“What?”
Colby leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if I told you there was a way to earn that five hundred dollars? Would you feel better about taking it?”
Keats’s gaze flicked down Colby’s body almost too quickly to detect, but the color that instantly dotted his cheeks gave him away. Colby knew what thought had first crossed Keats’s mind. That Keats thought Colby would even go there irritated him. What irritated him even more was the answering ping that went through him at the thought.
Fucking hell.
“What do you have in mind?” Keats asked, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and trying to look nonchalant.
That was the wrong question. Colby didn’t want to admit to himself what had flashed through his head. But even if Keats wasn’t straight, Colby was smart enough to know it’d be a bad idea on so many levels to cross any of those lines. Beyond the fact that Keats was a former student and almost a decade younger than him, he no doubt still had a mountain of issues plaguing him. The guy needed a break, not more complications.
Colby managed to keep his expression neutral despite his errant thoughts. “Come with me.”
When he turned, he half-expected Keats to ignore him and stay behind. But to his surprise, without hesitation or questioning Colby’s intentions, Keats fell into step behind him. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Blind trust.
He hadn’t earned it. Not after how he’d let Keats down in the past. But Colby made a promise to himself right then and there that this time, he would be worthy of it.
Georgia was cursing all high schoolers who ever lived and the manufacturers of triple-ply toilet paper by the time late morning rolled around. She’d worked for two hours in the yard, trying to get all the wet soggy mess out of her shrubs and trees, but it seemed like the stuff multiplied. And the damage that had been done to her flower beds—she couldn’t even think about the work it would take to get them back in shape. But hey, at least she’d spent hours outdoors without any panic attacks. She’d take that as a win. But by ten, she’d given up the effort and had gone inside to shower and write for a while.
She’d gotten one chapter under her belt in record time. Her main character, Haven, and her partner on the job, Mario, were having all kinds of sexual tension in this book, which was fun to write. Haven had walked in on Mario, finding him tied up in his hotel room, courtesy of the bad guys. After making sure they weren’t in any immediate danger, Haven had enjoyed his state a little too much and had toyed with him mercilessly. Her badass heroine was discovering her vixen side in this book, and Georgia had Colby and her midnight viewings to blame for it. But she liked the layers it was adding to Haven’s character, so she was going with it.
After the chapter, she had taken a break to look through résumés for virtual assistants, but right when she was about to email one, the doorbell rang. As usual, the sound sent an arrow of nerves through her, despite the fact that she knew doorbells rang in neighborhoods all day long. Packages, people hawking services, people preaching their religion of choice. It was a world of activity the nine-to-fivers were never aware of. But even so, her mind automatically shifted from green to yellow alert. With a sigh, she pushed herself away from her desk and went to the front door to check the peephole.
But it wasn’t a delivery from the UPS guy. Instead, a familiar face greeted her. One she was beginning to get used to. She unlocked everything and swung open the door.
Colby smiled from beneath the brim of a Billy Bob’s cap. “Hey, neighbor.”
“Hey,” she said, returning his smile. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you’re working, but I wanted to give you a heads-up instead of just going for it,” he explained.
She tilted her head as she tried to decipher his meaning. “Going for it?”
Colby cocked his thumb to the left and another man walked up her front steps to join Colby. “This is my friend Keats. Keats, Georgia.”
Her gaze jumped to the newcomer, any stranger stirring distrust in her. But she realized it was Colby’s houseguest. The guy had tied his hair back with a rubber band, but there was no mistaking the sleeves of tattoos that covered his arms. It was something Georgia wouldn’t normally find herself drawn to. She’d never had a bad-boy complex. Okay, maybe she’d harbored a brief crush on David Beck-ham once upon a time. Whatever. But hell if it didn’t look exactly right on this guy. This very beautiful guy.
Eyes the color of sea glass met hers, but he didn’t offer a handshake, his hands staying firmly tucked in his front pockets. “Good to meet you, Georgia.”
His voice was deeper than she expected, melodic with a dash of Deep South drawl, like liquefied butter. She wondered if he sang as well as played that guitar he’d been carrying last night. She had the urge to demand he sing a few notes of something. “Same here.”
“So,” Colby said, putting a hand on Keats’s shoulder. “I’m lending Keats’s services and mine today to help you get your yard back in shape.”
“What?” she said, looking between the two of them. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ve been working on it. You don’t need to put yourself out—”
“Well, actually,” Colby said, “you’d be helping us out. I’m on a break from work and being bored drives me nuts. And Keats owes me a favor and is happy to work it off here. But I wanted to make sure you were okay with that because it’s your yard.”
She licked her lips. This was so out of her comfort zone, but the guys would only be in her yard. And she knew Colby well enough to know that he wouldn’t let someone he didn’t trust around. “I—well, I guess I could use the help.”
“Fantastic.” Colby grinned, and even Keats managed a hint of a smile. “I’m going to leave Keats here to start pulling the trampled stuff out of the flower beds while I run over to the garden center to grab some new flowers. I know a guy there who will give me a good price.”
“Colby, you don’t have to—” she started.
He held up a hand. “Not a problem. I’m no longer convinced this wasn’t some of my students. We’re the only two houses that got hit on the block, and another teacher texted me this morning saying her yard had been trashed, too, so I feel partially responsible.”
“It’s not your fault—even if it was your students.”
Keats sniffed. “Colby has a tendency to feel responsible for his students’ behavior. I’m not sure there’s any convincing him otherwise.”
Colby’s smile went flat, and Georgia’s eyebrows lifted at the instant shift in mood. There was a story there, but it wasn’t her business. “Okay, I guess I’ll just say thank you, then.”
“You’re welcome,” Colby said, his good humor returning, and just like the night before, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.
She was still standing there slightly stunned when he jogged down her front steps, gave her a wave, and headed to
