looking for someone?”

“Pretty sure you know who I’m looking for.”

“Pretty sure if you turn around you’ll see him.”

Logan swiveled on the stool and found Amelia to be right. Tate was standing over by the booths against the far wall with his back to him, but he’d know those shoulders and trim waist anywhere. The white towel that had been a fascination of his when they’d first met was hooked into the waist of Tate’s pants and automatically drew Logan’s eyes. He had one hand on the back of the seat he was standing by, talking to the women sitting in the booth, who were laughing up at him. When he bent across to take the glass from the blonde who was holding it out for him, Logan heard her giggle from across the room at something Tate must’ve said.

Logan put an elbow on the bar behind him and continued to watch the way Tate engaged the entire table before he walked to the next. At each booth he checked on, the patrons smiled, chatted, and seemed to genuinely enjoy interacting with the personable, not to mention extremely good-looking, bartender.

“He’s really good with them, isn’t he?” Amelia asked behind him.

Logan observed Tate as an outsider might. “Yeah, he’s great. They really love him.”

“Yep. They sure do. Not a hard thing, I imagine.”

Logan chuckled. “Are you trying to weasel information out of me?”

“Me? Never.”

“Sure.”

Amelia placed a hand on her hip and shrugged. “I’m just saying I bet he’s easy to love.”

“That better be all you’re saying.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Ever since you got your hands on him, he doesn’t even flirt with the customers anymore.”

Oh really? Logan thought, loving that particular piece of information.

“He’s friendly, but that’s where it ends. He’s a good—”

“A good what?” Tate’s voice interrupted Amelia’s words and had Logan’s head whipping around to see him standing in front of him.

Straightening on the stool, Logan took in the immaculate After Hours uniform and had a sudden flash of the last time he’d been up close and personal with it. That had him shifting on his seat.

Tate glanced at the clock on the wall, and then he brought his eyes back to meet his and gave a smile that just about melted Logan’s insides. It was full of ego and sex as it screamed, I know you want me—but you’re gonna have to work real hard before you have me.

“You’re on time.”

With a sharp nod, Logan told him, “I’m not the one with time-management issues.”

That was when Tate shocked the hell out of him. He placed a hand on his chest right there in the middle of the bar and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“No, you just have an attitude one. You look seriously hot tonight, by the way.”

When he took a step back and walked down the length of the bar to the pass, Logan was left sitting on the stool with his mouth hanging open, thinking, Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play… Challenge accepted.

Tate could feel Logan’s eyes on him as he lifted the pass and stepped behind the bar. He liked that, tonight, they were back where it had all begun. Back to the place where he had first met the compelling man currently sitting at the end of the bar.

Yeah, the only difference is I know exactly what’s going on behind those blue eyes of his.

He made his way over to where Logan was watching him, and as he got closer, he pulled the towel from the back of his pants and ran it through his hands. Logan’s eyes dropped to the movement, and Tate couldn’t help the smug look that was plastered on his face. He knew that Logan was imagining what was planned for later—and damn if that didn’t excite the hell out of him.

Stopping in front of the tense man, Tate leaned his hip against the bar and said, “The usual?”

“No, not tonight. I think I’ll just have a water. Please.”

Tate got a glass and some ice, and then aimed a look back at his “customer.” “A water, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever served you straight-up water. I thought, after the week you’ve had, you might go with something a little stronger. You seem like you need it to unwind. If you know what I mean.”

As the words he’d once said months ago lingered in the air between them, Logan licked his bottom lip, and this time, Tate had no problem watching the sensual move. What had once been awkward, strange—even a little taboo—was now hot as hell and making him hard as a fucking rock.

Those intelligent eyes behind the black, hipster frames were calculated as they swept over him, and Tate could tell that his words from this afternoon were now running through his lawyer’s head—just the way he’d hoped they would.

Something that could be said about Logan: he could never resist an outright challenge. Especially one against anything authoritative. And ordering his ass to be in the bar at a certain time or else had definitely brought his competitive side out to play.