“Investment banker,” he threw out.

Logan let out a loud rumbling laugh, and as customers turned to face them, Tate gave a polite smile before looking back to the oblivious man sitting opposite him.

“Seriously? Do I look like a numbers guy?”

“No, not really,” Tate answered truthfully. You look more like a model.

“Thank God for that. What do I look like?” Logan inquired, lowering his voice.

Tate placed his palms on the bar. “Stop it,” he told him pointedly.

“Stop what?”

“Stop flirting with me,” he demanded.

Logan brought the straw to his lips and bit down on the end of it, and then slowly pulled it out. “I think you like it.”

“And I think you’re deranged. Used car salesman.”

Logan frowned. “Now, you’re just trying to be insulting.”

“You’re right, I was. I would bet the last two tips you gave me that you’re a lawyer.”

Logan twirled the black plastic between his fingers. “And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re awfully certain all of a sudden. Did you ask someone?”

Tate answered almost immediately, “No.”

“Then, why so sure?”

“You’re smooth, too smooth, and you always have an answer for everything.”

“Maybe I like debating.”

“Maybe you’re full of shit. Just admit it. It’s okay that I’m right,” Tate announced, full of confidence, as he leaned even closer to add on a whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”

And that, right there, was his biggest mistake.

He saw the precise moment when Logan dropped his focus to Tate’s mouth, and his expression changed from interest to lust, and Tate found himself preparing to fight off an unwanted kiss.

“Careful, Tate.”

“Huh?”

“I am a lawyer, and I’m always looking for a loophole. And I think you do like this, but don’t worry,” Logan told him before promising, “I won’t tell anyone.”

 Tate quickly straightened away from the bar and grabbed the towel off his shoulder, kicking himself in the ass for getting caught up in conversing with this man—again.

“You’re left-handed,” were the odd choice of words that broke through his thoughts.

“And you’re observant,” Tate mumbled, still trying to work out if he did like the attention he was getting from Logan. And if I do, what does that say about me?

“You know,” Logan drawled, “there are lots of interesting facts about left-handed people. Over history, left-handedness has been seen as all kinds of things from a nasty habit to a sign from the devil, a rebellious nature, even…homosexuality. Hmm, I’ve never had a left-hander before.”

Tate stared back at the man who was talking so casually he might as well have been asking about the weather. Nevertheless, every single sentence coming from Logan’s mouth was pushing Tate further out of his comfort zone and straight into the I-must-be-going-fucking-crazy zone.

“And yes, I am observant, sometimes.” Logan lifted the glass to his mouth where he finished the drink and then placed it back on the bar top.

Going into self-preservation mode, Tate asked the usual job-related questions. “Will that be all?”

“Drink-wise, yes.”

“That’s all that’s offered at this hour. Food shut down at ten,” he stated plainly.

“That’s fine. I’m not hungry for food.” Logan clasped his hands on top of the bar.

Tate didn’t know what to say to that unless he was going to slip into the same behavior he had a moment earlier. It was obvious that engaging in conversational-sparring matches with Logan, no matter how innocent, led to dangerous territory and wreaked havoc on Tate’s mental health.

“In that case, I’ll go and let Amelia know.”

“Oh, could you? Because she is exactly who I’ve been picturing naked and bent over for me since I sat down here tonight. And yes, I know that was inappropriate. But, Tate?”

Tate focused on the shameless lawyer, who was definitely checking him out this time, and tried to remain professional. “Yes, Logan?”

“That’s when I’m at my best.”

Tate turned away silently and heard laughter follow after him as he moved farther down the bar, and at that moment, he wondered if Logan was laughing at his own comment or the moron walking away from him.

* * *

Logan knew he had been pushing it tonight. Hell, if there was one speed he didn’t have, it was slow. But he figured if he didn’t make his case with Tate, the opportunity—wait, when did that become a word in this scenario?—would disappear.

After that last drink, the time hit twelve thirty, and he decided he was probably now bordering on the pathetic line—especially considering he was sitting at a bar and drinking alone just so he could watch a certain bartender move around in front of him.

