Nothing Between Us (7 page)

He swallowed his bite of eggs. “Nothing, just saw you hightail it over there last night, figured I’d interrupted plans or something.”

“I was supposed to help her finish cleaning up, and I was going to bring burgers over but . . . got sidetracked last night.”

“By me?”

“Eventually by you. But by whiskey first. Had a shitty day at work.”

“How come?”

Colby pushed at his breakfast. “A student attempted suicide over the weekend.”

Keats flinched. “Sorry. He okay?”

Colby blew out a breath, not sure why he was sharing any of this with Keats but unable to stop. “Yeah, thank God. But I’ve been put on leave since I was the last one to counsel him. His parents want an investigation.”

“Counsel?”

Colby took another long sip of coffee. “Yeah, I’m a school counselor now. I went back for my master’s after . . . after I left Hickory Point.”

Keats’s head lowered and he picked at the food on his plate. They stayed quiet for a few more minutes until Keats shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “You lost your teaching job because of me.”

Colby leaned back in his chair, the past pressing down on him with that, smothering him in the bright, airy kitchen. “No, I resigned. I knew the rumors wouldn’t stop. And really, I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway.”

Colby wouldn’t tell Keats that he’d been physically sick with grief for months, torturing himself with the constant
what if
s, wondering what could have saved Keats, and knowing, deep in his gut, that he’d handled things all wrong. He’d seen too much of himself in Keats and had wanted to be there for him. But he should’ve known that offering that level of open conversation could be misconstrued by a confused kid. He hadn’t kept the boundaries clear enough. And that last night, when Keats had asked if Colby was bi, Colby had admitted that the rumors were true.

Looking back, it had been so inappropriate to share that. But he’d seen Keats tearing himself up for feelings and urges he was having, using his father’s hateful language as a constant internal soundtrack. He and his dad had had a huge fight that final night, and his father had threatened to send Keats to military school.

Besides the regular music classes at school, Keats had been taking guitar lessons two nights a week with Colby. But that final evening, he hadn’t shown up for his appointment at the rec center where they met. Late that night, he’d shown up on Colby’s doorstep instead, carrying his broken guitar. Keats’s father had smashed his son’s most precious possession against the wall.

Colby had made the fatal error of letting Keats inside. Keats had spilled everything about the fight with his dad. His father had found a sheet of lyrics Keats had written—a song called “Off Limits” that had made it sound like Keats was in love with a boy. His father had flipped his shit, called Keats every disgusting name in the homophobe handbook, and had told him he’d rather be dead than have a fag for a son. Even when Keats denied that the song had anything to do with that—that it was really about how everything he loved to do, like playing music, was off-limits—his father hadn’t listened. His dad wasn’t going to be satisfied until his artsy son turned into what he wanted—a tough-as-nails “man’s man” who would follow in his father’s and older brother’s footsteps into the Marines.

It had taken everything Colby had not to drive over to Keats’s house and beat the stupid out of Keats’s father. How could anyone look at Keats and not see how talented and amazing the kid was? But he’d controlled himself and had tried to be there for Keats as a sympathetic ear and to offer a safe place for him to express his feelings. But when Keats had asked him point-blank about his sexuality, Colby hadn’t been able to lie. Instead of saying that wasn’t an appropriate question to ask him, he’d been honest.

Colby had long suspected the kid was confused about his sexuality, and he’d wanted Keats to know that if he felt drawn to both guys and girls, he wasn’t alone, that it was okay to have the feelings he did. That being a “real” man had nothing to do with who you were or weren’t attracted to. But while Colby was busy trying to be Mr. Save the Day teacher, he’d been too stupid to realize that Keats’s confused feelings were a lot less hypothetical and a lot more personal. Not until Keats had leaned over to kiss him had Colby realized how wrong everything had gone.

And he’d handled the whole situation in the most immature and dangerous way possible, reacting out of fear, thinking of self-preservation first. He’d shoved Keats away and asked him to leave.

And Keats had. For good.

“So you left there and came here to be a counselor,” Keats said, breaking Colby out of his reverie. “Glutton for punishment?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe.”

“And now you’re on leave because some kid tried to off himself?” Keats shook his head and ate his last bite of bacon. “I guarantee you they don’t pay you enough to be held responsible for the decisions of teenagers. I remember what I felt like back then. I didn’t know which way was up. No amount of talking or intervention would’ve made me change my mind about running away.”

“I don’t believe that,” Colby said. “I screwed things up that night. I should’ve handled it differently.”

