TWENTY-ONE
Colby knew what he’d find when he opened his door, so he wasn’t surprised to see an empty hallway. He’d scared Keats. He’d meant to. He could tell himself it was for Keats’s own good because the kid wasn’t ready, but Colby wasn’t much for lying to himself. The move had been his own panic manifesting. He’d planned to get on his knees right there in the hallway and show Keats that even someone as dominant as him, the stereotypical “man’s man” or whatever Keats saw him as, could get a guy off and take pleasure in it.
But when the moment had arrived, everything had felt too intense, too at-the-surface. Keats wasn’t some submissive at The Ranch he was playing with for the night. This was Keats, and he was living here and there was . . . stuff between them. It already felt complicated, and all they’d done was kiss. He didn’t know what to do with that. The thought of sleeping with someone for the first time wasn’t supposed to feel that heavy. But in his gut, he knew crossing that line with Keats would feel far different than just a fun first time because of their history.
He needed to fix this. Let Keats know that it wasn’t a good idea for them to step over that boundary after all. Take the possibility out of play and defuse the tension. Maybe Keats could find what he needed with someone else, maybe even with Georgia. Colby shouldn’t be the one.
He headed to the kitchen to find his cell phone, but it rang before he could get to it. He grabbed it as the opening notes of “Amarillo by Morning” filled the room. “Hello?”
“Want to tell me why your houseguest is currently here, begging for me to pile some work on him?” Georgia asked, her voice low, as if she were cupping her hand over the mouthpiece.
Colby cleared his throat. “I may have scared him off. But I’m glad he’s there and didn’t run somewhere else.”
She sighed. “What happened?”
“Nothing did. His choice. A good choice, actually.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Georgia said in that way that made him think she didn’t buy it. “So what now? I’d let him crash on my couch, but I don’t think I can handle someone sleeping in my house yet. I’m still a little jittery having someone here at all.”
“That’s not necessary. Tell Keats . . . well, tell him we’re cool. Everything’s fine. I’ve got a meeting at the school late this afternoon, and then I’m going to play a set at the Iron Spoke tonight, so if Keats wants to avoid me for the rest of today, it won’t be hard.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I’m not going to let you turn me down for dinner. Even with all this, you haven’t been far from my mind. Every time I close my eyes I can see how damn sexy you looked wrapped in my rope and coming for me last night. I won’t wait another night to see that again. I’ll command your presence if I have to.”
“I doubt a command will be necessary. I’ve been thinking about you, too. But what about Keats?”
He released a long breath. “Tomorrow I’m going to sit down and tell him nothing’s going to happen between us.”
—
Georgia hung up the phone with a sigh. Colby had sounded . . . resigned about Keats, and she had no idea how to help. Though she didn’t want to interfere and should probably be happy to have Colby all to herself, her instincts told her that Colby and Keats needed to work out whatever it was between them in a far less civilized manner than talking. Most of the female population of the world would probably think she was nuts for wanting to share Colby like that. But after being caught in the inescapable beam of Phillip’s obsessive love for so long, being with someone who was interested in her but not fixated was a welcome change. It helped her breathe and not freak out about how powerful everything had felt with Colby last night.
But it didn’t matter what she wanted for the two guys. It wasn’t her call. Colby and Keats would have to figure things out for themselves in their own way.
She headed back into the living room to join her unexpected guest. In the few minutes she had left him alone, Keats was spread out on her couch with a stack of papers in his lap. He looked up from the one he was reading and smiled. “You told on me, George?”
She smirked. He’d taken to calling her George and for some reason, she found that she liked it. “I told him you were here so he wouldn’t go on a tear to find you again.”
“My bike’s still in the driveway. He would’ve figured it out.”
She eyed the papers again. “What are you doing?”
“These had a sticky note on them that said proofread, so I’m proofreading.”
“What?”
“I’ve marked a few typos, but, goddamn George, this is—”
“Not ready for outside eyes,” she said, annoyance seeping into her tone.
“It’s awesome. And like holy shit hot,” he said, a touch of awe in his voice. “This Haven woman—damn.”
Her teeth clenched and she stalked over to grab the pages from him. Phillip used to dig through her manuscripts, trying to get “insight” into how her mind worked—or so he said. Which just meant he’d get jealous of whoever the hero was. His possessiveness didn’t discriminate, even when the men she was spending her time with were fictional. “Don’t read something unless I tell you it’s ready to be read.”
