Nothing Between Us

Colby leaned against the counter. “At this point, we’re just friends.”

“So that’s why you gave me the eat-shit-and-die look when you saw me walk out of the bathroom?”

Colby smirked. “No, that was my what-the-fuck look, not eat-shit-and-die, there’s a difference. I knew before today that Georgia had some issues with people being in her space. I guess I feel a little protective of her and when I saw you there in her house, practically naked, I had no idea what to think.”

“I’m skilled, Colby, but not that skilled. Even I can’t get a girl in bed that fast.”

Colby laughed. “You’re better than you think. She likes you.”

“Maybe, but she watches you. And apparently enjoys the show.” Keats lifted himself to sit on the island, apparently forgetting he only had a robe on or not caring. The flaps fell open, revealing his chest all the way to his navel, where a light trail of hair tracked downward. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She thinks I’m too young.”

Colby pulled his gaze upward and focused on Keats’s face. His libido was already on a hair trigger today; he didn’t need any extra encouragement. He had to keep reminding himself that this was Keats, his former student, a straight guy, and not some submissive at The Ranch trying to get his attention by parading around half naked. “You are too young.”

Keats scoffed. “You’re always going to see me that way, aren’t you? The innocent, helpless student. Well, news flash, Teach. It’s been a long time since you’ve known me. I’m far from helpless and definitely not innocent.”

Colby laced his hands behind his neck and sighed. “Why does it matter how I see you?”

He shrugged, dropping some of the attitude. “I don’t know. It just does.”

“What do you want me to say, Keats?” he asked tiredly. “That you’re a grown-up? That you’re a man? That you’re of fuckable age for my dear neighbor? Fine. You are. But that doesn’t mean you still don’t have a lot to learn.”

Keats leaned back on his hands, preening like a peacock. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think I need to be taught? I haven’t had any complaints from women.”

Colby watched him, half amused by the cockiness. “Being a man has a lot more to it than knowing how to get someone off in bed. And I promise you, at twenty-three, you don’t know how to do that as well as you could either.”

He lifted a brow. “And you do?”

“You have no idea,” Colby said smoothly. “But that’s not the point. If you’re going to chase after women in their thirties, like Georgia, they’re going to want you to have some stability, some discipline in your life. And I’m guessing your current situation doesn’t allow for much of that.”

His jaw tensed and he looked down at the tie on the robe. “Yeah, well, the job market for a high school dropout doesn’t exactly allow for a lot of stability—unless you run drugs, sell women, or like to suck cock for cash. I’ve heard those career paths pay well.”

Colby gritted his teeth at that image. Thank God Keats hadn’t resorted to those lines of work yet. “I get it. I know how shitty a situation you had growing up. But now you’re an adult. Do you plan to live the rest of your life like you’re doing? Just getting by week to week?”

The defensive mask descended over his features. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I ran away. This is my fucking life. That bed’s already made.”

“Bullshit. You can always change your direction.” Colby should know. He’d done it.

Keats scoffed. “Right. Let me just dial up that fairy godmother, and she can wave a wand for me.”

“Fine. You want a wand? Here it is,” Colby said, crossing his arms and throwing down the gauntlet. “Come stay with me for a while.”

Keats’s eyes flickered with surprise, and he straightened. “What?”

“You heard me. I have an extra room. Use it.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not that kid looking for his teacher to solve his problems anymore. I don’t want to be your charity case again.”

Colby rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, pressure building there. “Look, Keats, I get the whole pride thing, but pride can birth stupidity. I’m offering help. Take it.”

Keats slid off the counter and pulled his robe more tightly around him, closing off. “I need to get dressed.”

“Keats.”

“Thanks for the offer. But I just want to get some clothes on, get this garden done, and go home. I’ve got shit to take care of,” he said, reaching down to scratch his calf.

Colby knew he’d reached the end of Keats listening to anything he had to say. He’d gone into shutdown mode. Colby glanced down when Keats scratched again, noticing for the first time the red, swelling bumps on Keats’s legs and feet. “Those are getting worse. Are you allergic?”

“Not any more than anyone else.” Keats reached down for bites on his other leg. “I’ll be fine. Just let me throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

“No, if you come back out in the sun, they’re going to itch even more. Why don’t you take some antihistamines—there should be some in the hall closet—and then go soak your legs in cool water. I can finish up the rest.”

“But you’re paying me—”

“You’ve earned your keep. Consider it hazard pay for the ant bites.” Reluctantly, he added, “And I’ll be back in a while to bring you home.”

