He shrugged and pushed his food around on his plate. “When it comes to a beautiful woman enjoying herself, there’s not much I wouldn’t be willing to do.”
Colby took a bite of enchiladas, watching him with analytical eyes. “That must make you popular.”
“I do all right,” he said, unable to hold Colby’s gaze. Sometimes it felt like the guy was looking right inside him, seeing all the crossed wires and short circuits. He went back to not eating his food. After a few quiet minutes of rearranging his plate, Keats pushed the enchiladas away. “I need you to drive me back home tonight.”
Colby set down his plate. “You just promised Georgia you’d be here tomorrow.”
Keats rubbed his palms on his thighs, guilt nipping at him. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Georgia, but what was there to gain by hanging around here longer? Disappointment, that’s what. Colby and Georgia had lives that existed in another realm from his—and they were obviously starting a relationship. No matter how much Keats pretended, this wasn’t his place. Sure, Colby would let him stay for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like his life was magically going to change because he had a nicer roof over his head. Before long, Colby would grow tired of having a guest. He’d want to fuck his hot girlfriend on the couch without worrying about someone barging in and gawking.
Tonight, when Keats had first walked in on them, he’d been knocked over with the desire to go over there and be a part of something that erotic and intense. Georgia had looked goddamned beautiful stretched out and sighing into the fantasy. And Colby’s words, the pictures he’d painted . . . Keats’s blood had rushed straight south, those images of bondage and roughness making him flushed and instantly hard. He’d closed his eyes to see it all. And for a few seconds, his mind had fooled him into thinking that maybe he belonged there with them. Like the moment was a shared one. But, of course, it’d been a ridiculous thought. If he’d learned anything in his life so far, it was that he’d always be the outsider. That conclusion had been confirmed when Colby and Georgia had kicked him out and had gone on to have sex while he was there in the kitchen. He’d been a prop at best, an intruder at worst.
No, he didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his life.
“I’ll try to come by. But I have to get back tonight or they’re going to toss my stuff out. I need to give them the rent.”
“You don’t need to give them anything. You don’t have to stay there at all. I told you there’s a room here you can use.”
“And I told you I don’t want a handout.”
“This isn’t charity. It’s a friend helping a friend.”
Keats scoffed and pushed back from the table to stand. “Friends? Come on, Colby, that’s not what we are. You see me as some debt that needs to be paid off to erase a mark on your conscience. A mistake to fix.”
Colby closed his eyes and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. Keats had seen him do that so many times in the classroom, especially when Keats kept screwing up his chords sophomore year, but that seemed like a lifetime ago now. Two different people. “Keats.”
“Look, man.” He stepped in front of him, but Colby didn’t open his eyes. “Stop putting that shit on yourself. You were the best teacher I had and the only person who gave a damn about me back then. When I left that note for my dad and stole his gun from him that night, I fully planned on ending things.” Colby looked up at that, flinching. “But I couldn’t help going to you first. And there you were, the shining example of what I could never seem to measure up to—the ‘real man,’ the kind every woman wanted and no dude would challenge in a fight. It was what my dad always wished I would be.”
Colby made a disgusted sound, making his opinion of Keats’s father quite clear.
“But when you admitted you were bi, it was like giving the ultimate finger to my father and all the people who thought like him. You didn’t fit in the mold. You played music. You were creative. And you didn’t give a shit if people knew you fucked guys.”
“Yes, that was exceptionally appropriate to admit to one of my students,” he said darkly.
“It was what I needed to hear,” Keats replied. “And yeah, I took it too far when I tried something with you, but that’s on me. A stupid kid making a stupid mistake. So whatever guilt you’re holding on to, let it the fuck go. The reason why I didn’t put a gun to my head that night was because of you. You showed me that not everyone has to fit into a certain box. That a real man is one who lives life on his own terms. And that’s what I’ve been doing since. So stop feeling like you need to take me in like a stray pet.”
Colby’s jaw flexed. “It’s not like that.”
“Good,” Keats said with a nod. “Then you should have no problem giving me a ride to my place and letting me get back to my life. Like a friend.”
Colby eyed him like he wanted to grab him and shake him, but instead he let out a long breath as if steeling himself against the urge. “I’ll bring you home. But you’re coming back tomorrow to hear Georgia out. I won’t have her disappointed. You understand?”
The tone in his voice reminded Keats of the way he’d issued commands to Georgia in the fantasy, and it made something low in his gut twist. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling. “You got it, Teach.”
“And stop calling me that.” He pushed away from the counter and grabbed his keys off a hook by the back door. “After what you witnessed tonight, I’d rather not be reminded that I used to be your teacher.”
Keats shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to fight the grin. Looked like Mr. Responsible was surfacing again and regretting how much he’d allowed Keats to see tonight. But no way was Keats letting Colby hop behind that line in the sand again. “Yeah, you probably prefer sir, or is it master?”
Colby peered over his shoulder with a don’t-push-it expression.
“What?” Keats asked innocently.
Colby grumbled and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “Well, now I know how long you stood in the hallway.”
Keats grabbed his bag and guitar case from the table and slung the former over his shoulder. “So do you really, you know, go there?”
“Go there?” Colby was on the move, heading toward the front of the house, obviously wanting to be done with this conversation. Keats followed him, knowing he didn’t have the right to ask the questions but too damn curious not to.
“I mean, was that just a fantasy game or is that how you are with women?”