dropped the pile of soggy toilet paper to the ground and took a few steps toward her. He was dressed for his morning run—baseball cap, track pants, and a blue Nike shirt. The man was like clockwork with his routine. Not that she’d noticed or anything.
“Apparently, some of the neighborhood kids decided to go on their own post-Halloween rampage and went a little overboard last night. My house got hit, too. When I came out, I figured it was probably a group from the school I work at targeting the staff. But then I saw your yard. My kids would know better than to tear up someone’s garden. At least they better or I’d have their butts out here fixing all this.”
She glanced over at his house and saw that it had gotten the same treatment. The white streamers of toilet paper billowed in the breeze. “Why are you over here, though? Looks like you have your own mess to handle.”
He shrugged. “You work hard on your yard, and it’d be tough for you to reach this stuff in the tree. I figured I’d help.”
“Thank you. That’s really nice of you.” She fought past her tendency to evaluate the kindness. She’d learned that a favor could be an aggressive move, a way to make someone feel indebted without permission. But every instinct told her Colby wasn’t a danger to her. The man was dominant and a sadist, but he lived by a code. She’d done her research on his lifestyle and had seen it in action through the window—structured, practiced, controlled. He only hurt with consent. “Do you want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
He wiped his hands on his pants and smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”
She stepped back inside and put her hand on the door, giving him the subtle signal that he wasn’t invited inside. No one was. “I’ll grab some and bring it out to you. Cream?”
“No, black with a little sugar is fine.”
She shut the door and locked it. With lightning-fast precision, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then made her way back toward the front of the house with two cups of coffee. Colby was sitting on her front steps when she walked out. He stood when he saw her and took the cup from her hand.
“Thanks,” he said, leaning against one of the brick columns on her porch. “I usually don’t let myself have one of these until I get to school.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug, the heat warming her cold fingers and soothing her nerves a bit. This was just coffee with the neighbor. “If I don’t have it within ten minutes of opening my eyes, I’m ruined for the morning.”
He took a long sip and recoiled a bit. “Whoa.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Sorry, I make the kind with chicory in it. My dad’s originally from New Orleans, and I picked up the habit. I could get you some cream if you want.”
He coughed, but his eyes were smiling. “No, I’ll be fine. Just didn’t expect that kick. That’ll grow hair on your chest.”
“I certainly hope not,” she said, taking another sip.
He chuckled and his gaze drifted downward ever so briefly to the V-neck of her top, making her instantly aware. But as quickly as the glance was there, his attention was back on her face again. “So is that where you’re from? New Orleans?”
The question was a simple one but held more drama than he could know. “No, my mom’s a college professor, so we moved when I was little from New Orleans to Chicago once she landed a tenured position.”
“How’d you end up here?”
This had been a bad idea. She knew her story, had it memorized for anyone who asked, but somehow Colby had her wanting to tell the truth. Something about him made her want to pour it all out there on her porch. But of course she couldn’t do that. “I don’t like harsh winters. And since I’m a writer and can work from anywhere, I figured I’d set up shop someplace warm with a low cost of living.”
It all sounded logical. Of course, it was all bullshit except for the writer part. She was simply renting this place because a good friend had inherited the house from her grandmother and offered to let her stay there. She hadn’t cared where she landed as long as it wasn’t anywhere close to where Phillip would be. As soon as he was safely behind bars, she could return to her cute little house in Evanston and start living again. Find that happy girl who used to have great friends and a busy social life.
“What do you write?” Colby asked, bringing her mind back into focus.
“Lately?” Really hot, kinky scenes loosely based on my neighbor. “I do freelance stuff for websites and am working on a novel. A thriller.”
He couldn’t know that she already had an ongoing thriller series published under the pen name Myra McKnight and that she made her living from that. As far as anyone knew, Myra had moved to some exotic island to write her next book about well-loved undercover agent Haven Fontaine and would be making no public appearances in the near future.
“Wow, that must be fun,” he said, sounding genuine. “I’d love to—”
But his cell phone buzzed and cut off whatever he was about to say. He apologized and pulled the phone from the clip on his pants. He frowned when he read whatever text message he’d received.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
His laid-back expression had tightened into concern. He looked up, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that she was there. “Yeah, sorry, I think so. It’s just a message from my boss. I’m going to have to get going. Something’s come up.”
“Oh, right, sure,” she said, surprised at the disappointment she felt. It’d been a long time since she’d shared coffee with anyone. And sharing it with Colby had been more pleasant than she cared to admit.
He handed his cup back to her. “Hey, when I get home tonight, how about I help finish the cleanup and then we go grab a burger or something? I’d love to hear about your book.”
The offer was so tempting, but he might as well have asked her if she wanted to accompany him to Paris for the night. Each was equally impossible unless she wanted to load up with her anxiety pills. Then she’d be no company at all anyway. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
He tilted his head slightly, his expression more curious than anything. “Can’t or don’t want to?”
She looked away.
“Hey”—he touched her elbow gently—“either way, it’s fine. I’ve noticed you don’t go out much.”
She pressed her lips together and forced her gaze back to his, then nodded. “Leaving the house is … difficult for me.”
His eyes softened, and she imagined he probably made a very good counselor to the kids at his high school. Despite his seemingly rough edges and overwhelming size, there was something in that expression that held understanding and sympathy without judgment. He gave a little smile. “Well, maybe I’ll bring the burgers to you, then.”
She couldn’t help returning the smile, despite knowing how bad an idea this was. She wasn’t prepared or equipped to pursue anything with anyone—especially someone like Colby. But her mouth was working on its own volition. “Maybe I’ll let you.”
When she shut the door, she leaned against it and smiled. Maybe she would have some progress to report to Leesha after all.
Being called into the principal’s office first thing in the morning was never a good thing. Not in Colby’s school days and not now. So when his impromptu coffee date with Georgia had been interrupted by a text from Principal Anders, requesting that Colby come to her office before the first bell, an old knot of dread had settled in his chest. He’d wanted to call her immediately, insist on knowing what it was, so his mind wouldn’t have to go down all the possible paths. But this was one of the few relationships