But when the moment had arrived, everything had felt too intense, too at-the-surface. Keats wasn’t some submissive at The Ranch he was playing with for the night. This was Keats, and he was living here and there was . . . stuff between them. It already felt complicated, and all they’d done was kiss. He didn’t know what to do with that. The thought of sleeping with someone for the first time wasn’t supposed to feel that heavy. But in his gut, he knew crossing that line with Keats would feel far different than just a fun first time because of their history.
He needed to fix this. Let Keats know that it wasn’t a good idea for them to step over that boundary after all. Take the possibility out of play and defuse the tension. Maybe Keats could find what he needed with someone else, maybe even with Georgia. Colby shouldn’t be the one.
He headed to the kitchen to find his cell phone, but it rang before he could get to it. He grabbed it as the opening notes of “Amarillo by Morning” filled the room. “Hello?”
“Want to tell me why your houseguest is currently here, begging for me to pile some work on him?” Georgia asked, her voice low, as if she were cupping her hand over the mouthpiece.
Colby cleared his throat. “I may have scared him off. But I’m glad he’s there and didn’t run somewhere else.”
She sighed. “What happened?”
“Nothing did. His choice. A good choice, actually.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Georgia said in that way that made him think she didn’t buy it. “So what now? I’d let him crash on my couch, but I don’t think I can handle someone sleeping in my house yet. I’m still a little jittery having someone here at all.”
“That’s not necessary. Tell Keats . . . well, tell him we’re cool. Everything’s fine. I’ve got a meeting at the school late this afternoon, and then I’m going to play a set at the Iron Spoke tonight, so if Keats wants to avoid me for the rest of today, it won’t be hard.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I’m not going to let you turn me down for dinner. Even with all this, you haven’t been far from my mind. Every time I close my eyes I can see how damn sexy you looked wrapped in my rope and coming for me last night. I won’t wait another night to see that again. I’ll command your presence if I have to.”
“I doubt a command will be necessary. I’ve been thinking about you, too. But what about Keats?”
He released a long breath. “Tomorrow I’m going to sit down and tell him nothing’s going to happen between us.”
—
Georgia hung up the phone with a sigh. Colby had sounded . . . resigned about Keats, and she had no idea how to help. Though she didn’t want to interfere and should probably be happy to have Colby all to herself, her instincts told her that Colby and Keats needed to work out whatever it was between them in a far less civilized manner than talking. Most of the female population of the world would probably think she was nuts for wanting to share Colby like that. But after being caught in the inescapable beam of Phillip’s obsessive love for so long, being with someone who was interested in her but not fixated was a welcome change. It helped her breathe and not freak out about how powerful everything had felt with Colby last night.
But it didn’t matter what she wanted for the two guys. It wasn’t her call. Colby and Keats would have to figure things out for themselves in their own way.
She headed back into the living room to join her unexpected guest. In the few minutes she had left him alone, Keats was spread out on her couch with a stack of papers in his lap. He looked up from the one he was reading and smiled. “You told on me, George?”
She smirked. He’d taken to calling her George and for some reason, she found that she liked it. “I told him you were here so he wouldn’t go on a tear to find you again.”
“My bike’s still in the driveway. He would’ve figured it out.”
She eyed the papers again. “What are you doing?”
“These had a sticky note on them that said proofread, so I’m proofreading.”
“What?”
“I’ve marked a few typos, but, goddamn George, this is—”
“Not ready for outside eyes,” she said, annoyance seeping into her tone.
“It
’s awesome. And like holy shit hot,” he said, a touch of awe in his voice. “This Haven woman—damn.”
Her teeth clenched and she stalked over to grab the pages from him. Phillip used to dig through her manuscripts, trying to get “insight” into how her mind worked—or so he said. Which just meant he’d get jealous of whoever the hero was. His possessiveness didn’t discriminate, even when the men she was spending her time with were fictional. “Don’t read something unless I tell you it’s ready to be read.”
He gave them over to her without a fight, chagrined. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” she said, straightening the papers unnecessarily. “You didn’t know. It’s just, this is my work in progress, and it’s not ready for others to see.”
He held up his hands. “Totally get it. I don’t like people hearing my songs until they’re done either. I didn’t mean to invade. I just saw the note and thought I could help.”