Jace said he would do just that. But Colby’s attention stayed on Keats, and he was rewarded when on the final line of “Burn Me Down,” Keats’s eyes locked on his, and he sang the words right to him.
That was all it took for Colby’s good intentions to go up in flames. Burn me down, indeed. He shoved his chair back. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Jace grinned. “Happy trails, Wilkes.”
TWENTY-THREE
Keats managed to return Robyn’s guitar and say his good-byes, but his hands shook when he tucked them in the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t regret what he’d done onstage. Like Georgia had said earlier today, the back-and-forth wasn’t fair to anyone. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to settle inside until he faced up to whatever this was with Colby. But now that the moment was over, his thoughts were unraveling in every direction and knotting into new worries. Colby had walked out, and Keats had no idea what that meant.
Maybe he’d fucked it all up again.
But when he headed out of the bar to get on his bike, he found himself standing in front of an empty parking spot. No bike. “What the hell?”
He spun around to scan the lot and saw Colby’s truck across the way. Keats’s motorcycle was in the back. Colby slammed the tailgate shut and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and not saying a word.
If an outsider had been watching them, it might have looked like Colby was about to challenge Keats to a fight. Or maybe that Colby was about to star in a country music video. He pulled off the broad-shouldered, boot-wearing, worn jeans look to ridiculous perfection. All he needed was a damn dog sitting at his feet.
Keats’s throat tightened. No, that wasn’t what Colby was expecting to be at his feet.
Colby cocked his head toward the truck. “You gonna get in, Keats? Or do I need to roll your bike back out?”
Keats barely heard him over the blood roaring through his ears. He cleared his throat, searching for his voice. “The bike can stay there.”
“The song was good,” he said, pushing his back off the truck and taking one step forward. Keats internally flinched. The gravel crunching beneath Colby’s boot sounded loud even with the crowd noise and music filtering out from the bar. Everything was amplified in his mind right now, his senses dialed up to eleven. “You’re a natural up there.”
Keats breathed in the cold night air, trying to calm himself. He didn’t need to act like some scared virgin. He hadn’t played this game with another man, but he could hold his own with flirting. The gender shouldn’t matter. “I had a good teacher.”
Colby hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Keats was the one to take steps this time. He crossed the parking lot and stopped just short of arm’s length. “I was hoping he could show me a few more things, though.”
The temperature had dropped in the last two hours, and Keats watched as their frosted breath mingled in the air between them. Colby’s eyes were darker than normal in the shine of the orange streetlight, and what Keats saw there had his heart thumping faster.
Colby gave him a long, evaluating look, then a barely-there nod. “Get in the truck, Keats.”
Keats’s fists clenched at his side, fear trying to take hold again, but he forced his fingers open. “Okay.”
“Yes, sir would be the proper response,” Colby corrected. “I expect your full respect from this point onward tonight.”
Keats wet his lips. “Yes, sir.”
It should’ve felt strange on his lips. But, then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d called Colby sir.
When Keats attempted to move past him, Colby turned and stepped fully into Keats’s personal space. Keats leaned back against the side of the truck, both of them now covered in the shadows of the parking lot, shielded from the bar’s entrance. Colby braced a hand on the truck, half-caging Keats in. “You know, I had decided this was a bad idea.”
Keats couldn’t look away from the hard gaze. “I know.”
“I thought you weren’t ready. And I thought I’d never be able to see past the kid I used to know, that it’d feel wrong to me.”
“I’m not that kid anymore,” he said, his voice barely loud enough for his own ears to hear it.
“No, you’re not,” Colby said, moving closer and bringing their belt buckles together. Denim against denim.
Keats’s dick, already half awake for the party, went hard in an instant.
“My body had already figured that much out,” Colby said, his lips a breath away from Keats’s. “But when I saw you onstage, my head finally caught up. I saw the man. A talented, artistic, hot-as-fuck man who I’d be damn lucky to have in my bed.” He slid his hand to boldly cup Keats’s erection. “And under my command.”
Keats’s head fell back against the window of the truck as Colby gave him a stroke through his jeans. “Fuck.”