Keats couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “Yeah, I got that message the night you tossed me out of your house. Loud and clear.”
Colby blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face, looking drawn and exhausted all of a sudden. “You know what, Keats? Part of me wishes I had kissed you back that night. No matter how wrong or inappropriate or illegal it would’ve been. Maybe that would’ve kept you there for the night and off the street the next day and the day after that.” He met Keats’s gaze, regret resting in his. “You were too good a kid to have to travel down this road. The world had bigger things waiting for you than this.”
Keats’s lungs felt tight, and it had nothing to do with his ribs. He didn’t want to think about the what ifs. He dropped his gaze to the comforter, memories flooding him. Memories of the boy he used to be, the dreams he used to cling to, and how his dad had finally crushed the last bit of them that night. Remembering how desperately he’d wanted to believe that if he meant something to Colby, then maybe he wasn’t as worthless as he felt. “I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you had kissed me back. It’s not like I had any idea what I was doing.”
“Would’ve never happened anyway.”
Keats smirked, still staring at the comforter. “You’re bad for my ego. I had no shot, huh?”
Colby made some indecipherable sound and moved toward the door. When Keats dared to look up, Colby’s back was to him, his hand braced on the door frame. “No, Keats. You were a kid. I didn’t think of you that way. Not back then.”
With that, Colby disappeared into the dark hallway and shut the door behind him, leaving Keats staring after him. Not back then. But now . . .
Below the covers, Keats’s body stirred to attention.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He planted a pillow over his face and groaned.
FIFTEEN
“So how’d it go?”
Georgia sipped her coffee and tried not to smile at the eager face staring back at her through her computer screen. “Are you asking as my therapist or my friend?”
Leesha sat up straighter in her office chair, pushed her dreads behind her shoulders, and put on her reading glasses. “Therapist first. Were you able to complete your goal?”
“Yes. I made it into his house with no panic attack.”
“Anxiety level from one to ten?”
“It hit about a seven, but he talked me down, helped me to breathe through it and to distract myself from the negative thoughts.”
She lifted a brow—her mildly impressed face. “Intuitive.”
“He’s a school counselor.”
“Oh,” she said, shifting into her fully impressed face. “Well, that helps.”
“Yeah, he’s really understanding about it. I was able to stay a while without any of the anxiety coming back.”
“A while, huh? Did you tell him about the watching you’ve been doing?”
She set her cup down. “He already knew. Apparently, I wasn’t quite as stealthy as I thought. Cancel my application to become an international spy.”
“He knew?” Leesha’s green eyes went big. “So he . . .”
“Yes, he let me. He”—Georgia’s face heated, but she pushed on—“he said he liked that I was watching.”
“Ho-lee shit.” She took her glasses off, apparently switching out of therapist mode into BFF mode. “That is either exceptionally creepy or freaking hot.”
“Hot,” Georgia said with a solemn nod. “Believe me. So. Hot.”
“Damn, girl.” Leesha glanced to the side, probably double-checking that her office door was still shut. “So what happened after that big revelation?”
Georgia sipped her coffee again and gave a shrug. “You know, stuff.”
“Oh, hell no.” Leesha leaned closer to her camera. “You can’t get vague on me now, woman. What happened?”