Nothing Between Us (6 page)

Georgia sat curled up in her living room, nursing a glass of wine and trying to plot out the next scene in her book on the legal pad propped on her lap. A rerun of
48 Hours
was on in the background, but she wasn’t listening to it. Really, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything all evening. Instead, her eyes kept drifting to her living room window. Colby had said he might bring over burgers tonight. All day she had stressed about it, wondering if she would be able to manage it. She knew she couldn’t go over to his house, but she wasn’t sure she could let him in hers either. Every time she thought about it, she got that electric feeling in her muscles—like they were all going to seize up at once.

But Leesha had been so enthusiastic when Georgia had mentioned the potential date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date to her this morning. According to Leesha—in all her therapeutic wisdom—getting interested in a man was a “major” step in the right direction. It showed willingness to trust again and reconnecting to the outside world and blah blah blah. Georgia had zoned out a little on the therapist-speak. Even so, Leesha’s excitement had been contagious, and Georgia had promised her she would do all she could to give it a chance and not chicken out.

So she’d started making plans to eat on the backyard deck. Her garden back there was quiet and the trees offered shade. She could control the situation there. But all the planning and worrying had been for naught. Colby hadn’t come home at his normal time. And it wasn’t like he had her phone number, so he hadn’t called. So either something had come up or he’d simply forgotten. Or something was wrong.

She pushed the thought aside, frustrated that her mind always went there.
Hello, Paranoia, nice to see you again.
It was always there, waiting in the rafters and ready to pounce. Sometimes she wondered if Phillip had seared it into her psyche permanently, that there was no getting better for her, that he had killed the woman Georgia used to be spiritually even if her physical form had managed to survive. Maybe she was sentenced to a life inside these walls, watching the world go by through her windows and on her TV screen, and only going out when she popped a pill that made her thoughts go slow and sticky. She set her wineglass aside and pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets, the thoughts making her brain want to implode.

No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She was trying to get better. She was going outside every day. She was doing her therapy. Hell, she’d held a full conversation with her neighbor today. Even Leesha was hopeful. Things were getting a little better, right? And once Phillip was put away for good, the fear would surely go away. Knowing that he was out on bond and could pop back into her life was what held her hostage. The chances were slim that he’d leave the state since if he tried, he’d be thrown in jail. But it was the existence of that minute possibility that she couldn’t get past. Because she knew without a doubt that if he found her, there would be no escape this time.

A door slammed in the distance, making her jump and almost knock over her wine. She turned her head toward the window. Colby was back and someone was climbing down from the passenger side of his truck. Georgia shifted on the couch to turn fully around and watch. At least he was safe, even if the thought of him bringing home some woman had a different kind of feeling twisting in her stomach. But when his passenger came around the front of the truck, it was a lanky guy with shoulder-length blond hair. Not anyone she recognized from Colby’s gaggle of friends.

Jealousy rooted down in her gut despite the fact that it was a guy. Georgia had watched Colby long enough to know he wasn’t only into women. Though not recently, she’d seen him with a male lover once before. It had shocked the hell out of her initially. She knew gay or bisexual men didn’t necessarily fit a stereotype. But Colby was the epitome of the Southern-boy alpha male—the last person she would’ve ever suspected. When she’d first watched him fool around with the guy, she’d expected to be turned off. She’d always dated what she’d thought of as “manly” men, ones who would’ve balked at the idea of touching another guy.

But she’d been floored by how hot it had been to watch Colby take over another man. It hadn’t been effeminate at all. It’d been rough and sexy and intense. Transfixing. By the time the night was done, she’d been sweating, breathless, and out of her mind with all the . . . wanting. She hadn’t quite understood her reaction, but she’d decided not to dig too deep into that one.

However, tonight she wasn’t in the mood to watch. Her pride was dinged. She and Colby had made plans, albeit loose ones, and then Colby had blown it off and brought someone else home. It was probably stupid to feel any jealousy. She and Colby were just neighbors. It was only an offer for burgers. She probably wouldn’t have even been able to invite him inside. But it didn’t stop the feelings from surfacing.

