Logan glanced down to his black hoodie, grey running shorts, and navy-blue Northwestern University T-shirt. “Seven actually, but who’s counting?”

Tate scoffed. “You, apparently.”

“Well, I can’t have you thinking I lack stamina.”

Tate rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “That thought has never once crossed my mind. Are you coming in this time? I assume you’re not here to stand in my doorway?”

“And I see that you’re still a little—”

“Irritable?” Tate supplied.

Logan took a step forward and ran his gaze over the tangle of brown curls falling by Tate’s face. “Yeah. Irritable seems about right.”

Tate didn’t move, but he did hold his ground. “Well, do you blame me? Tonight was—”

“A total fucking mess?” Logan finished, hazarding a guess.

“Something like that.”

He walked inside and scanned Tate’s apartment as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. When no response came from Tate, he continued. “I kept thinking back to when Chris put his hand on you and all I wanted to do was kick his ass. But then…” He watched Tate close the door and lean his back up against it—silent and focused on him. “But then I remembered the last time I’d seen him. I’d been doing exactly that. Kicking his ass.” He came over to where Tate was standing and—quite unexpectedly—confessed, “I have trouble sleeping without you.”

Tate’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, and then he shut it and, instead, smiled.

“Does that sound like I’m punishing you?” Logan asked. He loved the way Tate’s eyes darkened as they lowered to his mouth.

“No.”

“No? Then how does it sound?” he asked, continuing forward until he was between Tate’s legs.

“It sounds—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, trying to appear contrite. “You were saying?”

“It sounds as if you like me,” Tate said. Then he added with an arrogant smirk, “A lot.”

Logan’s heart thumped in his chest as he concentrated on what he’d come there to do. But when Tate reached for his hips and pulled him flush against his body, all of Logan’s thoughts took a flying leap.

“Mhmm, I do,” Logan said. “It’s a little more than like though.”

One of Tate’s hands stroked its way down to his ass, and when he pushed off the door and placed his lips to Logan’s throat, Logan wondered if he’d remember his own name in the next ten seconds.

Then Tate’s voice echoed through the silent apartment. “But you sent me away with a kiss on the cheek.”

Logan jerked his head back. “That’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. I understand that it was tense in there—”

“Fuck yes, it was tense,” Logan stressed, trying to make Tate understand where he was coming from. “After seeing Chris and then dealing with Cole, it was unbelievably tense.”

Tate’s fingers left him, and he started to walk away, farther into the apartment. “But when we were in the car and heading home, you should’ve talked to me. Communicated.”

Lightning fast, Logan snagged Tate’s arm and halted him in his tracks. “Say that again.”

Tate narrowed his eyes and began to repeat himself. “You should’ve communicated with me. How am I going to know—”

Logan shook his head. “Not that. Back up a little further.”

Tate’s confusion was obvious as he told him, “I don’t understand.”

Logan took his chin between his fingers and pressed a kiss to Tate’s lips. “We were heading home. I like that. Us, heading home, together. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that bird has flown the coop, Logan. You already dumped me at the curb—”

“With a kiss on the cheek. Yes,” Logan groaned. “I noted that down, and I solemnly swear to never do it again. Which, by the way, I have kissed you on the cheek before, and you have never complained quite so emphatically. But that’s not what I mean.”

Tate frowned at him. “Then what do you mean?”

“I mean—no. I want…” Logan paused, his stomach knotting as Tate’s eyes widened and his hands rose as if pleading with him to fucking speak.

“What? What do you want, Logan? Because, personally, I’d really like a couple of extra hours to sleep—”

Logan swallowed, and before he lost his nerve, he heard himself say, “I want you to move in with me.”

Chapter Two

Tate was sure he’d misunderstood what Logan had just said.

It was early and he was still half asleep. That had to be it, because for one crazy minute, he was sure he’d heard—

“Tate? Did you hear what I said? I want you to move in with me.”

Tate brought a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead. Then, without a word, he spun on his toes and walked back to his kitchen. He could hear Logan following behind, but he didn’t trust himself to speak just yet.

He stopped in front of the fridge, opened it, and scanned the contents. Milk, water, and orange juice. Nothing that was going to help with this. After shutting the door, he remembered where something that would help was. Upon opening the cabinet above the fridge, he found a bottle of tequila.

Yeah, fuck it. This calls for a shot.

He poured a small amount of liquid into a glass before he picked it up and downed it.

“Wow,” Logan said as he stopped on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think my invitation would drive you to drink.”

Tate placed the glass down with an unsteady hand and gripped the cool marble. “Quit joking around.”

Logan raised his hands, palms out, and asked, “Who’s joking? I was serious. Never more so.”

“Then you’re out of your mind,” Tate muttered, pushing the glass aside as he made his way around to where Logan was standing. “This is how you ask me? This is when you choose to ask me?”

Logan’s eyes scanned his face, and Tate could tell by the way his jaw bunched that he was getting annoyed. “What’s wrong with now?”

Tate let out a sound of disbelief and walked to his bedroom. “Other than we had a terrible night, we were just arguing, and it’s almost five in the morning?”

“Oh, come on. This wasn’t really an argument,” Logan pointed out. “Tate? Hold up, would you?”

Tate took a deep breath and turned back to lock eyes with the blue ones trying to gauge his mood. “I can’t move in with you.”

Logan gave a slow nod before he asked, “Can’t or won’t?”

He wondered what the difference meant to Logan, but he repeated, “Can’t.”

Logan’s mouth split into a wide grin as he strolled over to where he was standing—tense as a fucking trip wire.

“What are you smiling about?” Tate knew that his tone was surly, but this was just like Logan. Impulsive, brash, and always picking the worst possible time to say shit. He hadn’t once stopped to think about how his request might make him feel. He’d just figured that, since he thought it was a great idea, so would everyone around him.

The problem was that it had instantly made Tate feel…inadequate. Although he was sure Logan would kick his ass if he ever told him so.

“I can work with can’t,” Logan said as he pushed past him into the bedroom. “Now, would you stop arguing with me so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep?”

Logan took his hoodie and shirt off before he walked over to the left side of the bed to toe his shoes off. He then pulled the quilt back, removed the rest of his clothing, and climbed inside as if it were his own bed. Once he was comfortable, he placed his hands behind his head and aimed his eyes toward Tate.

“Don’t act as if you get any more sleep than I do when you’re alone. I won’t believe you.”

Tate pushed off the doorjamb and moved to his side of the bed. “You’re a cocky bastard. You know that?” He removed his shirt and sweatpants and slid back under the covers; the warmth of Logan’s skin lured him in, and Tate automatically fit himself to his side.