“No.” Keats shook his head, his gaze shifting away from Colby’s. “You did what you needed to do so that you didn’t get tossed in fucking jail. I was messed up and terrified of what my dad was going to do. You were nice to me, listened to what I had to say, and seemed to give a shit. My head got all mixed up about it and I thought that maybe if I kissed you, you’d let me stay there and not send me back home. Plus, I think I needed to find out if what I was feeling was really attraction. You know, that maybe the reason I felt so out of place all the time was because I was into guys or whatever. But it was just reaching for straws.”

Colby considered him. “Was it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I haven’t wanted to kiss a guy—or do anything else with one—since.”

“So I scared you off guys for good. Good to know,” he said, trying to lighten the mood and chase away the dark memories.

Keats met Colby’s gaze for half a second. But whatever he had planned to say never made it out. He grabbed his plate and turned around to rinse it in the sink.

When he spun back around, he hitched a thumb toward the hallway. “Thanks for the breakfast. I’m going to grab my stuff and get out of here. You don’t have to pay me the money. You don’t owe me anything. Never did.”

Colby didn’t have time to respond before Keats had disappeared from the kitchen. But no way was this going to be the end of it. He hadn’t gone through the trouble of taking Keats home only to drop him back off on the street this morning. Colby followed him down the hallway and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom.

Keats glanced up after pulling his T-shirt over his head, his expression going wary when he saw Colby standing there. “What?”

Colby leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if I told you there was a way to earn that five hundred dollars? Would you feel better about taking it?”

Keats’s gaze flicked down Colby’s body almost too quickly to detect, but the color that instantly dotted his cheeks gave him away. Colby knew what thought had first crossed Keats’s mind. That Keats thought Colby would even go there irritated him. What irritated him even more was the answering ping that went through him at the thought.

Fucking hell.

“What do you have in mind?” Keats asked, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and trying to look nonchalant.

That was the wrong question. Colby didn’t want to admit to himself what had flashed through his head. But even if Keats wasn’t straight, Colby was smart enough to know it’d be a bad idea on so many levels to cross any of those lines. Beyond the fact that Keats was a former student and almost a decade younger than him, he no doubt still had a mountain of issues plaguing him. The guy needed a break, not more complications.

Colby managed to keep his expression neutral despite his errant thoughts. “Come with me.”

When he turned, he half-expected Keats to ignore him and stay behind. But to his surprise, without hesitation or questioning Colby’s intentions, Keats fell into step behind him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Blind trust.

He hadn’t earned it. Not after how he’d let Keats down in the past. But Colby made a promise to himself right then and there that this time, he would be worthy of it.

Georgia was cursing all high schoolers who ever lived and the manufacturers of triple-ply toilet paper by the time late morning rolled around. She’d worked for two hours in the yard, trying to get all the wet soggy mess out of her shrubs and trees, but it seemed like the stuff multiplied. And the damage that had been done to her flower beds—she couldn’t even think about the work it would take to get them back in shape. But hey, at least she’d spent hours outdoors without any panic attacks. She’d take that as a win. But by ten, she’d given up the effort and had gone inside to shower and write for a while.

She’d gotten one chapter under her belt in record time. Her main character, Haven, and her partner on the job, Mario, were having all kinds of sexual tension in this book, which was fun to write. Haven had walked in on Mario, finding him tied up in his hotel room, courtesy of the bad guys. After making sure they weren’t in any immediate danger, Haven had enjoyed his state a little too much and had toyed with him mercilessly. Her badass heroine was discovering her vixen side in this book, and Georgia had Colby and her midnight viewings to blame for it. But she liked the layers it was adding to Haven’s character, so she was going with it.

After the chapter, she had taken a break to look through résumés for virtual assistants, but right when she was about to email one, the doorbell rang. As usual, the sound sent an arrow of nerves through her, despite the fact that she knew doorbells rang in neighborhoods all day long. Packages, people hawking services, people preaching their religion of choice. It was a world of activity the nine-to-fivers were never aware of. But even so, her mind automatically shifted from green to yellow alert. With a sigh, she pushed herself away from her desk and went to the front door to check the peephole.

But it wasn’t a delivery from the UPS guy. Instead, a familiar face greeted her. One she was beginning to get used to. She unlocked everything and swung open the door.

Colby smiled from beneath the brim of a Billy Bob’s cap. “Hey, neighbor.”

“Hey,” she said, returning his smile. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you’re working, but I wanted to give you a heads-up instead of just going for it,” he explained.

She tilted her head as she tried to decipher his meaning. “Going for it?”

Colby cocked his thumb to the left and another man walked up her front steps to join Colby. “This is my friend Keats. Keats, Georgia.”

Her gaze jumped to the newcomer, any stranger stirring distrust in her. But she realized it was Colby’s houseguest. The guy had tied his hair back with a rubber band, but there was no mistaking the sleeves of tattoos that covered his arms. It was something Georgia wouldn’t normally find herself drawn to. She’d never had a bad-boy complex. Okay, maybe she’d harbored a brief crush on David Beckham once upon a time. Whatever. But hell if it didn’t look exactly right on this guy. This very beautiful guy.