She watched the other guy pull something out of the truck bed, a guitar case from the looks of it. Colby said something to him and then glanced toward Georgia’s house. Instinctively, she ducked back. All he’d be able to see between her blinds was the ambient light from the television, but even so, Colby was already heading her way.

“Shit.” She scrambled off the couch. She was still in her jeans and favorite pink cashmere sweater. Stupidly, she’d gotten a little dressed up for the night, even putting on some makeup. Of course, she probably had raccoon eyes at this point from rubbing them. She strode to the mirror above the small table in the entryway and ran her fingers under her eyes to clear the smudged mascara right before the knock hit the door.

She almost didn’t want him to see that she was still fully dressed. She didn’t want him thinking she’d been waiting like some forgotten girl on prom night. That gave him an edge, power. But she didn’t have any choice. She checked the peephole to make double sure who was on the other side, then deactivated the alarm and undid the deadbolts.

She swung the door open, finding the hulking mass of Colby Wilkes filling the doorway. He looked nothing like the fresh and spry guy he’d been when he’d left that morning. His hair was disheveled, his eyes a little bloodshot, and his clothes looked like they’d been rained on.

“Hey,” she said tentatively.

He gave her a brief up-and-down glance. “Good, you’re still up. I saw the TV was on and took a chance.”

“Yeah, I was just about to go up to bed.”

Something flickered over his expression at that, but he shifted his weight, bracing his hand on the doorjamb, and the flicker was gone. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t stop by tonight like I said I would.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t really know if you were serious anyway.”

He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I was. But today has been . . . complicated.” He glanced toward his house and the guy leaning against the side of Colby’s truck. “And is still complicated.”

“Everything okay?” she asked, eyeing Colby’s guest.

“I don’t know if it can be defined as okay, but I have things under control. Mostly.”

“Who’s the guy?” she blurted, then cringed when she realized how nosy she sounded. “Sorry, none of my business.”

Colby rubbed his jaw, considering her. “He’s . . . a guy I used to know and who needed a place to crash tonight. Long story.”

The way he said it, the underlying current of regret in his voice, had her curiosity welling, but she kept her questions to herself. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not really.” His lip curled at the corner. “Having dinner with you tonight would’ve helped. I was looking forward to that. Rain check?”

“Sure, okay.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” He leaned over, cupping her elbow, and panic stiffened her for a second as he entered her space. But all he did was press a light kiss to her cheek.

He smelled faintly of maple syrup, but the rough brush of his beard against her skin sent a current straight downward. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound. He lingered close for a moment, and she swallowed hard. She could turn her head—just a few inches and those lips would be on hers. If she were her old self, she would’ve done it. That girl didn’t cower. That girl took chances.

But that girl wasn’t her. Not anymore.

He pulled back before she could even attempt to get the nerve. He gave her that heartbreaker smile of his, though she could see the tiredness and strain lingering in his eyes, and stepped back onto her porch. The whole exchange had her wanting to reach out, run her hands along his jaw, and offer comfort—possibly of the naked variety. But all she could do was tell him good night and close the door.

When Georgia went upstairs a little while later, she tried to walk past the guest room without stopping in. But it was a siren call she couldn’t shut off. After slipping into her oversized nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the dark guest room. A few lights went on and off in Colby’s house, but eventually he appeared in his bedroom doorway. He shut his door and leaned against it. He ran a hand over his face in a fuck-my-life motion. It was the first time she could remember seeing him look so beat down. He headed into his bathroom. She knew she needed to close the curtains and go to bed, but she remained in her chair, somehow feeling less alone sitting here instead of in her room.

A few minutes later, she was rewarded with the sight of Colby stepping out of his bathroom with only a towel around his hips. His hair was still wet and his skin still damp. She picked up the binoculars. Colby turned off the overhead light, leaving his bedside lamp on, and then he glanced toward her window. Her heart stuttered for a second, but his gaze moved away as quickly as it had come. He undid the towel, exposing a backside that could inspire her to take up sculpting as a hobby, and tossed the towel into a hamper.

