And when he’d felt Colby get hard against his thigh, his thoughts had smashed into a ten-car pileup in his head. He’d never had the desire to touch any dick but his own until that moment. His hand had flexed, itching to slide between them and see what it’d be like to touch Colby that way. But chasing that desire was also a deep, cold fear of what was on the other side of that line. Was he really ready to go there? Kissing a guy, even touching one—those things he could probably write off as experimentation or misguided moments. But what Colby would want if Keats started something with him would leave no room for Keats to rationalize. He had no doubt who would be the one getting fucked in that scenario.
Visions of all those miserable years of torment in school flitted through his brain. The Princess nickname that had stuck after football camp, the rumors, the insults and digs hurled his way. The goddamned locker room. Hey, Adam, what are you doing in here? The girls’ showers are that way. Hey, Adam, what’s it feel like to take it up the ass? Is that why you’re in private lessons with Mr. Wilkes? Does he tell you you’re pretty while you suck him off?
“You don’t have to apologize,” Colby said with a sigh as he moved closer. “I know what it’s like to be confused—about the things you like or don’t like, about the desires that flash through your mind, about all the outside consequences that are tied to those kinds of decisions.”
“Yeah, but you’re so . . . together and cool with it all. I don’t—”
Colby laughed and propped a hip on the arm of the love seat across from Keats. “You think being attracted to guys was a fun discovery for me? You think I’ve always been at peace with who I am?”
Keats shrugged, remembering Colby when he was his music teacher. The guy always seemed to be on an even keel despite living in a conservative town that was prone to judging him. “I don’t know, seems like you’re of the ‘haters gonna hate’ school of thought.”
“By the time we met, things were settling into place for me. You saw the After shot. But it took a while to get to that point. I grew up in a more backwoods town than you did and was an all-star offensive lineman on the football team. I had a girlfriend who I cared about, who everyone thought I’d marry after graduation. So getting a boner in the group showers because the quarterback had a nice ass was not on my high school bucket list. Add in all the other stuff—the sadistic fantasies, thoughts of bondage, you name it—and I thought I was about as fucked up as they come. I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling. Not in high school and not afterward. Not even the guys in my band had a clue. Well, until the guitarist caught me in the tour bus screwing one of the roadies.”
Keats frowned. He’d known Colby had left a promising music career to go into teaching, but he’d never thought to wonder why. At seventeen, he’d been too concerned about his own crap. “Is that why you left the music scene?”
“Yes and no. I left because I was on a path to nowhere good. The other band members distanced themselves from me after they found out—like I was going to rape them in their sleep or something. They would’ve kicked me out if my voice hadn’t been what it was. Plus, I wrote most of the music. But the isolation had me drinking more and partying harder than I should. Then my dad died, my little brother got himself tossed in jail, and my mom needed me home to help out. Without another income, she was going to lose what little we had.”
Keats leaned back on the couch, running his hands over his face. “Jesus. So you just walked away from your dream?”
“I should’ve never been out on the road chasing it anyway. My family had next to nothing, and my brother was a handful. If I had stuck around and helped out sooner, maybe my dad wouldn’t have had so much stress on him. And maybe my brother wouldn’t be sitting in prison right now for armed robbery because I would’ve kicked his ass had I known what he was getting into. It was a one-in-a-million shot that I’d actually make money doing the music thing anyway.”
Keats watched Colby’s face for signs of regret, but all he saw was his regret over his family stuff, not walking away from the career. That he couldn’t understand. From what he knew, Colby had been closer to achieving that dream than he was letting on. He couldn’t imagine giving up the chance to play music for a living. “I’m not sure I could’ve been trusted to be so self-sacrificing. Didn’t you have a record deal?”
He gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “Yeah, with a small indie label out of Nashville. But I made the right choice for me. As much as I love music, I wasn’t happy in that lifestyle. I like performing and writing my songs, but all the shit that went along with it wasn’t my scene. My heart wasn’t in it. At the time I didn’t realize that, but when I got the job at Hickory Point, that was the first time I felt like I was where I was supposed to be. Teaching, mentoring, counseling—that’s what does it for me.”
“Whether it’s teaching someone how to survive high school or how to snap a whip?”
Dimples peeked out from behind the beard. “Yeah, I guess so. Though I won’t lie. The training I do at The Ranch has been more personal necessity than a career.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just because I’m comfortable with my tastes and preferences doesn’t mean it’s easy. I can’t exactly go about my social life like a typical guy would. So The Ranch is where I find my friends, my lovers, a place where I know I won’t be looked at like an outsider.”
That sank in, and the nausea welled up in Keats again. An outsider. What he hated being most. He scraped his hand through his hair. “God, I don’t know if I could—”
“What are you more freaked-out about?” Colby asked gently. “The possibility that you’re bi or that you could be submissive?”