Eyes the color of sea glass met hers, but he didn’t offer a handshake, his hands staying firmly tucked in his front pockets. “Good to meet you, Georgia.”

His voice was deeper than she expected, melodic with a dash of Deep South drawl, like liquefied butter. She wondered if he sang as well as played that guitar he’d been carrying last night. She had the urge to demand he sing a few notes of something. “Same here.”

“So,” Colby said, putting a hand on Keats’s shoulder. “I’m lending Keats’s services and mine today to help you get your yard back in shape.”

“What?” she said, looking between the two of them. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ve been working on it. You don’t need to put yourself out—”

“Well, actually,” Colby said, “you’d be helping us out. I’m on a break from work and being bored drives me nuts. And Keats owes me a favor and is happy to work it off here. But I wanted to make sure you were okay with that because it’s your yard.”

She licked her lips. This was so out of her comfort zone, but the guys would only be in her yard. And she knew Colby well enough to know that he wouldn’t let someone he didn’t trust around. “I—well, I guess I could use the help.”

“Fantastic.” Colby grinned, and even Keats managed a hint of a smile. “I’m going to leave Keats here to start pulling the trampled stuff out of the flower beds while I run over to the garden center to grab some new flowers. I know a guy there who will give me a good price.”

“Colby, you don’t have to—” she started.

He held up a hand. “Not a problem. I’m no longer convinced this wasn’t some of my students. We’re the only two houses that got hit on the block, and another teacher texted me this morning saying her yard had been trashed, too, so I feel partially responsible.”

“It’s not your fault—even if it was your students.”

Keats sniffed. “Colby has a tendency to feel responsible for his students’ behavior. I’m not sure there’s any convincing him otherwise.”

Colby’s smile went flat, and Georgia’s eyebrows lifted at the instant shift in mood. There was a story there, but it wasn’t her business. “Okay, I guess I’ll just say thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome,” Colby said, his good humor returning, and just like the night before, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

She was still standing there slightly stunned when he jogged down her front steps, gave her a wave, and headed to his truck. When he pulled away, she was left standing there with Keats, a perfect stranger. For some reason, she couldn’t muster up any true concern. He was a few years younger than she was but taller and obviously fit, so he could easily be a threat to her. But there was something deep in her gut that told her he meant no harm.

“So,” Keats said, breaking the awkward silence, “I have some of Colby’s gardening stuff. I can go ahead and get started if you’re down with that.”

She cleared her throat. “Sounds good, just give me a sec and I’ll get changed so that I can help.”

His gaze slid over her gray thermal shirt and jeans, male appreciation flickering in them before he could hide it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to get dirty again on my account. We saw you working out here earlier. I don’t mind flying solo.”

His little flare of interest surprised her after what she’d witnessed last night. She’d figured he was into guys. It also surprised her how much it pleased her to be on the receiving end of it. Especially considering the man who’d just left was who she couldn’t stop thinking about—or watching. But regardless, she suddenly didn’t want to go back and sit alone in her office. The completely out-of-character urge made a little flutter of adrenaline go through her—a happy one. Maybe the baby steps were working.

“How ’bout this?” she said, feeling a seed of confidence for the first time in a while. “I’ll go make us some iced tea, you get to work, and then you can tell me how you know Colby.”

His lazy smile made her stomach tighten a little. Damn, this one could probably singe the panties off a girl if he turned on the charm full throttle. “I’m not sure that’s a story you want to know. But I won’t turn down the company.”

“Deal.”

She told him she’d be a few minutes and went back into the house to brew some tea. When she came back out, Keats was already on his knees in her front garden, pulling crushed plants from the beds with hands that looked used to hard work. He hadn’t noticed her come back out yet, so she gave herself a moment to admire.

Keats wasn’t brawny like Colby, but she could tell he was strong, the muscles on his arms working as he pulled at the roots of the plants. And where Colby was dark scruff, Keats was smooth and golden. Not baby-faced but definitely a glimmer of youth still lurking there. If not for the wariness in his eyes, the ink, and those battered hands, Georgia’s starved libido probably would’ve labeled Keats as too young and too pretty. But when those few edges were added to the mix, she found herself unable to drag her gaze away.

He glanced up, shading his eyes with his hand. “Everything all right?”

“Huh?”

“You have a funny expression on your face.”

Ha. Yes, the expression was called
inappropriately turned on by a complete stranger
. She cleared her throat and shook her head. Her lack of sex life was officially making her crazy. “Everything’s fine, just got lost in thought for a sec.”