When he turned to the side, her magnified gaze tracked down his profile, tracing along the lines of his nose and jaw, going over his honed biceps and the cut of his hip, and then hovering on the hand he’d just wrapped around his quickly stiffening erection.

A shiver went straight through Georgia. She’d never seen him masturbate. She’d long ago assumed he did it in the shower or something. But tonight it seemed he had other intentions. She couldn’t pull her focus away from that big hand of his stroking upward. She could see the flesh start to broaden in his hand, the head going a darker shade.

But right when she was getting lost in the show, he moved out of the binoculars’ view. She quickly adjusted the focus, unzooming, and gasped when she realized he was looking right at her. She jerked back for a second, that
caught!
feeling racing through her. But of course he couldn’t see her. He was just looking that way. Maybe he was thinking about her? The idea sent warmth stirring low.

She held her hands steady on the binoculars, watching as something flared in his eyes—desire, need, maybe a little loneliness, all of it was in that look. But the moment passed and he turned away, grabbing something from a bedside drawer—a bottle of clear liquid. Without pulling back the covers, he stretched out on his bed and took himself in his lubricated hand, stroking in long, luxuriating motions.

God.
Georgia was going to fucking lose it.

The tip of her tongue touched the center of her lip as she let the desire wake up her body. This hadn’t been her plan when she’d sat down in front of the window. She’d only wanted to see what kind of “friend” Colby had brought home. But now there was no way she’d be able to sit here and watch Colby pleasure himself without relieving the tension building between her thighs.

She kept her focus glued to Colby as she pulled open the drawer in the table that flanked the window and pulled out the small vibrator she’d stowed in there. She slipped her fingers inside her panties. She groaned under her breath at the feel of her touch and how wet she was already. Watching Colby flipped her switch like nothing else, it seemed. She turned the vibrator on to a low setting, which sent a shudder of pleasure up her spine, but she forced her eyes to stay open. Colby had cupped his balls with one hand and was sliding his fist along his shaft with the other. He didn’t look to be in any kind of rush, and Georgia imagined it was her there giving him that slow, sensual pleasure instead—teasing him until he begged for more. She knew he’d feel heavy in her hands and hot. She could only imagine how he’d feel sliding inside her. It’d been so damn long . . .

The slowly weaved fantasy made her sex clench around the vibrator and her thighs tighten. She wouldn’t last long at this rate. Her heartbeat was already pounding right behind her clit, the demand for release building. Colby looked to be getting closer as well, his movements speeding up and his thighs flexing.

She couldn’t wait for him. Her body seized around the stimulation and orgasm rocketed through her. She panted her way through the hills and valleys of it, tasting sweat on her upper lip. But right as she was drifting down from her quick high, she caught movement at the edge of her view. She swung her binoculars to the left.

Colby’s door had cracked open. A guy stepped a foot inside and his eyes went wide with an
oh, shit
expression as he realized what he’d walked in on. She couldn’t gather much about him beyond that he was relatively young and really surprised before he backed up. Everything was happening too quickly. But Colby hadn’t noticed the intrusion, apparently too lost in his final climb to release. Colby’s guest went to shut the door but then hesitated, leaving a crack where Georgia could only make out half his face in the low light. He seemed frozen there as he stared at the man on the bed. Colby came in a rush, his release landing against his stomach and chest, and the guy hurriedly shut the door before Colby opened his eyes.

Colby was never the wiser. But Georgia knew.

For once, she wasn’t the only Peeping Tom in the neighborhood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Keats cruised back to Colby’s guest room at warp speed, almost tripping over his feet in his effort to get the hell out of the hallway. That walk to the bathroom had not gone as planned. Apparently, it was the second door on the
left
, not the right. He shut his door silently and then collapsed against it, his blood pounding at his temples . . . and much lower.