A headache was pounding behind Keats’s eyes. “All of it. One sounds as bad as the other. I can’t help but think that maybe all those assholes, including my father, were right about me after all.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head, the past as vivid as a movie screen beneath his eyelids. “All those names they called me. Maybe I’m everything they said . . . fag, pussy, cocksu—”
“Shut your mouth with that shit, Keats,” Colby said, cutting him off.
Keats opened his eyes, finding Colby leaning forward, a scowl on his face.
“Your father was a small-minded prick with a God complex.” He stood and jabbed a finger his way. “And if I ever hear you use one of his words to describe yourself again, I will personally beat that notion out of you.”
Keats stilled, Colby’s palpable anger doing something to him.
“Are you going to call me those names?” Colby asked, holding out his arms, creating an impressive wingspan. “Because they’d apply to me, too. You think if I got on my knees right now and sucked you off, it’d make me less of a man?”
Keats swallowed hard, the image almost too intense to wrap his mind around. Though, even with his head whirling, his body registered the fantasy, blood rushing south. “No, but you don’t do that.”
Colby scoffed. “You think because I top I don’t give head?”
Keats’s neck heated. He hated being the one in the dark. He pushed up from the couch and moved past Colby, ready to escape to his room. “Look, I guess I don’t know how it all works. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked to go to that damn resort.”
He headed toward the hallway to put his back to Colby as quickly as possible. His cock was rebelling despite his mental protests for it to behave, and the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself even more.
“Keats, stop where you’re at.”
He halted, the response automatic, but he wasn’t sure why he was doing it.
“I need you to hear this. What I said didn’t come out right. I’m not making fun of you. Of course you don’t know how it works because you’ve never done any of it. You don’t have to be afraid to ask me any kind of question. I’ll answer it.” He let out a long breath. “Or . . .
”
Footsteps sounded behind him. Keats stared down at the ground in front of him, his heart beating hard in his chest as Colby stopped right behind him.
“Or I’ll show you. If that’s what you want,” Colby finished.
Keats closed his eyes, some weird combination of panic and anticipation welling in him. But he didn’t dare move.
“Is it what you want?” Colby asked, his voice barely audible.
I don’t know. The words hovered in Keats’s head but wouldn’t move past his lips. Maybe. Yes . . .
Long, silent seconds stretched, and when Keats didn’t move away, Colby seemed to take that as an answer.
“Lace your fingers behind your head and keep them that way unless I tell you otherwise,” Colby said, the undercurrent of authority that always lingered in his voice brimming to the surface. “You want this to stop, you say red. Do you understand?”
Keats was convinced his heart was about to jump out of his mouth and onto the floor. He managed a nod.
“No, I need to hear you say you understand.”
Keats forced his tongue to work. “I understand. Red makes it stop.”
“Put your back against the wall.”
Keats felt himself going into some strange version of autopilot. He closed his eyes and turned, pressing his back against the wall across from the doorway to Colby’s bedroom.
“First,” Colby said, his voice close, “does this position cause any pain in your ribs?”
Mentally, Keats did a quick scan of his injuries. He was sore everywhere still, but having his hands behind his head didn’t make anything hurt worse. “No.”
“Good. I’m going to take a shower,” he said, catching Keats off guard. “This isn’t a decision to make on impulse or because your dick is hard. If you’re still here in this position when I get back, I’ll give you your first lesson. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Keats said, his throat trying to close.
“And Keats,” Colby said, so close to Keats’s ear that he startled. “Know that if you’re still here when I get back, I’m not going to let you keep your eyes closed. You won’t be able to get away with pretending it’s some girl touching you.”
“You’re trying to freak me out,” he said, finally managing to open his eyes.
Colby’s mouth went lopsided, but there was wicked intent lingering in his eyes. “First thing to learn, Keats, what gets me off is not about fucking someone’s body, though that’s a nice part of it. If you want this, know that my end goal isn’t to get in your pants.” He pressed his fingertip to Keats’s brow then tapped. “It’s to get in here and fuck you from the inside out.”
With that, he patted Keats’s cheek and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Keats standing there in the hallway.
And for the first time, Keats was truly terrified.
Giving up his body in a new way he could probably handle. It was just sex after all—gay, straight, or in between. Bodies on bodies. Physical release.
But letting someone in his head . . .
He lowered his arms to his side and did what he did best—he bailed.
TWENTY-ONE
Colby knew what he’d find when he opened his door, so he wasn’t surprised to see an empty hallway. He’d scared Keats. He’d meant to. He could tell himself it was for Keats’s own good because the kid wasn’t ready, but Colby wasn’t much for lying to himself. The move had been his own panic manifesting. He’d planned to get on his knees right there in the hallway and show Keats that even someone as dominant as him, the stereotypical “man’s man” or whatever Keats saw him as, could get a guy off and take pleasure in it.
