“IS HE HERE?” Logan scanned the handful of customers seated in The Popped Cherry for the early morning lunch they opened for on the weekends, as he waited for an answer from their new bar manager, who’d just come to a stop at the end of the counter.

Robbie Bianchi, dressed smartly in his work attire, stood opposite them and indicated with a tilt of his head the booths on the opposite side of the establishment. “He sat over in the other section, thank God. Got here around fifteen minutes ago.”

“Of course he did,” Logan said, and shot a pointed looked in Tate’s direction. “I told you. He’s always early.”

“We’re only a few minutes late. Stop worrying. I’m sure he doesn’t even care.”

Robbie wiped down the bar and shrugged. “I don’t know about that. He was about as happy as a grizzly bear when he got here, and has been scowling ever since.”

“Why?” Logan said. “What did you say to him?”

A flash of concern crossed Robbie’s features for a millisecond until Logan’s lips curved and Robbie let his indignation come to the surface instead. “Nothing. I sent Bianca to take his order. The less I have to do with that man, the better for all of us.”

Logan arched an eyebrow at Robbie’s tone. “That man pulled off a miracle when he got your cousin out of a jail sentence. I’d think you could finally admit there was some merit to his way of doing things.”

Robbie made an inelegant sound. “Please, the last thing I’d ever do is give him that kind of satisfaction.”

“But you’d be open to other forms?” Logan said. “Good to know. Maybe that’ll cheer him up.”

Robbie gave him a droll look, and then flicked his gaze in Tate’s direction. “Can you please get him out of my face?”

Tate took hold of Logan’s elbow and nodded. “You got it. Everything else going okay in here today?”

“Until about fifteen minutes ago, just peachy.”

As Tate tugged on Logan’s arm, Logan said, “You used to be such a cheery young man.”

“Yeah? Well, you only used to see me five minutes out of a day. Maybe I wasn’t so cheery when you weren’t around.”

“Aww,” Logan said. “You missed me when I left. That’s really sweet. And borderline stalkerish. We did do a background check on him, right, Tate?”

“Oh my God.” Robbie rolled his eyes. “Go away, please.”

As they left the bar, Tate tsked Logan. “Is there a reason you continue to harass him so much?”

“Other than the pure enjoyment I get out of it? Not really,” Logan said, as they wove their way through some people entering the front door.

As they headed around the corner, Logan spotted the man they were there to meet sitting in the far booth with his head bent down over his phone, and yeah, okay, he did have a surly expression on his face. “You don’t happen to have any honey out the back anywhere, do you? I hear that’s what bears like.”

“Huh?”

“Robbie’s right. Maybe it was a bumpy flight,” Logan muttered. “He does not look happy.”

* * *

TATE FOLLOWED LOGAN’S lead as they headed over to where the newest partner of Mitchell & Madison sat glaring at whatever he was reading on his phone. Joel Priestley.

Tate was still trying to work the guy out. He’d met with him a couple of times now. Once at the office, and once at a partners’ dinner with Cole, Rachel, and Logan, and still he didn’t have a great read on him. That was unusual for him, given his chosen profession, and one he usually took great pride in being able to do well—but not with this guy.

Priest, as Logan and Cole called him, was a difficult one to figure out and get to know—whenever he opened his mouth to speak, it was always done with purpose and as few syllables as possible.

“Well, there he is,” Logan said. “The L.A. transplant. No need to frown so hard, Priest. We’re not that late.”

Priest glanced up from whatever he’d been reading, but even after he’d ascertained who’d addressed him, the tight-lipped expression he sported didn’t waver.

Yeah, Tate thought. There’ll be no “so good to see you two again” coming from this guy.

As they slid in the opposite side of the booth, Priest sat back in his seat and rested an arm across the table, absently spinning the phone, which he’d flipped over so it sat facedown in front of him.

“The only time I’d be frowning over you being late, Mitchell, is if I were here to date you or fuck you,” Priest said matter-of-factly. “Which we all know I’m not.” Tate then watched his eyes drop down to Logan’s open collar. “Nice bruise.”

Logan looked down, but, clearly unable to see what Priest was seeing, opted for rearranging the collar of his shirt instead. Tate didn’t even raise an eyebrow. He wasn’t about to deny what had made them late. He merely smirked, pretty damn pleased with himself.