He gave them over to her without a fight, chagrined. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” she said, straightening the papers unnecessarily. “You didn’t know. It’s just, this is my work in progress, and it’s not ready for others to see.”
He held up his hands. “Totally get it. I don’t like people hearing my songs until they’re done either. I didn’t mean to invade. I just saw the note and thought I could help.”
She let out a breath and sat next to him on the couch, knowing her anger wasn’t really about him. “It’s okay. But next time, ask before you dive into something.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, all charm and green eyes. “I promise I will not peek into your book without permission ever again. Your very steamy book.”
“Keats.” She sent him a warning look. Of course the stack of pages he’d picked up had been the tie-the-guy-to-the-bed scene. He couldn’t have grabbed the gunfight instead.
He grinned. “So is that Mario guy going to get the girl or is Haven just going to tease him until his brain explodes?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Evil. I like it.”
“Do you?” she asked, cocking her head at him. “So is that your plan with Colby?”
He straightened, his affable expression sagging. “What?”
“Running hot and cold, teasing him.” She turned on the couch to face him fully. “Because earlier you two were all over each other and now you’re hiding at my house.”
His face went crimson all the way to the roots of his blond hair and his jaw twitched as he looked away. “Jesus, George, you don’t pull punches.”
“No, I don’t. But I’m not saying it to embarrass you.”
“Well, it’s embarrassing, all right?” He shifted his position but wouldn’t look at her. “That’s not how I want you to see me.”
“I don’t see you any differently than I did before.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious, Keats. You think I don’t understand the urge to kiss Colby? I have a bad case of that affliction myself.”
“You know it’s not the same.”
“No, I know it’s not all that different, that you probably know as well as I do how he can make your body go hot with one of those damn looks he gives—the ones that promise he’ll rock you right off your foundation if you give him an inch.”
His fingers curled into his jeans. “George.”
“I also bet you couldn’t pull away from that kiss after it started, that once Colby takes control, you just want to say yes to him over and over again.”
Keats closed his eyes, his expression strained. “Please stop.”
“Hey, look at me,” she said softly.
After a breath, he dragged his gaze to hers.
“I’m not one of those kids in your football camp who’s looking to judge you. Being attracted to Colby doesn’t make you weak or less of a man.” She nudged his knee with hers. “You know what I see when I look at you?”
“A hot mess?” he suggested with a self-deprecating smirk.
“Well, hot, yes. Definitely. But not a mess. You’re still figuring things out like most of us. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m still working through some stuff myself. Believe it or not, Colby isn’t my typical type either.”
“No?”
“I’m not exactly a fan of giving over control.”
He peered up again at that, curiosity flickering there.
“But I want you to realize that even though it’s fine to be confused, all the back-and-forth is hard on Colby, too. And I know we haven’t made it easy on you over the last two nights. It’s not fair to put you in a position where you’re forced to listen to things, especially if you’re having mixed-up feelings about Colby.”
“I could’ve left.”
“Still, I won’t let it happen again. But regardless, maybe it would be wise to think hard about what you want before you act again.”
He nodded slowly, as if taking all that in, and then his lips began to curl upward, some of that roguish light returning to his eyes. “So, you think I’m hot, huh?”
She gave him a droll look. “Of course that’s what you would hear in all that.”
The grin went wider. “How hot?”
“Go fishing off some other pier, Keats,” she said, getting up but unable to hide her smile. “You know you’re easy on the eyes. It’s like one of those Hemsworth boys and an archangel had a love child.”
He burst out laughing. “George!”
“I’ll go grab that project I wanted you to work on. Keep your hands off those pages.”
She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away. “I’m so reporting you to HR. I feel completely objectified now.”
“So sorry,” she said, no remorse in her voice.
“Don’t be. I fucking needed that.” She glanced back at him, finding him with a serious expression again. “Really, thanks. My head’s all screwed up with this, and it’s nice to find there are still some things I know for sure.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that? That you’re hot.”
“No,” he said, meeting her eyes. “That I can still be attracted to a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Awareness pinged through her, and her back straightened. These two men were a menace. “I’ll be right back.”
His lips lifted and he propped his feet on her coffee table. “Sure, George. I’ll be waiting for my marching orders.”
Orders. Her earlier conversation with Colby came back to her about Keats’s supposed preferences, and really, really bad thoughts zipped through her mind. Colby putting Keats on his knees like he had put her last night. Both of them bringing Keats to the edge and back. She turned away from him. “Feet off the coffee table, Keats.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled again, and everything went warm inside her.
Ah, hell. She was turning out to be the worst boss ever.