Reading progress update: I've read 52%.
But as Logan got to his feet and tossed his napkin down on the table to walk past his dinner companion, he raised his eyes once again to meet Tate’s, and instead of shock, they were now filled with an expression Tate was more than familiar with—desire.
Jesus, he’s potent, Tate thought, as Logan made his way through the tables, his focus now locked on Tate like a fucking laser beam, and when he came to a stop at the bar, Logan gestured for the bartender.
Tate let his eyes roam over Logan’s striking profile, from his perfectly styled hair and day-old stubble, to his high cheekbones and masculine jaw line, and damn, there was no denying it—Logan was fucking hot.