Priest was a smart guy, and one thing that Tate had learned from their first meeting was that he was stealthy like a sniper. One who aimed-and-fired with no warning at all. He balanced Logan out in that way, because while Logan was whip smart, he was a direct hitter, the one whose intentions were always crystal clear. With Priest you didn’t know he was there until he was gone, having done exactly what he came to do.

“I always love finding out new things about friends. Don’t you, Tate?” Logan said, never one to be easily shocked or offended. “Have to say, though, Priest, didn’t know you swung our particular way.”

“I don’t swing, period,” Priest said. “Not my scene.”

“Now there’s a shocker.” Tate laughed, and it wasn’t lost on him that Priest had neither confirmed nor denied the part about whom he didn’t swing with.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” Logan said, shifting toward Tate. Then he draped a proprietary arm across the back of Tate’s shoulders. “I bet you didn’t play well with others as a child, either. Did you?”

Priest looked between the two of them, his eyes narrowing on Logan’s arm. “As if you did.”

Logan chuckled, and Tate couldn’t help but join him. “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Tate said. “He played very well with others for a long time. Maybe a little too well.”

Priest sized Logan up. “Now that does surprise me.”

Tate, curious as to Priest’s way of thinking, cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

“Really,” Priest said. “He’s the most settled one sitting at this table. I can’t imagine him playing the field at all. He likes the one-on-one too much.”

At that little analysis, Tate’s jaw almost hit the table, and then he let out a raucous laugh. When Logan’s fingers tugged on his hair in response, Tate looked over at him and wiped a tear away from his eye.

“You okay there?” Logan asked.

Tate tried to bank his hilarity, but he was still trying to wrap his brain around what Priest had said. Maybe the guy isn’t so smart. How anyone could look at Logan and think he couldn’t, and hadn’t, gotten anyone he wanted was baffling to him. Hell, he’d even gotten me, the straight guy.

“I feel like I should be somewhat insulted by your reaction,” Logan said, but his grin made it obvious he was amused not offended.

“Sorry,” Tate said around a laugh. “That was just…unexpected.”

“Well, since you knew me before I met you, I suppose I have no wiggle room, do I?”

“Not even a little,” Tate said, grinning. But when Logan’s vibrant eyes took on that thoughtful light he’d had more often of late, Tate found himself caught in that stare a little longer than felt normal under the current circumstances.

It wasn’t until Priest spoke up again that Tate even remembered he was at the table with them.

“Okay. So when are you two going to get the hell out of my new condo so I can move in?”

* * *

LOGAN WAS FINDING it difficult to concentrate on anything other than Tate as he sat there transfixed by his profile. Tate had rounded back to Priest when he’d asked his question about their moving situation, but Logan was still getting over the one-two punch his newest business partner had just landed with his offhand comment—He’s the most settled one sitting at this table… He likes the one-on-one too much—which had left Logan wondering how in the hell Priest had picked up on that.

It was true, of course. He was happy not playing the field now that he had Tate. But the no-nonsense way Priest had delivered his assessment made it sound as though a monogamous relationship was something Logan had been in search of his entire life.

Bet he wouldn’t think that if he knew how much the prospect of that very notion is messing with me lately. Or is it? Jesus. The guy was fucking with his head now, and when Logan looked across at Priest, he saw his eyes crease, as though he knew exactly what Logan was thinking. Perceptive asshole.

“About two weeks should do it. Right, Logan?” Tate’s voice caught Logan’s attention, giving him an excuse to look away from Priest, which he immediately took advantage of.

“Yes. I think that should be good. Then it’s all yours. That okay with you?”

“That works,” Priest said. “Any more than two weeks in a hotel and it feels like the walls are closing in. I start to get antsy.”

“Can’t have that,” Logan said. “Don’t want you running back to the West Coast before you prove your worth.”

“I already proved that, or I wouldn’t be sitting here.” Priest spun his phone on top of the table again. “But if you want me to continue doing so, make sure your ass is out in two weeks. I need my space and privacy if you expect me to work on all cylinders. I’m no good to anyone when I don’t get it.”

