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up a small black straw from the container on the bar.
    “Guess.”
    Flinging the towel over his shoulder, Tate looked Logan over quickly, but since Logan was in his casual clothes, Tate knew he’d get nothing from that.
    “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