“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—”