It was an interesting way to phrase things, but before Logan could say so, Tate spoke up. “You’re a peculiar guy. You do know that, right?”

A slow curve morphed the corner of Priest’s lips, and he gave a nod. “I do know that. Thank you.”

“Right,” Logan said, and brought his hand down to rap his knuckles on the table. “I don’t know about you two, but I want a drink.” More like need one.

“I could go with one too,” Tate agreed, and then looked out of the booth to Robbie and waved. When Robbie looked their way, Logan saw Priest snatch up his phone and slide out of the booth, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“I’m going to pass. It’s been a long day with the early flight, and I’ve yet to check in.”

It was now Logan’s turn to size up the man shrugging into his jacket. Long day my ass.

He didn’t know jack shit about Priest’s private life, not even if he had one he’d left behind. But one thing Logan knew for certain was that the dislike Robbie felt toward Priest was returned tenfold. And that was the only reason he was leaving to go back to his cramped hotel room.

“Don’t let us hold you up,” Logan said, aiming an arrogant smile in Priest’s direction as Tate sat back and looked up at the man. And then, because he felt he owed Priest a final jab for so perfectly getting under his skin earlier, Logan made sure to add, “We wouldn’t want you to get antsy.”

Just as Logan predicted, Priest’s brow furrowed, and Logan raised his hand to give a quick wave. “See you Monday, Priest.”

“Until then, Mitchell. Tate.”

“See you soon,” Tate said, and without another word, Priest left the bar.

* * *

“THAT GUY IS…” Tate thought over his words and then ended, “Interesting.”

“That he is,” Logan said, shaking his head.

“I never actually thought I’d meet anyone more direct than you, but…” When one of Logan’s eyebrows arched, Tate continued, “He definitely gives you a run for your money.”

Logan pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You wouldn’t be wrong. But that’s what makes him so effective. I don’t think anything could shock him.” As he turned on the camera in his phone, Tate watched Logan flip the screen so his face was on it, and then he reached up and pulled aside the collar of his shirt. When he spotted the mark Tate had left on his neck, Logan aimed narrowed eyes Tate’s way. “Not even a huge bruise on my neck, apparently. Good job, Morrison.”

Tate’s eyes lowered to the purplish mark marring the skin, and he felt an immediate flood of possessiveness. Hmm, I did do a good job. Mine, he thought. “I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

Logan’s gaze smoldered at the reminder, and just as he was about to speak, Robbie arrived at their table.

“What can I get for— Holy shit, look at your neck.”

Tate brought a hand up to muffle a laugh, while Logan switched off his phone and shrugged his shirt back in place. It managed to cover the bruise now that Tate was looking, but when Logan shifted in just the wrong direction, that shirt of his spread wide and, oh yeah, there was his stamp of ownership.

“Jesus,” Logan said. “Am I going to have to button this thing all the way to my throat?”

Robbie’s eyes moved between the two of them, but then finally skidded to a stop on Tate. “Wow. Who would’ve guessed you had that in you.”

Logan sighed beside him, and Tate, feeling particularly proud of himself, gave Robbie an arrogant look. “Trust me. You haven’t guessed the half of what’s been in me—”

“Tate,” Logan said, whipping his head in his direction. But Tate just laughed. He was having too good of a day, and Robbie was around them often enough now that there was no point in always censoring himself.

At first, Tate had been overly careful about what came out of his mouth in regard to him and Logan around his new bar manager. But damn it was getting exhausting, and hadn’t one of the biggest draws of hiring Robbie been that he’d be comfortable in this place of business? Plus, with Logan, it was close to impossible to keep talk of sex out of the equation, and it wasn’t like Robbie would ever judge one way or another.

So, yeah, it’s time to just settle in and be myself, Tate thought. “Stop acting so shocked,” he said to Logan. “You know it’s true, and it’s not like you’ve never left a mark on me.”

“Well,” Logan said, relaxing back in his chair and stretching his arm back out behind Tate’s shoulders. “I guess I’ve been told.”

“I would say so,” Robbie finally said, and then he aimed an interested look in Tate’s direction. “By the way. This conversation just totally put you in his league.”

Tate eyed Robbie, wondering what exactly he meant by that.

