He made a dismissive noise. “No way. They jumped me. Six on one. But I got what I wanted after all. After knocking out the ringleader with an excellent uppercut—which was awesome—I got shoved down some bleachers and broke my ankle. Couldn’t play any sports for months. I spent the rest of that summer learning how to play guitar while my dad disappeared every day to camp. Best. Summer. Ever.”
“God, Keats, that’s awful.”
“Probably, but it taught me that being scared is usually worse than what you’re scared of. Facing it sucks, but it sucks less than always worrying about the what ifs.”
She sighed. She could tell him that her fear was well founded, but it wasn’t really anymore. Phillip was in another state. All that was left was the residual, nebulous terror of what could happen. “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I am working on it and taking small steps. The fact that you’re here in the house with me is one. And last night was the first time I went into someone else’s house in over a year.”
She had no idea why she was admitting all this, but Keats had that way about him. He had a face you’d confess deep, dark secrets to because you could tell he’d keep them.
“So why don’t I help you keep that up?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll run errands for you, but only if you come with me.”
Her chest tightened. “I don’t think—”
“Think of me like your personal bodyguard. I’ll look out for you and if you start to panic, I can get you out to the car before anyone knows something’s wrong. And if you don’t panic, I’ll provide rewards.”
She couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Rewards?”
“Yes, I’m all about the positive reinforcement, George. Can I call you George?”
“Uh . . .”
But he didn’t wait for an answer. “You know, cookies. Chocolate. Full-body massages. Rewards.”
She laughed.
“What?” he asked innocently.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure HR would approve of an employee giving his boss a massage.”
“Are we really going to talk about HR? I was one room over last night while you and Colby screwed on the couch. I think we’ve jumped that shark.”
She rubbed her hand over her eyes, chagrin rushing to the surface. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry things got a little . . . out of hand.”
“I’m not.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs, meeting her gaze. “Last night was hot. No one forced me to liste
n. I could’ve minded my own damn business. But let’s not pretend that we weren’t all in on it. Y’all wanted me to hear. I wanted to hear. And honestly, if giving me this job means we’re going to have to be all formal with each other, then you can keep it.”
“What?”
“I like you, George. And I’m happy to work for you—thankful to be offered the chance, believe me. But I’m not good at formal and polite. I work hard, but what you see is what you get.”
She wet her lips, his declaration making her feel a little off balance.
“We both already know more about each other than we should, right? So pretending we don’t would be bullshit. You’re sleeping with the guy I’m staying with, and he happens to be kinky, so I’m guessing last night won’t be the first time I see or hear more than I should.”
She leaned back in the armchair, her neck burning. “Maybe this was a bad idea. You don’t have to do any work for me. I’m putting you in an awkward—”
He was off the couch in a blink. He went down on one knee in front of her and took her hands. “Hey, stop. Do I look like I’m weirded out by this or being forced to be here?”
She stared down at him. Even the black eye couldn’t mar how damn beautiful he was. She had the sudden desire to push her fingers through his hair, to feel those strands against her skin. Shit. She pulled her hands from Keats’s and tucked them in her lap. This plan was feeling more dangerous by the minute.
“Listen. I’m here to help however you need. I don’t care what the job is. If it’s hard labor out in the yard or licking envelopes or organizing your sock drawer, that’s fine. I’m in. But can’t we just leave all the crap that normally comes along with jobs aside? I’m not good at faking shit.” He made a circle around his mouth with his finger. “No filter.”
“Keats,” she said, not sure how to respond.