He slid to the floor, clasping his hands behind his neck. Jesus Christ. He had stood there way too long. He’d been a half second away from Colby seeing him. That would’ve been fun.
Hi, thanks for giving me a place to crash tonight. No, don’t mind me while I turn into a total creeper and watch you jack off.

God, what the hell was wrong with him?

He hadn’t been able to look away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how jerking off worked. He was rather fond of it himself. But realizing he was seeing Colby Wilkes without the teacher façade, just the man—naked—had frozen him in place. All the mixed-up feelings he’d had back in high school had rushed back in a flash. Back then, when he’d heard through the rumor mill that Mr. Wilkes sometimes dated guys, his mind hadn’t been able to let that go. Images had popped into his head unbidden and relentless—followed by fantasies he would’ve never admitted to out loud.

He’d used those fantasies on a constant loop to get off back then, only to follow up with all the guilt and shame that rushed in afterward. And here he was, twenty-fucking-three years old and those stupid teenage urges wanted to well up—that old inner voice calling him a fag and a cocksucker and disgusting. Words his father had supplied but Keats’s brain had latched onto.

He tapped the back of his head on the door. No. That wasn’t him anymore. He no longer believed that backwoods shit his father had pounded into him. People could screw who they wanted to screw. But he was straight. The weird fantasies about Colby had been a fluke, some wires crossing because Colby had been the only person he’d trusted, and he’d wanted to be closer to him—had wanted those student/teacher boundaries keeping everything formal to disappear. That was all. As soon as he left home, those mixed-up feelings had faded away.

Keats liked women, bedded them regularly, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Plus, he’d been on the streets long enough and had gotten sick of married guys in expensive cars propositioning him with a fistful of cash and a hotel room key. Those offers had cured him of any thoughts of bisexuality.

But when he’d seen Colby step into his corner of the park tonight, all of that aversion seemed to fall away. A deep, whole-body response had taken over his brain. Keats was good at telling people to fuck off. And he sure as hell didn’t take direction from anyone anymore. But if Colby had taken him up on his sarcastic offer of a blow job for a couple hundred bucks, Keats would’ve gotten on his knees for him for no cash at all and figured out how to do it.

The thought scared the shit out of him. He should’ve never come here. He’d humiliated himself in front of Colby—well, Mr. Wilkes back then—once before, reading too much into things and making a fool of himself. That was enough for one lifetime. Plus, he knew that Colby had let him off easy tonight. They’d eaten at Waffle House in near-silence. But Keats had no doubt that the questions would come tomorrow. What Keats had done back then was unforgivable on so many levels. And Colby had taken heat for it even though the guy had done nothing wrong. Keats had seen the not-so-subtle references in the news coverage when everyone was looking for him back in Hickory Point. The young music teacher had fucked up and crossed lines with his poor, innocent student. Ha. If they’d only known the real story.

But now Keats was going to have to deal with the consequences if he stuck around.
Fuck.
That was the last thing he wanted to face. He eyed the neatly made bed in the middle of the room. The damn thing looked so fresh and inviting. Since he’d broken up with his last girlfriend a few weeks ago, he’d been back to paying week-to-week at the Texas Star Motel with the cash he made from the day labor jobs he picked up here and there. But tonight his ex’s punk-ass brother had caught up to him, demanding money
she
owed him. Keats hadn’t known Nina was running pills for her brother—or taking them. It’d been one of the reasons he’d broken it off with her. But now she was telling her brother, Hank, that Keats had taken off with her stash. And Hank wanted his grand back.

Hank and two other guys had cornered Keats earlier that day, catching him off guard. Keats knew how to fight, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to take on three dudes who were probably armed and amped up on crank. He’d handed over his rent money, and Hank had
kindly
offered to give him until Wednesday to make his next payment. Fucking psycho.

