“Know him well?”

Logan’s eyes found his, and when they crinkled at the sides behind his glasses, Tate knew he was laughing at him.

“Well as in..?”

“As in, does he suck like a Hoover too?”

The loud, booming laugh that came from Logan had Tate glowering at him as he sat back in his seat.

“What? As if it isn’t a possibility. The guy knows your name.”

“He knows my last name. He called me Mr. Mitchell. Even I’m not that kinky. When I fuck someone, he’s gonna scream my name. Not Mr. Mitchell like I’m his father.” Logan informed him in conspiratorial whisper. “Although…can you call me that for the rest of the night? I want to hear how it sounds out of your mouth.”

“You’re a fucking riot, Mr. Mitchell. How does he know you?”

“I like this restaurant. I come here a lot. But I have to say, I kind of wish it weren’t the case. This whole possessive side of yours is fucking hot.”

“You’re demented.”

“And you get all red when you’re jealous,” Logan chuckled.

Tate scowled at his own stupidity and focused on choosing a meal. He finally settled on the gnocchi and put the menu at the edge of the table as Sam delivered their drinks. They both ordered, and when Logan asked for the bruschetta with the spices mixed on the side to-go, Tate figured he wasn’t hungry.

“So…” Logan prompted.

Tate knew what he wanted and tried to decide how to start. In the end, headfirst seemed the best option.

“Diana was the one who called her.”

Logan picked up his beer, but before it met his lips, he muttered, “Bitch.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my thought too.”

“How the hell did you marry that?”

Tate shrugged. “She wasn’t always like this.”

Logan’s brow winged up as if he doubted it. Then he took a sip and lowered his beer to the table.

“Well, since we’re on the subject of her, you should know she pulled her case from Cole. You’ll likely get the paperwork in the mail in a few days, but it basically means you’ll have to start all over.”

Tate stared at the glass of water in front of him. Christ, he wished it were vodka or tequila—something other than fucking water.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Yeah. I’m thinking her pride was—”

“Fuck her pride,” Tate spat out.

“I’d rather not fuck anything of hers, if it’s all the same.”

As Logan’s words met his ears, Tate couldn’t help his grin. “Well that’s good to know at least. She’s not exactly ugly.”

“That depends. At first glance, I’d agree with you. She’s beautiful—until she opens her mouth. Then you see just how ugly she is.”

Again, Logan had surprised him. Now Tate was wondering how he compared to Diana in Logan’s eyes, and as he looked across the table, he couldn’t help but ask.

“So if she and I were sitting at the table next to yours, who would you—”

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no question. There’s been no fucking question since I saw you.” When he couldn’t find any words, Logan asked, “Do you doubt it?”

Tate raised the glass to his mouth, embarrassed until Logan’s foot found his under the table, connecting them both.

“No,” he finally said past the lump in his throat.

If Logan’s actions hadn’t convinced him, the look in his eyes did. It screamed, ‘I want you.’

“Good. Because like I said, this is a family restaurant. They don’t condone public displays of inappropriate behavior.”

Tate scoffed. “Good to know.”

“Yes. For now, you’re safe. But that rule only applies to the inside of the restaurant. In the parking lot…you’re fair game.”

At that small reminder, Tate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes for a minute to collect his thoughts.

“Tell me what else happened today,” Logan encouraged.

He opened his eyes to find Logan sitting back with his arms crossed. Tate knew he had to start talking if they were going to move past it—and he wanted to move on, to put this behind them.

“Well, you know Diana called my mom.”

“Right. So I’m assuming your mom didn’t take it well, since she thinks I corrupted you. Which I—”

“Don’t even,” Tate managed. “And no, she didn’t take it well.”

Logan waited silently, and Tate could tell nothing would be said until he said it.

“She asked me if I was dating a man. I told her that I was.” His eyes stayed locked on Logan’s, as if daring him to disagree, but when he said nothing, Tate’s bravado left him. “Is that okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“That I said we were dating?”

Logan’s smile was genuine when he nodded, and Tate was surprised that there seemed to be no underlying humor—just sincerity.

“She also asked me how it happened.”

Logan’s face was almost comical as his eyes widened, and Tate couldn’t help playing him a little.

“I told her you wouldn’t leave me alone, cornered me in a conference room, and kissed me so hard I had a bruised mouth for days.”

Logan’s foot rubbed up the inside of his leg as he said in a gruff voice, “You did not. Nice try though.”

Tate’s humor disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when he thought back to his real response and his mother’s reaction.

“She doesn’t understand how it happened. How I could be with a man when I used to be married to a woman.”

As the words tumbled from his mouth, even Tate had to wonder how the shift had occurred. How was it that he was able to accept and understand that he was now with a man?

Because it’s happening to me? Or because it’s Logan?

He had no fucking clue, and when Logan asked, “What did you tell her?” he still had nothing.

“Okay, guys,” the waiter said as he stopped by their table, thankfully saving him. He placed a paper bag in front of Logan and a white plate in front of him. “Is there anything else?”

When they both indicated there wasn’t, he turned, leaving them once again in that heavy, familiar silence.

“What else did she say?” Logan finally asked.

Tate reached for the cheese and covered his pasta in it. “She doesn’t want me to come over this Sunday.”

“Are you sure she just doesn’t want me there?” Logan asked as he lifted his beer and took a swig.

Stabbing a piece of gnocchi with his fork, Tate shrugged. “Same difference.”

“Not really.”

He shoveled several more forkfuls in his mouth—holy shit, he’d been hungry—and suddenly, the fury he’d felt earlier began to surface.

“I told her I wanted you two to meet, and you know what she said to me?” When Logan didn’t respond, Tate continued. “She said she never wanted to meet you. Never. Who says that?”

Pulled back into his own anger, Tate was too far gone to realize how uncomfortable Logan looked and kept on with his disgust.

“She didn’t even bother to listen to my side of the story. Just took Diana’s version as usual and believed her. Jesus, that woman needs to get the hell out of my life already. It isn’t like I’m asking them to sit there and watch us make out. I just want her to meet you for fuck’s sake.”

“Tate?”

“What?” he snapped as his fork hit the edge of the plate with a clanging sound.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. If she just met you—”

“She’d probably feel exactly the same way.”

* * *

Logan knew what Tate was trying to do. He was trying to convince himself that, if his mother met him, things would be different, but Logan was smart enough to know better.

Tate had told him on their first date that he’d been brought up Catholic. That didn’t bode well when it came to his family understanding that he now liked getting naked with a man.

In fact, it had disaster written all over it, which was why he hadn’t wanted to meet them in the first place. He’d only agreed to appease Tate, but right now, Tate seemed anything but appeased.

“What did you say?”

“I’m just saying, even if they met me, they’d probably still feel the same.”