Below the covers, Keats’s body stirred to attention.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He planted a pillow over his face and groaned.
FIFTEEN
“So how’d it go?”
Georgia sipped her coffee and tried not to smile at the eager face staring back at her through her computer screen. “Are you asking as my therapist or my friend?”
Leesha sat up straighter in her office chair, pushed her dreads behind her shoulders, and put on her reading glasses. “Therapist first. Were you able to complete your goal?”
“Yes. I made it into his house with no panic attack.”
“Anxiety level from one to ten?”
“It hit about a seven, but he talked me down, helped me to breathe through it and to distract myself from the negative thoughts.”
She lifted a brow—her mildly impressed face. “Intuitive.”
“He’s a school counselor.”
“Oh,” she said, shifting into her fully impressed face. “Well, that helps.”
“Yeah, he’s really understanding about it. I was able to stay a while without any of the anxiety coming back.”
“A while, huh? Did you tell him about the watching you’ve been doing?”
She set her cup down. “He already knew. Apparently, I wasn’t quite as stealthy as I thought. Cancel my application to become an international spy.”
“He knew?” Leesha’s green eyes went big. “So he . . .”
“Yes, he let me. He”—Georgia’s face heated, but she pushed on—“he said he liked that I was watching.”
“Ho-lee shit.” She took her glasses off, apparently switching out of therapist mode into BFF mode. “That is either exceptionally creepy or freaking hot.”
“Hot,” Georgia said with a solemn nod. “Believe me. So. Hot.”
“Damn, girl.” Leesha glanced to the side, probably double-checking that her office door was still shut. “So what happened after that big revelation?”
Georgia sipped her coffee again and gave a shrug. “You know, stuff.”
“Oh, hell no.” Leesha leaned closer to her camera. “You can’t get vague on me now, woman. What happened?”
She attempted a nonchalant expression. “Oh, you know, I might’ve broken my dry spell.”
Leesha’s face lit and she smacked a hand on her desk. “Hot damn! Really? That’s a huge breakthrough—huge!”
Georgia laughed. “Oh, it definitely was. Huge, that is.”
Leesha blinked, obviously surprised to hear her make a joke. It was something old Georgia would’ve done. But Leesha recovered quickly and grinned wide. “Lucky bitch.”
“So you’re not going to lecture me on why I shouldn’t sleep with a guy on the first date or how I should take things slow?”
She snorted. “This wasn’t exactly a first date. If he knew you were watching, you’ve been somewhat intimate for months, even if it was through glass. And honestly, I think something casual and fun with a guy could help. Beyond needing face-to-face connections with the outside world, trusting someone enough to be sexual with them is a big step in repairing the damage Phillip left you with. It shows progress.”
“Me screwing my hot neighbor is progress? I like your version of therapy, Dr. Richards,” she teased, trying to keep the mood light. She wanted to have a fun chat with her friend. She didn’t want to think about treatment plans and goals and how Colby could fit onto that list. She didn’t want her sexy fling to be something to check off on a list to show that she was A-OK again.
“This isn’t Dr. Richards’s advice. This is advice from the girl who’s known you since sixth grade and wants to see you happy and healthy again.”
That took Georgia’s smile down a notch. “I know, Leesh. I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “This is hard work, and I’m proud that you’re pushing yourself. Keep stepping outside those comfort zones, and we’ll get you into that courtroom. Then you can put all this shit behind you.”
Put it behind her. Like it’d just been a bad marriage or misguided career decision or something. That goal sounded like a pipe dream if ever there was one.
Some scars would never disappear no matter how much salve you put on them or how much time you let pass. But maybe she could learn to live with those marks on her. A life that didn’t involve hiding inside her house like some scared, helpless thing.
Of all the things, that was what she hated the most. The helplessness. Her sister wouldn’t even recognize her, looking down from wherever she was. If she were still here, she’d be giving Georgia a helluva talking-to for being such a coward.
Of course, if her sister were still here, Georgia wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Her doctors had said the trauma of losing Raleigh and finding out the truth about how her friend Tyson had died had been what set off her breakdown. When she’d turned in evidence on Phillip to the cops, Georgia had already been dealing with the cold realization that the polished, successful man she’d dated was a sick, dangerous person.
When she’d broken up with him, it had taken only a week before the phone calls, letters, and drive-bys had started. First, it’d been the sweet, please-take-me-back approach. But when she’d ignored him, it’d turned ugly and violent quick. She’d protected herself, had taken precautions. But she hadn’t thought to consider her family. And Phillip had known what would devastate her more than anything. Raleigh, her baby sister, dead. Everything had fallen apart in Georgia’s world after that.
Chilled by the memory, Georgia wrapped up her conversation with Leesha and promised to check in later in the week. She had no doubt Leesha would end the call and immediately send the email update to the lawyer. What would it say?
Dear Mrs. Ramirez, Client left the house and screwed her neighbor. We are making great progress on her treatment plan and are confident she will be ready to testify in court when the time comes.