So now he had two days to come up with at least another couple hundred bucks for Hank and more for rent. And, of course, it’d rained this morning so the construction work he’d been picking up hadn’t needed guys today, which was why he’d resorted to his old standby of busking in the park. Playing his guitar was what he enjoyed most anyway. But until Colby had come along, he hadn’t earned enough to even pay for another week at the motel.

The cash he had made was tucked in his pocket. It was enough for one night at least. He could sneak out now and save himself the drama of tomorrow. It’d be a dick move, but he doubted Colby really wanted him staying there anyway. He’d taken him home out of guilt, like a stray. But if he left now, he would never know if Colby really planned on giving him five hundred bucks. That wouldn’t fix everything, but it could go a long way for him right now. And he didn’t have to do anything for it but sleep in a comfortable bed and have an uncomfortable conversation. That was worth it, right?

His stomach flipped over. Maybe not.

The smart thing would be to sneak out. Colby probably wasn’t going to give him the money anyway. He’d probably want to turn him in to the police as a former missing kid or something. Hell. No.

He got to his feet, planning to grab his shit and get out, when there was a knock on the door. His heart jumped in his throat at the sudden sound.

“Keats?”

Shit.
He sent a quick plea to the universe that Colby hadn’t seen him standing in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, come in.”

The door opened and Colby stood on the other side, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, his hair still wet. His sheer size had always done something to Keats—a few inches taller than he was and broad as hell. But now that Colby wasn’t close shaven and had let his hair grow a little longer, the effect was even more potent—like an untamed version of the teacher he used to know. Add to it the hint of color in his face, warmth Keats knew was a post-orgasm glow, and Keats was completely fucking distracted.

Colby handed him a thick white towel. Clothes were folded on top of it. “I thought you might want to shower before bed. The guest bathroom should have shampoo and soap in the cabinet beneath the sink. Feel free to use whatever.” He nodded at the clothes. “Those are probably going to be too big, but the shorts have a drawstring, so you should be able to tighten them.”

“Thanks, you really don’t have to do this. I mean, I have some extra clothes in my backpack.” Though most of it was dirty. He had planned to go to the Laundromat this morning before his unfortunate run-in with Hank.

Colby frowned. “They’re probably wet from the rain. Leave them out here in the hallway and I’ll toss them in the wash. Then you’ll have your own stuff for tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do my damn laundry,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. Colby being nice to him was making him feel like an even bigger shitbag for wanting to sneak out. “I can handle things. In fact, I don’t even know why I agreed to come here.”

Colby leveled a gaze at him. “I don’t suggest you get any ideas about leaving tonight. We made a deal. I expect you to honor it.”

Keats turned away, his defenses rising in response to that don’t-fuck-with-me look Colby was so good at giving. “Like you’re going to give me five hundred bucks for nothing.”

“The house alarm is on,” Colby said, sounding tired. “So I’ll know if you try to leave. I don’t make a habit of holding people captive without their consent. But tonight, you gave me that right when you took my offer. I bought your time. Now it’s mine until morning. So take a shower, put your dirty clothes out here, and go to bed. You do that, and you’ll get the money you were promised. I don’t break my word.”

The way he’d said
mine until morning
had Keats’s traitorous brain spiraling down a forbidden path. He pushed the ridiculous reaction down and replaced it with a safer one—sarcasm. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You keep people captive often?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, revealing a dimple hiding beneath the scruff. “Never mind. Good night, Keats.”

Keats watched him stroll back down the hallway and grimaced. So much for his brilliant escape plan.

—

Colby leaned against his kitchen counter, sipping coffee and watching bacon fry. This was normally the time he’d be getting in to school to start his workday. But he’d apparently entered some other dimension. Not only did he have no job to go to this morning, but now he had a smart-mouthed houseguest sleeping the morning away in the other room.

Fucking Keats.

