Colby threw the towel to the side and pulled his earbuds out. “Hey.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem.” Colby set his iPod to the side. “Were you able to get what you needed for Georgia?”
Keats stepped into the garage, looking around at the equipment as he did. “Yeah, just got back. She needed some boxes to ship books. I tried to get her to come with me, but she wasn’t ready.”
“Give her time.”
“I know. But it’s tough seeing anyone cooped up like that. It must feel like prison.” He tossed Colby the bottle of water he’d been holding.
“Thanks.” Colby caught it and twisted the cap off. “Yeah, it’s hard not to want to push.”
“I imagine it’s even harder for someone like you.”
Colby took a long swig of water. “Meaning?”
“You’re used to getting your way.”
Colby sniffed.
“She wouldn’t stay last night, huh?”
“Eavesdropping again?”
Keats gave him a come-on-now look. “Don’t pretend y’all didn’t want me to. You two were so noisy, they probably heard you across the street.”
Colby grimaced. “Sorry. Honestly. I’m sure that’s the last thing you needed when you’re still healing up and needing rest. I’m not used to worrying about having other people in the house. I’ll put on music next time.” He took another gulp of water, desperately wanting to change the subject. “Did you at least get some sleep after Georgia left?”
He shrugged. “Not much.”
Colby set the water aside and straddled the weight bench. “Are you in a lot of pain still?”
Keats grabbed the chin-up bar, his arms stretching out above his head. It raised the hem of his T-shirt, revealing how low-slung his jeans were and how dark the bruise on his side had gotten. Colby forced his focus upward.
“No, that’s not what kept me up, just couldn’t stop thinking.” He swung his body forward a bit, hanging from the bar like a lazy monkey.
The position h
ad Colby imagining what Keats would look like if Colby cuffed those wrists to the metal rod and locked a spreader bar between Keats’s ankles, tugged down those jeans, leaving Keats helpless and on display. Colby’s cock twitched with awareness. Fuck. Even after a fantastic night with Georgia, his body still wanted to hop up and pant for one Adam Keats.
This was exactly why Colby had never tried to get married. He loved women, but he could never fully turn off one switch for the other. He was that annoying guy who perpetuated the unfair assumption that bisexuals couldn’t commit to one side long term.
Colby scooted backward, willing his dick to stand down so he could lie back and do a few bench presses, anything to get his eyes off Keats.
When he was sure his body was cooperating, he rolled down onto his back. Keats stepped behind the head of the bench and put his hands on the weight bar to spot Colby. He loomed over Colby now, his expression pensive. Colby lifted the bar and brought it down to his chest, trying to ignore how close Keats was. He closed his eyes and began to pump the weights. One. Breathe. Two. Breathe. Three.
“Thinking about what?” Colby asked finally. It was easier now that he wasn’t looking at him.
“All the stuff you told me the other night. And all the stuff I heard last night.”
“Mmm,” Colby said noncommittally. Four. Five. Six.
He could hear Keats shifting behind him. Breathing a little too quickly. He smelled like the Irish Spring soap Colby kept in the guest bathroom.
“I want to know what I am,” Keats said after a long pause.
The bar slipped a bit in Colby’s hands, and Keats reached out to grab it and take some of the weight. Colby pressed his teeth together and pushed the weights back into the holder. He couldn’t have this type of conversation on his back with a couple hundred pounds hanging over him. He slid forward and sat up to face Keats, who was managing to keep his expression entirely impassive.