Unconsciously, Logan inserted a finger into his collar and tugged. While he may have worn the suit like a runway model, it was clear he was uncomfortable, and it wasn't just because of the dress code. He knew he would be out of his element, and he had a sneaking suspicion Simons planned it that way. The ADA gave him a guarded smile and explained that as a matter of fact, his mother was the last person in the leather seat of the expensive vehicle.<br/><br/><em>Huh. Well, shit.</em><br/><br/>Thankfully, Simons changed the subject as he threw the car into gear and zoomed down the street, presumably towards the Doc's place. Logan nodded at the compliment and raised a dark brow. "Yeah, well, don't worry, I won't embarrass you. I know which fork to use." Which was a slight exaggeration. Logan wasn't a social misfit, and his mother did raise him to have good manners, but if there were any more than four utensils on the table, he was toast.<br/><br/>Minutes later they pulled up in front of Noah's, and Logan grinned widely at the irreverent tie the man was sporting. The detective's eyes ran up and down the lanky frame in appreciation as the Doc crammed himself into the back seat of the vehicle. Apparently Logan wasn't the only one who could clean up nicely. Simons was a given, of course, the man was probably born wearing CK's and Cole-Haan loafers.<br/><br/>Logan turned to grin at the ADA, while the ever running porn film inside his head suddenly came into sharp focus at mention of Noah riding in the detective's lap. Huh, giving either man a ride on his cock sounded like a better idea than a stuffy dinner at some fancy restaurant, but Logan did agree to go, so he wasn't about to complain. He glanced into the back seat as the Doc tried to get comfortable, without much success. "Sorry, man. I'll let you call shotgun the next ride." Logan tried not to laugh as Noah rolled his eyes.<br/><br/>Nodding as Simons outlined their dinner, Logan wanted to ask what the hell 'pree feeks' was, but wasn't about to let on he had no clue. He was pondering the possible answers as the car swerved to the right, on a collision course with the rear fender of an SUV. The detective reached for the "oh shit" bar along the door frame only to discover the car didn't have one, so he just held his breath and prayed that the crash wasn't painful as his life flashed before his eyes. Somehow, Simons managed not to kill them, and with a loud honk and some obscene gestures from the offended driver in the next line, they continued down the street towards Canlis.<br/><br/>A glance to the back seat revealed a slightly pale Noah, and Logan chuckled. "How 'bout next time, I drive?" He offered, thinking perhaps working undercover in narcotics was only slightly more dangerous than riding with Simons. Thankfully, they pulled into a long driveway that wound its way upwards and away from the bustling city street. The thick Pacific Northwest foliage closed behind them, and suddenly the restaurant appeared, tucked away like an oasis. A valet approached the car as Simons pulled the car underneath the porte' cochere, and the three men exited the vehicle, Logan and the Doc following Simons into the stone and wood beam building, the ADA clearly in his element.<br/><br/>The Maitre D' led the men up a small flight of stairs to a single room, with a table set for three and a wall of windows overlooking Lake Union, the Cascade mountain range visible in the distance. The tree tops brushed the sides of the windows, giving the illusion the small private dining area was set amongst the stiff limbs. A chaise lounge rested along the far wall, and a professional telescope was available for stargazing. The entire effect was stunning and intimate, and it made Logan tug at his collar again. He wanted to enjoy this evening, and the company of his two handsome dining companions, but he could feel his defenses kicking in, a response to the overwhelming feeling of being out of place.<br/><br/>His shoulders stiff, he shoved his hands into his pockets as he observed the room and the view beyond the windows. A waiter appeared and asked if they wanted drinks, and of course Simons ordered wine. Logan glanced over, frowning. If this place didn't carry beer, he was going to be pissed. "Budweiser. Draught if you got it." Fortunately the waiter didn't blink, but merely nodded. "Of course, sir." Logan's gaze flicked over to Simons, who looked like he just bit into a lemon.<br/><br/><em>Sheesh, it's not like I ordered a Colt .45  in a brown paper bag.</em>