Colby had been so goddamned relieved to find out Keats was alive. But seeing this hardened version of him was difficult to stomach. The kid he’d known had been a gentle soul—smart and a little shy, talented as hell. The songs he’d written in high school had shown a depth and ability that Colby hadn’t seen in anyone that young since. But all of it had gone to shit because of stupid mistakes. Mistakes by Colby with how he’d handled things, how he hadn’t seen the warning signs that Keats was reading more into their time together than he should. Mistakes by Keats’s jackass father, who’d made it his mission to make his son feel worthless. And mistakes by Keats, who had run away instead of trusting the people who were trying to help.

Now where that gentle soul had been was a world-weary, angry guy who seemed to barely be getting by but was too mistrustful to accept any help from anyone. The whole thing made Colby want to punch something.

He flipped the bacon and heard movement behind him. Keats shuffled in, wearing only the shorts Colby had lent him. The sight jarred him for a second. He kept expecting to see the boy but kept finding a grown man there instead. The tattoos he’d noticed on Keats’s forearms last night went all the way up—full sleeves of colorful ink, framing a lean but defined torso. Colby cleared his throat and looked away. “Mornin’.”

Keats’s bare feet smacked over the ceramic tile and he pulled out a chair at the bar. “You’re going to burn that bacon. Heat’s too high.”

Colby glanced back at Keats and lowered the flame on the burner. “Bacon expert?”

He shrugged. “I worked the griddle at a breakfast joint for a while. You ruin enough bacon, you learn the tricks. Low and slow.”

Colby grunted and turned back to the pan. “I usually microwave it, but I’m out of paper towels.”

“Microwave?” Keats’s chair scraped the floor, and he walked over to Colby, putting his hand out for the tongs. “I got it. You have any eggs?”

Colby was surprised to have his formerly hostile houseguest offering to take over breakfast, but he wasn’t going to complain. Cooking wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He handed over the tongs, grabbed a carton of eggs and some butter from the fridge, and dug a skillet out. Keats got the other pan going in no time, cracking the eggs one-handed.

Colby slid into the spot behind the bar to sip his coffee. Watching Keats from behind, his face obscured, made it easy to forget who was standing there. The tattoos alone were something to behold. They weren’t rush jobs; they were art. Expensive shit by the looks of it. From this distance, he couldn’t tell what all of it was, but he could see trailing music notes and scrawled words—probably lyrics if he knew Keats. Colby’s gaze traced over the words and lingered on the way Keats’s shoulder muscles moved as he shifted his attention between the pans—efficient, almost elegant. Colby forced his attention to his cup of coffee.

Having a half-naked guy in his kitchen wasn’t a new occurrence. Even though Colby tended to gravitate toward women more often than not, he’d figured out pretty early on in his life that he didn’t fit into a narrow lane when it came to sexual preference. It took him a little longer to figure out that besides attraction he only had two true requirements when it came to his bed partners—submissive and tough enough to handle what he liked to dish out. What was below the waist mattered a lot less to him than what was in someone’s wiring above the neck. That was what got his blood pumping.

But none of that mattered right now. Beyond the fact that Keats had declared he wasn’t into guys last night, this was
Keats
. A twenty-something-year-old guy he’d pulled off the streets. A former student. Off-limits.

Keats dished up a plate of eggs and bacon for them both and then stood at the counter to eat instead of taking the chair next to Colby.

“Thanks,” Colby said, stabbing a piece of scrambled egg with his fork. “This looks great.”

Keats poured himself a cup of coffee and dumped in sugar and a little cream. “No problem. I figured someone who microwaves bacon can’t be trusted.”

Colby smirked. “Are you still working as a cook?”

His gaze shifted down to his plate. “Nah, I quit the diner a while back when I got a gig at a tattoo shop. That was a good job—decent pay and the owner did my ink on the house. But then he got sick and they had to shut down, so lately I’ve been doing construction.”

They ate in silence for a few moments and Colby was trying to figure out how best to approach that looming elephant in the room when Keats pointed his fork at the window behind Colby. “So what’s with your neighbor?”

Colby glanced over his shoulder to see Georgia in her yard, picking through the remnants of the toilet paper he hadn’t gotten to yesterday morning. “What do you mean?”