But when Colby checked on him later to make sure the reaction hadn’t gotten worse, Keats was sprawled across the bed in the guest room, sound asleep. The bites didn’t look too bad, so Colby closed the curtains, threw a blanket over him, and let him sleep.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment more than necessary. Only a few more hours and Keats would be gone.

Colby didn’t know whether to be relieved or damn disappointed.

Fuck.

NINE (#ulink_6a95ab5d-2d7a-584a-8da4-bd00042c8965)

It’s only a few steps. That was what Georgia repeated in her mind as she crossed the invisible barrier from her yard into Colby’s, but nerves crackled through her like static anyway. After the incident from earlier, they had never really gone away. Beyond the residual effects of the panic attack, she’d been unable to stop wondering whether Colby had seen the binoculars in the guest room. He hadn’t said anything or acted any differently than normal, but he was a counselor. Part of that job was keeping a poker face when you heard or saw outrageous things. That he might’ve discovered her secret had freaked her out to the point of nausea. So she’d given in and taken an anxiety pill, which combined with the drained adrenaline from the panic attack had promptly put her to sleep. When she’d woken up, her yard had been perfectly restored and Colby and Keats were gone.

She’d put in an emergency call to Leesha to offload everything that had happened that day. It was the benefit of having a best friend who was also a therapist. She could tell her things she’d be way too embarrassed to tell a stranger. But even so, it’d been a hell of a hard thing to admit aloud that she’d been spying on her neighbor. Leesha had hardly flinched and had assured her that, considering her isolated situation, it wasn’t completely bizarre that she had resorted to that kind of behavior. Plus, she’d added that considering Phillip had watched Georgia without her permission, this was a subconscious way for her to feel in control—by being the one doing the watching. Whatever. Georgia had rolled her eyes and demanded that Leesha drop the therapist hat and be the girl she’d known since grade school. This wasn’t a session.

At that, Leesha had broken into a conspiratorial grin, called her a dirty bird, and asked for a full description of how hot her neighbor actually was. Georgia had growled into the webcam. “Leesh, pay attention. He. May. Know. Did you hear that part? What the hell am I supposed to do? He probably thinks I’m some pervy stalker girl.”

She’d shrugged. “Feel him out. Maybe he didn’t see anything. And if you find out he knows, do the right thing and apologize.”

So now it was time to do the right thing. And that thing involved moving out of her barricaded comfort zone and womaning up. She was trying to channel some alternative version of herself with each step. I am strong. I am in control. I own this moment. Goddamn, she sounded like that guy Stuart Smalley from the old episodes of Saturday Night Live. Pitiful. She clutched the casserole dish in her hands like it’d save her from some impending doom and kept putting one foot in front of the other. Only a few more steps.

The porch light was on and Colby’s truck was still in the driveway, so she knew he was home. She had no idea if Keats was still there. Maybe Colby had taken him back home. She hoped not. She had a feeling Keats wasn’t going back to a happy situation, and he’d been so kind helping her earlier today. She didn’t want to think about him struggling to keep afloat. Plus, she’d never had a chance to ask him that question she’d started when the ants had attacked. Maybe she could help.

Her heart began to pound harder as she walked up Colby’s sidewalk, but she managed to keep her breathing even. She pictured an aerial view of her house in her mind—one of Leesha’s visualization exercises—and imagined her house was a green zone, the safe zone, that stretched to the edges of her property. With some effort, she pictured that circle expanding, the green creeping wider and enveloping Colby’s yard and house. This was just an extension of her space, nothing to get freaked-out about. She prayed that the image would convince her faulty wiring that all was good in the ’hood.

When she reached the door without drama, she wanted to do a victory dance. But the harder part was yet to come. She balanced the dish in one hand and raised the other to knock. Here we go. Be cool.

Colby answered a few seconds later, barefoot in track pants and a snug white T-shirt, obviously fresh from the shower. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise on his face. “Oh, hey. Everything all right?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, nerves stealing her voice, but she made herself swallow and speak. Unfortunately, everything came out at once. “Yes, everything’s fine. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I saw the yard, and it’s … beautiful. And I wanted to tell you that I really appreciate everything. Not just the yard but earlier. And I thought you might be hungry since you probably worked through lunch and so I made enchiladas. They’re chicken, and you like burgers, so I’m assuming you’re not vegetarian and—”

The slow, broad smile that crept onto his face stopped her mid-ramble. He leaned against his door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re on my porch, Ms. Delaune.”

She pressed her lips together and inhaled a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. “I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to thank you.”