“Anyone that can boss him around has to be smokin’ hot in the bedroom. Add in the fact you’re clearly an animal,” Robbie said, his eyes once again going to Logan’s neck, “and sorry, Logan, suddenly you’re not the sexiest owner of this bar.”

Logan scoffed, and Tate felt his fingers weave through the back of his hair as Logan leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Trust me. I’m well aware of who the sexiest person in this bar is. Now go away and get us a couple of beers so I can leave a mark of my own on him.”

Tate hummed in the back of his throat and put a hand on the thigh Logan now had plastered against his, as Robbie took one last look at the pair of them and then went to do as he was told.

“Whatever will we do about having such mouthy employees? Me with Priest. You with him,” Logan said, as he flicked his tongue over Tate’s earlobe.

“I was just thinking that Robbie was turning out to be a close to perfect one for us.” Logan pulled back and eyed him as though he’d lost his mind, and Tate shrugged. “You have to admit, he’s good at following orders.”

Logan’s gaze drifted beyond the booth to where Robbie was now heading behind the bar to fetch their drinks. “He is good at that.”

Tate thought about how stressed he’d been over the prospect of hiring someone new to come in and take Amelia’s place. But the transition between her and Robbie had been seamless. He’d picked it up faster than they’d expected, and though he was still finding his footing when it came to the confidence of being in charge, Tate was starting to see the sass that had once been such an inherent part of Robbie reemerge. “He knows us. There are no surprises there.”

“True…”

“And he’s…fun,” Tate said, surprising himself.

“Fun?”

“Yeah. When he’s not trying to be something he’s not. He’s fun. I feel comfortable around him.” That brought Tate up short, and he laughed. “God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Neither can I. But I get it.” Logan placed his hand over the one Tate still had resting on his leg. “He was the first person to give you that sense of acceptance. He didn’t bat an eyelash over the fact that you were with me when we started dating.”

“You’re right. That’s definitely a part of it. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Tate said, “he helped me accept who I was and who I wanted. And now I feel like he has no idea who he is anymore.”

“Yeah.” Logan let out a sigh, and then stroked his fingers down the back of Tate’s neck. “I can see your brain working overtime. You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

Tate looked over his shoulder toward the bar, and when he saw Robbie headed back in their direction with two bottles in hand, he looked at Logan and said, “I don’t know. Maybe a little. I mean, maybe this time I can help him out.”

“Gonna pay it forward with Robert Bianchi, huh?”

“Would that be so bad? Lord knows he seems as though he could do with a little guidance in his life.”

“You won’t hear any argument from me on that. From the little I’ve gotten out of him, he’s still trying to get his feet back under him. Just make sure he’s aware that the sexiest bar owner is taken. We both know how incorrigible he is.”

“Was,” Tate said. “He was incorrigible. Now he’s—”

“Right here…” Logan said, as the man they’d been discussing arrived at their table and put their beers down in front of them.

When both of them looked over at Robbie and plastered what Tate suspected were the fakest smiles imaginable on their faces, Robbie said, “What?”

“Nothing,” they said at the same time.

But Robbie wasn’t buying that. “You’re full of shit. Both of you.”

Logan wagged a finger as he reached for the Corona and pushed the lime wedge into the bottle. “See, Tate? What’d I tell you? We’re stuck with two new employees who clearly think it’s okay to talk back to their bosses. Between him and Priest, I don’t know who’s worse.”

“Uhh, I’m nothing like him,” Robbie said, and Tate could tell it took everything in the guy not to say anything more on the subject. “Do you two want any food, or is that it?”

“Nah, this is good,” Tate said, and Robbie, the smart man, didn’t linger. He turned on his heel to walk away, and Tate looked over at Logan. “Maybe we need to have a get-together at our new house when we settle in. Or a game night. We could invite a couple of extra players. A West Coast transplant and a lost little sheep. It’s the friendly thing to do.”

Logan let out a loud bark of laughter and took a swig of his beer. “Oh, that’s just asking for trouble, Mr. Morrison. I don’t know if you’re brave or stupid.”

Considering that was the second time he’d been told that today, Tate was starting to believe that maybe it was a little bit of both, and maybe that was what happened when you were so damn happy.

You became braver than usual. And inexplicably stupid.