Georgia snorted to herself. Of course, Leesha wouldn’t give those exact details. Beyond confidentiality rules, she would protect Georgia’s privacy as a friend. But still, Georgia had the distinct feeling of being observed like a circus animal—everyone peering in and wondering if she’d be able to perform for the masses when it was time.
Her doorbell rang, startling her from her thoughts. She pushed back from her desk and headed to the front door, the familiar rush of adrenaline filling her as she crossed the bottom floor of her house. She hated that it was such a hair trigger. It was probably just a salesman or Bible pusher and already her body was going all fight-or-flight. But when she got to the door and peeked through the peephole, there was a familiar profile in view.
Nerves of a different sort crackled through her. She took a breath and unlocked the door. By the time she pulled it open, she’d mustered up some semblance of a casual smile—or at least she hoped it looked casual. She didn’t feel casual. “Hey, there.”
“Hey.” Keats tucked his hands in his back pockets and lifted his face to her. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Oh my God.” She stepped onto the porch, and her hand went to push his hair away from his blackened eye. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. But his gaze flared when she ran a thumb along his swollen cheekbone.
She quickly lowered her hand, realizing the move had come across more intimate than she’d intended. “What happened?”
“Had a welcoming committee when I showed up at my place last night. Kind of a long story. The other guy looks worse than I do, at least.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I’m a little banged up but nothing to freak out about.”
“I’m guessing Colby freaked out,” she said, resisting the urge to check him head to foot for injuries.
Keats smirked and glanced toward Colby’s place. “Understatement. I have a feeling if I hadn’t come home
with him last night, he would’ve tied me up and tossed me in the back of his truck.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t blame him. I would’ve done the same.”
Keats’s gaze hopped to hers at that, green eyes sparking. “Yeah? I might’ve enjoyed that. Next time, you come and get me instead.”
She laughed. “There won’t be a next time because you’re not going back.”
His playful expression clouded over. “Well, I’m not going to freeload over at Colby’s forever, no matter how much he says he doesn’t mind me staying with him.”
“No freeloading necessary,” she said, taking a step back into her house and pushing the door open wider. “Because soon you’ll be able to pay Colby rent. I’m going to offer you a job, and you’re going to take it.”
His eyebrows arched. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“O-kay,” he said, doubt lingering in his voice. “You need remodeling done or something?”
“I need a lot of things but not remodeling.”
“A lot of things, huh?” His attention traveled down her body and up again, not bothering to hide his perusal, and then he grinned. “What kind of job is this exactly?”
She pressed her lips together, attempting a stern look, but failed when her mouth twitched up at the corners. “Stop flirting, new hire.”
He chuckled and walked past her into the house. “With you? Not possible. And I haven’t said yes yet.”
Georgia breathed through the shimmer of anxiety that arose from Keats entering her home. Goddamn her brain and its crossed signals. But after a few seconds of focusing on her responses, she was able to recapture the calm. Each time he came over it would get easier. That was what she had to keep reminding herself. “You will.”
“Confident woman. I like it.” He strolled into her living room and sank onto her couch, totally at ease. No visitor had ever sat in her living room here. But somehow his nonchalance helped her to not panic about his presence. “So what is it you need?”
She shut the door behind her, headed into the living room, and sat in the armchair facing the couch. “Office work, mostly. Easy tasks but things that can be time sucks for me. And I need help with errands. I’m not—” She was tempted to make some lame excuse about how she didn’t have time to run errands, but he’d seen her panic attack yesterday. She’d be fooling no one. “I’m not good with leaving the house. It’s a pain in the ass, but I can’t seem to fix it. So it’d be a huge help if I had someone who could take stuff to the post office or pick up things at the store.”
He shifted on the couch, his fingers rubbing along his side like it hurt, but said nothing.
“It would only be part time, but it could get you started and would give you a chance to look for something full time in the off hours. Plus, I could help you put together a résumé. I’m good at those.”
“Are you making up a position for me?” he asked, his tone grim.
She shook her head. “Not at all. I was looking for a virtual assistant already for the office stuff. But I figured this could be even better because you’re here and could help with physical things as well.”
He smirked at physical things.
And she had to wonder if it had been a Freudian slip on her part. Maybe this wasn’t a wise idea. She should not be having any inappropriate thoughts about her too-young, too-good-looking future employee. Especially when she’d slept with the guy’s housemate last night. “You’re shameless.”
But she was really directing that accusation at herself.
“Agreed,” he said without remorse. “But this sounds like kind of a cop-out for you.”
She blinked. “What?”
He stretched an arm out over the back of the couch, taking up the space like he owned it and looking older than his years. “For your panic attacks. Instead of facing it, you’ll just send me instead. Sounds like cheating.”
Her spine straightened. “It’s not that simple.”
He frowned. “Or that complicated.”
That ticked her off. “You don’t know anything about what I’m going through, Keats.”