But when the moment had arrived, everything had felt too intense, too at-the-surface. Keats wasn’t some submissive at The Ranch he was playing with for the night. This was Keats, and he was living here and there was . . . stuff between them. It already felt complicated, and all they’d done was kiss. He didn’t know what to do with that. The thought of sleeping with someone for the first time wasn’t supposed to feel that heavy. But in his gut, he knew crossing that line with Keats would feel far different than just a fun first time because of their history.
He needed to fix this. Let Keats know that it wasn’t a good idea for them to step over that boundary after all. Take the possibility out of play and defuse the tension. Maybe Keats could find what he needed with someone else, maybe even with Georgia. Colby shouldn’t be the one.
He headed to the kitchen to find his cell phone, but it rang before he could get to it. He grabbed it as the opening notes of “Amarillo by Morning” filled the room. “Hello?”
“Want to tell me why your houseguest is currently here, begging for me to pile some work on him?” Georgia asked, her voice low, as if she were cupping her hand over the mouthpiece.
Colby cleared his throat. “I may have scared him off. But I’m glad he’s there and didn’t run somewhere else.”
She sighed. “What happened?”
“Nothing did. His choice. A good choice, actually.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Georgia said in that way that made him think she didn’t buy it. “So what now? I’d let him crash on my couch, but I don’t think I can handle someone sleeping in my house yet. I’m still a little jittery having someone here at all.”
“That’s not necessary. Tell Keats . . . well, tell him we’re cool. Everything’s fine. I’ve got a meeting at the school late this afternoon, and then I’m going to play a set at the Iron Spoke tonight, so if Keats wants to avoid me for the rest of today, it won’t be hard.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I’m not going to let you turn me down for dinner. Even with all this, you haven’t been far from my mind. Every time I close my eyes I can see how damn sexy you looked wrapped in my rope and coming for me last night. I won’t wait another night to see that again. I’ll command your presence if I have to.”
“I doubt a command will be necessary. I’ve been thinking about you, too. But what about Keats?”
He released a long breath. “Tomorrow I’m going to sit down and tell him nothing’s going to happen between us.”
—
Georgia hung up the phone with a sigh. Colby had sounded . . . resigned about Keats, and she had no idea how to help. Though she didn’t want to interfere and should probably be happy to have Colby all to herself, her instincts told her that Colby and Keats needed to work out whatever it was between them in a far less civilized manner than talking. Most of the female population of the world would probably think she was nuts for wanting to share Colby like that. But after being caught in the inescapable beam of Phillip’s obsessive love for so long, being with someone who was interested in her but not fixated was a welcome change. It helped her breathe and not freak out about how powerful everything had felt with Colby last night.
But it didn’t matter what she wanted for the two guys. It wasn’t her call. Colby and Keats would have to figure things out for themselves in their own way.
She headed back into the living room to join her unexpected guest. In the few minutes she had left him alone, Keats was spread out on her couch with a stack of papers in his lap. He looked up from the one he was reading and smiled. “You told on me, George?”
She smirked. He’d taken to calling her George and for some reason, she found that she liked it. “I told him you were here so he wouldn’t go on a tear to find you again.”
“My bike’s still in the driveway. He would’ve figured it out.”
She eyed the papers again. “What are you doing?”
“These had a sticky note on them that said proofread, so I’m proofreading.”
“What?”
“I’ve marked a few typos, but, goddamn George, this is—”
“Not ready for outside eyes,” she said, annoyance seeping into her tone.
“It
’s awesome. And like holy shit hot,” he said, a touch of awe in his voice. “This Haven woman—damn.”
Her teeth clenched and she stalked over to grab the pages from him. Phillip used to dig through her manuscripts, trying to get “insight” into how her mind worked—or so he said. Which just meant he’d get jealous of whoever the hero was. His possessiveness didn’t discriminate, even when the men she was spending her time with were fictional. “Don’t read something unless I tell you it’s ready to be read.”
He gave them over to her without a fight, chagrined. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” she said, straightening the papers unnecessarily. “You didn’t know. It’s just, this is my work in progress, and it’s not ready for others to see.”
He held up his hands. “Totally get it. I don’t like people hearing my songs until they’re done either. I didn’t mean to invade. I just saw the note and thought I could help.”
She let out a breath and sat next to him on the couch, knowing her anger wasn’t really about him. “It’s okay. But next time, ask before you dive into something.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, all charm and green eyes. “I promise I will not peek into your book without permission ever again. Your very steamy book.”
“Keats.” She sent him a warning look. Of course the stack of pages he’d picked up had been the tie-the-guy-to-the-bed scene. He couldn’t have grabbed the gunfight instead.
He grinned. “So is that Mario guy going to get the girl or is Haven just going to tease him until his brain explodes?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Evil. I like it.”
“Do you?” she asked, cocking her head at him. “So is that your plan with Colby?”
He straightened, his affable expression sagging. “What?”
“Running hot and cold, teasing him.” She turned on the couch to face him fully. “Because earlier you two were all over each other and now you’re hiding at my house.”