She walked over and set the glass of tea near him and gave him a pair of gardening gloves, then settled onto the porch steps so he didn’t feel like she was hovering over him.

He wiped his hands on a rag and took a long pull from the glass, his throat working in a rhythm that made her forget not to stare again. When he lowered the glass, he smiled over the rim. “Thanks for this. I haven’t had fresh-brewed stuff in a while. I sometimes bring the bottled kind on jobs, but it’s not the same.”

She turned sideways and leaned against the railing so she could face him fully and let the breeze hit her heated face. “What do you do?”

He put the gloves on to get back to work while he talked. “Lately, construction when I can find it. But I mostly do whatever anyone will pay me to do. Cash is cash, you know?”

She frowned. No, she didn’t know. Her parents had given her a comfortable life when she was growing up. And she’d done well for herself with her writing. She wasn’t wealthy, but money had rarely been a concern. “And you like doing that kind of thing? The construction?”

He shrugged and glanced her way. “I
like
playing my guitar. I like performing my stuff. But people don’t pay me money for that. Fun stuff doesn’t pay rent.”

She sipped her tea. “You never know. Colby gets paid to play his music. I get paid to write.”

He snorted like the thought was the most ridiculous notion ever.

“You seem too young to be so cynical.”

Those clear green eyes lifted. “I’m not that young, Georgia.”

The implication in the words was obvious, and she had to sip her tea again to hide her reaction. What was it about this guy that got her skin tingly? She felt like some desperate housewife flirting with the too-young gardener. Maybe it was just the residual hum after writing sexy stuff all morning. “How young?”

“Twenty-three.”

Seven years younger. Not an eternity in years, but in life experience, probably a helluva lot. Damn, why was she even doing the math? It wasn’t like she was going to invite him in for a quick midday romp on the couch. She didn’t even have the guts to invite him in for iced tea.

When she didn’t respond, he filled the space. “So what’s the story with you and Colby?”

The shift in subject broke the tension and the eye contact. She rubbed her lips together. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, digging again. “Is he going to come stomp me with those big-ass feet if he catches me flirting with his woman?”

She lifted an eyebrow in playful challenge. “Are you flirting?”

He grinned. “I was thinking about it.”

Oh, this guy was trouble—of the tempting sort. “We’re just neighbors.”

“Uh-huh. He must be a really friendly neighbor to go through this much effort to fix your garden.”

“He is.” She set her glass down. “But you would know that since you’re friends with him, right?”

“No, we’re not really friends.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sat back on his heels and looked over at her again, the gleam of sweat starting to shine on his face. “He used to be my teacher back in high school.”

“Oh,” she said, the answer catching her off guard and her mind rewinding to what she had witnessed last night. “And you two have kept in touch?”

“No, I hadn’t seen him in six years actually until last night. We kind of stumbled into each other,” he said, sitting down in the grass and reaching for his tea again.

“And you just went home with him?” The words were out before she could stop them.

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “It’s not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Colby took me home for the same reason he’s out getting flowers for you now. Apparently, he likes to help.”

“You didn’t have a place to stay?” she asked, her tactful switch turning off at the thought of Keats needing the roof-over-your-head kind of help.

He picked at a blade of grass. “Work has been nonexistent the last two weeks because of the rain. Rent’s past due. Not a big deal. I always figure it out. But Colby made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“He’s paying you to do this today, isn’t he?” she asked, the pieces coming together.

“Yeah,” he said. “But he would’ve given it to me with no strings. I’m just not into taking a handout.”

Georgia sat there for a few long moments, considering Keats as he pushed himself back into a kneel and returned to the gardening. She had no idea why she felt so damn comfortable around him, especially when he’d been flirty with her. Even the seventy-year-old mailman, who was clearly harmless, had made Georgia nervous when he told her how pretty she looked one particular day. But something about Keats had her wanting to reach out instead of shrink back.

An idea was forming in her head—one that was completely off the wall and out of her comfort zone. But it hit her with such force that it was impossible to ignore. Keats clearly was struggling and probably had issues of his own if he was living job to job. She knew desperate people could do desperate things—steal, lie, whatever it took to survive another day. A person like that wasn’t someone she should feel so relaxed around. But long-dormant forces were rallying in her, pushing her toward the plan anyway.

She scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe along the porch railing, trying to talk herself out of it. But before she could get the words out one way or another, Keats yelped.

Her attention snapped upward to find Keats jumping up and shaking the leg of his pants. Fire ants were racing over him. She hopped up, knocking her glass over.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, trying to shake them off, as they no doubt bit the hell out of him. “Get water. A hose or something.”

Georgia glanced toward the side of the house, but her hose was tucked away in the garage since she’d had a sprinkler system installed. Without thinking, she grabbed Keats’s arm. “Come on. Now.”