“Maybe not. But I probably understand more than you think. I know what panic attacks are. When I was in junior high, my father made me join a summer football camp he was coaching. I hated it. Hated. All the worst of the kids who tormented me in school were part of the camp and now instead of just teasing me, they could crush me on the field in the spirit of the game. And when they did and I couldn’t get up quick enough, not only would they laugh, but my dad would call me a pussy in front of everyone, take off my jersey and replace it with a pink T-shirt that said Princess, then make me run laps for lack of effort.”
Her stomach turned.
“I’d make myself sick and have panic attacks over showing up. I researched every trick there was to making myself look like I was sick so my dad wouldn’t drag me out there. Of course, with him, none of it worked. I couldn’t sleep or eat, thinking about what I’d face the next day. The dread was killing me. It was ruining my whole summer—the only time I usually enjoyed. So the third week, I decided that I’d stop worrying over what could happen and make the worst happen—take the control back. I showed up to practice early in that stupid shirt and told those douchebags to make good on their threats or fuck off.”
“Did they back down?”
He made a dismissive noise. “No way. They jumped me. Six on one. But I got what I wanted after all. After knocking out the ringleader with an excellent uppercut—which was awesome—I got shoved down some bleachers and broke my ankle. Couldn’t play any sports for months. I spent the rest of that summer learning how to play guitar while my dad disappeared every day to camp. Best. Summer. Ever.”
“God, Keats, that’s awful.”
“Probably, but it taught me that being scared is usually worse than what you’re scared of. Facing it sucks, but it sucks less than always worrying about the what ifs.”
She sighed. She could tell him that her fear was well founded, but it wasn’t really anymore. Phillip was in another state. All that was left was the residual, nebulous terror of what could happen. “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I am working on it and taking small steps. The fact that you’re here in the house with me is one. And last night was the first time I went into someone else’s house in over a year.”
She had no idea why she was admitting all this, but Keats had that way about him. He had a face you’d confess deep, dark secrets to because you could tell he’d keep them.
“So why don’t I help you keep that up?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll run errands for you, but only if you come with me.”
Her chest tightened. “I don’t think—”
“Think of me like your personal bodyguard. I’ll look out for you and if you start to panic, I can get you out to the car before anyone knows something’s wrong. And if you don’t panic, I’ll provide rewards.”
She couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Rewards?”
“Yes, I’m all about the positive reinforcement, George. Can I call you George?”
“Uh . . .”
But he didn’t wait for an answer. “You know, cookies. Chocolate. Full-body massages. Rewards.”
She laughed.
“What?” he asked innocently.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure HR would approve of an employee giving his boss a massage.”
“Are we really going to talk about HR? I was one room over last night while you and Colby screwed on the couch. I think we’ve jumped that shark.”
She rubbed her hand over her eyes, chagrin rushing to the surface. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry things got a little . . . out of hand.”
“I’m not.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs, meeting her gaze. “Last night was hot. No one forced me to liste
n. I could’ve minded my own damn business. But let’s not pretend that we weren’t all in on it. Y’all wanted me to hear. I wanted to hear. And honestly, if giving me this job means we’re going to have to be all formal with each other, then you can keep it.”
“What?”
“I like you, George. And I’m happy to work for you—thankful to be offered the chance, believe me. But I’m not good at formal and polite. I work hard, but what you see is what you get.”
She wet her lips, his declaration making her feel a little off balance.
“We both already know more about each other than we should, right? So pretending we don’t would be bullshit. You’re sleeping with the guy I’m staying with, and he happens to be kinky, so I’m guessing last night won’t be the first time I see or hear more than I should.”
She leaned back in the armchair, her neck burning. “Maybe this was a bad idea. You don’t have to do any work for me. I’m putting you in an awkward—”
He was off the couch in a blink. He went down on one knee in front of her and took her hands. “Hey, stop. Do I look like I’m weirded out by this or being forced to be here?”
She stared down at him. Even the black eye couldn’t mar how damn beautiful he was. She had the sudden desire to push her fingers through his hair, to feel those strands against her skin. Shit. She pulled her hands from Keats’s and tucked them in her lap. This plan was feeling more dangerous by the minute.
“Listen. I’m here to help however you need. I don’t care what the job is. If it’s hard labor out in the yard or licking envelopes or organizing your sock drawer, that’s fine. I’m in. But can’t we just leave all the crap that normally comes along with jobs aside? I’m not good at faking shit.” He made a circle around his mouth with his finger. “No filter.”
“Keats,” she said, not sure how to respond.
He braced his hands on the arms of her chair but stayed on his knee in front of her, like some knight ready to declare his loyalty to the queen. “Look, I’m already dealing with Colby treating me like I’m still a kid half the time. Honestly, if last night hadn’t happened, I don’t care how mean he would’ve gotten at the motel, I wouldn’t have come back home with him. I don’t need or want another parent. But last night showed me that he’s capable of seeing me as an adult. So I’m giving this a shot for a few days, even though I know he’s going to slip up and treat me like I’m still sixteen at times. But I definitely don’t want to leave that every morning and come over here for more eggshell walking.”