day when they’d both been outside in their yards. He’d rattled off a few names of his favorite singers and bands, and she’d only heard of one or two.
Afterward, she’d gone to her computer and Googled him, finding a few YouTube videos of performances, most of them old footage, a few recent. Apparently, he’d been a bit of a big deal when he was younger—a guy on the brink of breaking out. But he’d disappeared from the scene for some unknown reason. She’d played those videos, transfixed, watching them more than once in true stalker style. He had a singing voice so deep, she’d wanted to roll around in it. Even when he sang songs about things she had no personal connection to—growing up in a small town, falling in love with a girl, and stirring up trouble—the music had resonated with her in a way no other kind had because of the way Colby had sung the lyrics. Honesty bled into his performances, and he had a voice that could make the most frigid chick go liquid. She’d become quite a fan. But, of course, he had no idea. Just as he had no idea about her other stalker-like activities …
She sighed. With him gone, her mind kicked into gear again, dimming some of the heady high of the kiss. She was in Colby’s living room. And had kissed him. The reality was hard to believe. On her list of small steps she hoped to move through to get herself healthy for the trial, she’d just jumped from number two to like number six hundred. She glanced out the side window to find her house staring back at her like a sentinel awaiting her return. That was the extent of her whole world sitting next door. Sure, she managed to go out once a week and get her groceries and take care of necessities, but it was always a white-knuckle day made possible by her medication. That house was the only place she could exist without the crushing anxiety. Both a sanctuary and a prison.
But here she was, finally sitting outside it. Exhilarated. Terrified. Leesha was going to shoot a confetti gun when she found out. Georgia clasped her hands in her lap, her thumb rubbing her palm in a slow, methodical motion—up and down, up and down—an unconscious habit that soothed her. As long as she didn’t think about this too hard, she wouldn’t lose it. Colby had been right about that part. As soon as he’d started giving her instructions, she’d been able to focus on simply following and shutting down the racing part of her brain. She’d never thought she’d be able to hear commands from a man without thinking of Phillip, but with Colby it felt different—less of an affront to her free will and more an act of caring direction. It’d been a little like the yoga she did some mornings. Shut the mind down and listen to the teacher on the video tell you how to breathe and move.
Except yoga didn’t involve a big, sexy man and a kiss that’d been hotter than sin on Sunday.
Colby returned to the living room a few minutes later and handed her a Heineken before sitting next to her on the couch. “All right, dinner’s in the oven. Thanks for putting that together. It was going to be a PB&J night.”
“No problem. I like to cook.” Well, she’d learned to like it. Back in Chicago, it had been all about eating out. The food was to die for in the city, and she’d taken full advantage of it. But now she didn’t have that option. After moving here, she’d missed going out to restaurants and had gotten tired of microwave meals and delivery, so she’d decided if she couldn’t manage to go out anymore, she’d learn how to make her favorites at home via her friend the Food Network.
Colby shifted on the couch so that he was facing her and leaning back on the arm of it. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Hell. Talking. That was what she’d come over here for. But she certainly wasn’t ready to tell him her secret now. Not after that kiss. It’d ruin it all. She scrambled for a different subject and took a long sip of her beer. Then she toed off her shoes so she wouldn’t be tempted to bolt. “Is Keats still here?”
He cocked a thumb toward the hallway behind him. “Yeah, in the guest bedroom. I think he took the nighttime allergy medicine instead of the regular. He’s been out for a few hours.”
“I’m glad he’s still around. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You want to talk about Keats?” he asked, brows dipping in confusion.
“I do. And I know I’m being nosy,” Georgia said rolling the bottle between her palms and keeping her voice low in case Keats woke up. “But how bad is his situation?”
Colby considered her, looking way too tempting with his still-damp hair and that snug T-shirt, but he seemed to be pondering the question. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I’m guessing not good. I found him busking in a park last night. He said he needed money to make rent.”
“How long is he staying with you?”
Colby frowned and glanced toward the hallway, then took a draw of his beer. “He wants me to drive him back tonight. I’m giving him some money. He said it’ll cover him for a while.”
“You don’t seem too thrilled about that.”
“I’m not.” Colby leaned back and laid his arm across the back of the couch, looking weary all of a sudden. “But the guy’s too prideful for handouts. I offered to let him stay with me for a while, but he sees it as charity. Plus, he comes from a world where nothing is given for free. Even with one night, I could tell he was trying to figure out my angle, like there’s more to it than me wanting to help out.”
She picked at the label on her beer. “Is there?”
“No, he’s a kid I used to know who needed help. I helped. I still want to help.”
“He’s not a kid anymore, Colby,” she said, peeking up at him. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
He raised a brow at her. “Well, apparently, you have.”
“Come on,” she said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “You know neither of you is hard to look at.”
“Is that right? Neither of us, huh?” He grinned and pointed the neck of his beer toward her. “Does this mean I need to challenge Keats to a duel for your primary affections?”
She sniffed. “Only if you plan on taking your shirts off and doing hand-to-hand combat. Possibly while the sprinklers are running.”
A bark of laughter spilled out of him, echoing through the room. “Dirty mind, Georgia. I like this side of you.”
She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time. She liked this side of her, too—even though she suspected it was partly due to the residual effects of that kiss and might not last long. “I have my moments.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” he said, the shift in his voice like a stroke against her skin.
She chewed her lip, the simple statement bringing to mind her nights at that window, the things she’d seen take place in the room down the hall. But she couldn’t let her thoughts wander there. Already she could feel her body prickling with awareness. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it against her chest in defense. “Do you think Keats would consider staying if I could offer him a job?”
His forehead scrunched. “What do you mean?”
“I need an assistant. Simple stuff—errands, emails, mailing things for me. I have an extra laptop. He could do it from here—or my place, if I can handle that. It’d only be part time, but it’d be steady work, and he could look for something full time or take classes or whatever he needs to do in between.”
“I thought you were looking for a virtual assistant.”
She shrugged, though her attempt at casual felt stiff. This was a big, major deal for her. “I was. But he needs it more than some college kid. And … I think it’d be good for me, you know, to invite some people into my life.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re kind of amazing for making that offer. But why him?”
She set her beer on the coffee table. “Because he seems like a good guy who’s had some bad luck. And I don’t know, when he helped me today, there was just something