Logan felt the familiar stirring in his cock as he tore his attention from the other man. He got down from the bar stool and made his way into the restroom, trying to decide what he’d seen in Tate’s expression when they had been going back and forth.

Confusion was the first expression that came to mind. It hadn’t once been accompanied by disgust though, and that he could work with.

Finishing up, Logan washed his hands and stepped out into the dim corridor, leading back to the bar, where he practically ran into Amelia.

She stepped in close to him. “Leaving so soon?”

Logan glanced around, and when he saw they were alone, he peered down her black shirt and vest to where she had the top three buttons popped open. Running his tongue along his top lip in contemplation, Logan raised his eyes back to hers.

“I was about to—unless there’s a reason I should stay?”

When Amelia placed her hands on his lower abdomen, stroking his rigid muscles, Logan knew exactly where this was going.

“Well, I was thinking…”

Stepping back into the corner of the hall, Logan wasn’t surprised when she followed.

“What were you thinking?” He was now thinking about her lips around his dick.

Warm hands burrowed under his black shirt before fingers dipped into the top of his jeans. She turned her face up to him, and he watched expectantly as—ah, yes—her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

“I was thinking that I want this,” she whispered daringly as she moved her right hand down to cup him through his jeans, “in my mouth.”

Putting his hand on hers, Logan rubbed it up and down his throbbing cock.

“Then don’t let me stop you,” he invited, and then added, “Did you at least clock out? I’d hate to think you might be fired for inappropriately servicing a patron.”

Removing her hand, Amelia laughed softly as she unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she tugged his pants down and freed his insistent hard-on.

“Well, if worse comes to worst, we can just tell them I was giving exactly what the customer wanted.” Fisting the root of his shaft, she lowered her lips over his sensitive, swollen head.

Logan shut his eyes and imagined a different person altogether kneeling down in front of him—a person with hands as large as his own whose face revealed uncertainty and shock during their conversation tonight. He envisioned brown curls and dark eyes looking up at him as firm lips opened and took him into that mouth he wanted to taste.

As Logan moved his hands to the wall behind him, he didn’t dare open his eyes. He was too busy enjoying the fuck fantasy he was imagining in his head, and when dainty lips slid down his shaft, taking him as deep as they could toward the back of her throat, he tried not to think about the fact that he wanted it harder.

Yeah, I’m an asshole.

He bucked his hips forward into her mouth, but all he was picturing was how much quicker he’d lose his shit if he could reach out and touch cheeks that were rough with stubble—dark stubble like Tate’s.

When a small hand clutched his thigh, Logan was pulled back into reality, and his eyes slid open. That was also the moment they locked on to the man standing at the entrance of the dimly lit hall, who was staring at what was going on with an intense focus that Logan had never seen.

* * *

Tate couldn’t believe what he was looking at, and even more disturbing, he couldn’t look away.

At first, as he stood in the hall leading to the restrooms, he was hit with the visual of Logan backed up against the far corner wall, his legs parted, with Amelia kneeling at his feet. From the silent shadows, Tate could see that Logan’s head was arched back as though the pleasure was so fucking good.

That was all bad enough for Tate until he felt his cock react as though he were the one on the receiving end of Amelia’s mouth. Then, Logan’s eyes opened, and that was when Tate’s reality became one huge blur.

As his stare collided with the other man’s, Tate realized that it was Logan’s focus, not Amelia’s, that made him finally reach full-on, rock-hard, aching status—and there was nothing he could do to try to fool himself into believing otherwise.

Tate absorbed all that he was seeing as Logan moved his hands from beside the wall to direct the head moving rapidly over his cock. Tate felt his breathing accelerate as his fists clenched by his sides. Silently, he watched Logan pump his hips forward, pushing his shaft farther down his coworker’s throat, all the while looking at him and licking his lips.

Unable to make himself move, Tate found that he was entranced by the scene unfolding in front of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man who was eye-fucking him, while face-fucking the woman on her knees.