low light. He seemed frozen there as he stared at the man on the bed. Colby came in a rush, his release landing against his stomach and chest, and the guy hurriedly shut the door before Colby opened his eyes.
Colby was never the wiser. But Georgia knew.
For once, she wasn’t the only Peeping Tom in the neighborhood.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Keats cruised back to Colby’s guest room at warp speed, almost tripping over his feet in his effort to get the hell out of the hallway. That walk to the bathroom had not gone as planned. Apparently, it was the second door on the left, not the right. He shut his door silently and then collapsed against it, his blood pounding at his temples … and much lower.
He slid to the floor, clasping his hands behind his neck. Jesus Christ. He had stood there way too long. He’d been a half second away from Colby seeing him. That would’ve been fun. Hi, thanks for giving me a place to crash tonight. No, don’t mind me while I turn into a total creeper and watch you jack off.
God, what the hell was wrong with him?
He hadn’t been able to look away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how jerking off worked. He was rather fond of it himself. But realizing he was seeing Colby Wilkes without the teacher façade, just the man—naked—had frozen him in place. All the mixed-up feelings he’d had back in high school had rushed back in a flash. Back then, when he’d heard through the rumor mill that Mr. Wilkes sometimes dated guys, his mind hadn’t been able to let that go. Images had popped into his head unbidden and relentless—followed by fantasies he would’ve never admitted to out loud.
He’d used those fantasies on a constant loop to get off back then, only to follow up with all the guilt and shame that rushed in afterward. And here he was, twenty-fucking-three years old and those stupid teenage urges wanted to well up—that old inner voice calling him a fag and a cocksucker and disgusting. Words his father had supplied but Keats’s brain had latched onto.
He tapped the back of his head on the door. No. That wasn’t him anymore. He no longer believed that backwoods shit his father had pounded into him. People could screw who they wanted to screw. But he was straight. The weird fantasies about Colby had been a fluke, some wires crossing because Colby had been the only person he’d trusted, and he’d wanted to be closer to him—had wanted those student/teacher boundaries keeping everything formal to disappear. That was all. As soon as he left home, those mixed-up feelings had faded away.
Keats liked women, bedded them regularly, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Plus, he’d been on the streets long enough and had gotten sick of married guys in expensive cars propositioning him with a fistful of cash and a hotel room key. Those offers had cured him of any thoughts of bisexuality.
But when he’d seen Colby step into his corner of the park tonight, all of that aversion seemed to fall away. A deep, whole-body response had taken over his brain. Keats was good at telling people to fuck off. And he sure as hell didn’t take direction from anyone anymore. But if Colby had taken him up on his sarcastic offer of a blow job for a couple hundred bucks, Keats would’ve gotten on his knees for him for no cash at all and figured out how to do it.
The thought scared the shit out of him. He should’ve never come here. He’d humiliated himself in front of Colby—well, Mr. Wilkes back then—once before, reading too much into things and making a fool of himself. That was enough for one lifetime. Plus, he knew that Colby had let him off easy tonight. They’d eaten at Waffle House in near-silence. But Keats had no doubt that the questions would come tomorrow. What Keats had done back then was unforgivable on so many levels. And Colby had taken heat for it even though the guy had done nothing wrong. Keats had seen the not-so-subtle references in the news coverage when everyone was looking for him back in Hickory Point. The young music teacher had fucked up and crossed lines with his poor, innocent student. Ha. If they’d only known the real story.
But now Keats was going to have to deal with the consequences if he stuck around. Fuck. That was the last thing he wanted to face. He eyed the neatly made bed in the middle of the room. The damn thing looked so fresh and inviting. Since he’d broken up with his last girlfriend a few weeks ago, he’d been back to paying week-to-week at the Texas Star Motel with the cash he made from the day labor jobs he picked up here and there. But tonight his ex’s punk-ass brother had caught up to him, demanding money she owed him. Keats hadn’t known Nina was running pills for her brother—or taking them. It’d been one of the reasons he’d broken it off with her. But now she was telling her brother, Hank, that Keats had taken off with her stash. And Hank wanted his grand back.
Hank and two other guys had cornered Keats earlier that day, catching him off guard. Keats knew how to fight, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to take on three dudes who were probably armed and amped up on crank. He’d handed over his rent money, and Hank had kindly offered to give him until Wednesday to make his next payment. Fucking psycho.
So now he had two days to come up with at least another couple hundred bucks for Hank and more for rent. And, of course, it’d rained this morning so the construction work he’d been picking up hadn’t needed guys today, which was why he’d resorted to his old standby of busking in the park. Playing his guitar was what he enjoyed most anyway. But until Colby had come along, he hadn’t earned enough to even pay for another week at the motel.
The cash he had made was tucked in his pocket. It was enough for one night at least. He could sneak out now and save himself the drama of tomorrow. It’d be a dick move, but he doubted Colby really wanted him staying there anyway. He’d taken him home out of guilt, like a stray. But if he left now, he would never know if Colby really planned on giving him five hundred bucks. That wouldn’t fix everything, but it could go a long way for him right now. And he didn’t have to do anything for it but sleep in a comfortable bed and have an uncomfortable conversation. That was worth it, right?
His stomach flipped over. Maybe not.
The smart thing would be to sneak out. Colby probably wasn’t going to give him the money anyway. He’d probably want to turn him in to the police as a former missing kid or something. Hell. No.
He got to his feet, planning to grab his shit and get out, when there was a knock on the door. His heart jumped in his throat at the sudden sound.
“Keats?”
Shit. He sent a quick plea to the universe that Colby hadn’t seen him standing in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, come in.”
The door opened and Colby stood on the other side, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, his hair still wet. His sheer size had always done something to Keats—a few inches taller than he was and broad as hell. But now that Colby wasn’t close shaven and had let his hair grow a little longer, the effect was even more potent—like an untamed version of the teacher he used to know. Add to it the hint of color in his face, warmth Keats knew was a post-orgasm glow, and Keats was completely fucking distracted.
Colby handed him a thick white towel. Clothes were folded on top of it. “I thought you might want to shower before bed. The guest bathroom should have shampoo and soap in the cabinet beneath the sink. Feel free to use whatever.” He nodded at the clothes. “Those are probably going to be too big, but the shorts have a drawstring, so you should be able to tighten them.”
“Thanks, you really don’t have to do this. I mean, I have some extra clothes in my backpack.” Though most of it was dirty. He had planned to go to the Laundromat this morning before his unfortunate run-in with Hank.
Colby frowned. “They’re probably wet from the rain. Leave them out here in the hallway and I’ll toss them in the wash. Then you’ll have your own stuff for tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do my damn laundry,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. Colby being nice to him was making him feel like an even bigger shitbag for wanting to sneak out. “I can handle things. In fact, I don’t