Nothing Between Us. Roni Loren
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do whatever anyone will pay me to do. Cash is cash, you know?”
She frowned. No, she didn’t know. Her parents had given her a comfortable life when she was growing up. And she’d done well for herself with her writing. She wasn’t wealthy, but money had rarely been a concern. “And you like doing that kind of thing? The construction?”
He shrugged and glanced her way. “I like playing my guitar. I like performing my stuff. But people don’t pay me money for that. Fun stuff doesn’t pay rent.”
She sipped her tea. “You never know. Colby gets paid to play his music. I get paid to write.”
He snorted like the thought was the most ridiculous notion ever.
“You seem too young to be so cynical.”
Those clear green eyes lifted. “I’m not that young, Georgia.”
The implication in the words was obvious, and she had to sip her tea again to hide her reaction. What was it about this guy that got her skin tingly? She felt like some desperate housewife flirting with the too-young gardener. Maybe it was just the residual hum after writing sexy stuff all morning. “How young?”
“Twenty-three.”
Seven years younger. Not an eternity in years, but in life experience, probably a helluva lot. Damn, why was she even doing the math? It wasn’t like she was going to invite him in for a quick midday romp on the couch. She didn’t even have the guts to invite him in for iced tea.
When she didn’t respond, he filled the space. “So what’s the story with you and Colby?”
The shift in subject broke the tension and the eye contact. She rubbed her lips together. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, digging again. “Is he going to come stomp me with those big-ass feet if he catches me flirting with his woman?”
She lifted an eyebrow in playful challenge. “Are you flirting?”
He grinned. “I was thinking about it.”
Oh, this guy was trouble—of the tempting sort. “We’re just neighbors.”
“Uh-huh. He must be a really friendly neighbor to go through this much effort to fix your garden.”
“He is.” She set her glass down. “But you would know that since you’re friends with him, right?”
“No, we’re not really friends.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He sat back on his heels and looked over at her again, the gleam of sweat starting to shine on his face. “He used to be my teacher back in high school.”
“Oh,” she said, the answer catching her off guard and her mind rewinding to what she had witnessed last night. “And you two have kept in touch?”
“No, I hadn’t seen him in six years actually until last night. We kind of stumbled into each other,” he said, sitting down in the grass and reaching for his tea again.
“And you just went home with him?” The words were out before she could stop them.
He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Colby took me home for the same reason he’s out getting flowers for you now. Apparently, he likes to help.”
“You didn’t have a place to stay?” she asked, her tactful switch turning off at the thought of Keats needing the roof-over-your-head kind of help.
He picked at a blade of grass. “Work has been nonexistent the last two weeks because of the rain. Rent’s past due. Not a big deal. I always figure it out. But Colby made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“He’s paying you to do this today, isn’t he?” she asked, the pieces coming together.
“Yeah,” he said. “But he would’ve given it to me with no strings. I’m just not into taking a handout.”
Georgia sat there for a few long moments, considering Keats as he pushed himself back into a kneel and returned to the gardening. She had no idea why she felt so damn comfortable around him, especially when he’d been flirty with her. Even the seventy-year-old mailman, who was clearly harmless, had made Georgia nervous when he told her how pretty she looked one particular day. But something about Keats had her wanting to reach out instead of shrink back.
An idea was forming in her head—one that was completely off the wall and out of her comfort zone. But it hit her with such force that it was impossible to ignore. Keats clearly was struggling and probably had issues of his own if he was living job to job. She knew desperate people could do desperate things—steal, lie, whatever it took to survive another day. A person like that wasn’t someone she should feel so relaxed around. But long-dormant forces were rallying in her, pushing her toward the plan anyway.
She scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe along the porch railing, trying to talk herself out of it. But before she could get the words out one way or another, Keats yelped.
Her attention snapped upward to find Keats jumping up and shaking the leg of his pants. Fire ants were racing over him. She hopped up, knocking her glass over.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, trying to shake them off, as they no doubt bit the hell out of him. “Get water. A hose or something.”
Georgia glanced toward the side of the house, but her hose was tucked away in the garage since she’d had a sprinkler system installed. Without thinking, she grabbed Keats’s arm. “Come on. Now.”
In a rush, she shoved open her front door and led a cursing Keats inside. The downstairs bathroom didn’t have a shower, so despite her hammering heart, she guided him upstairs. Ants were falling in a trail behind him, but she’d deal with that later. They got to the top of the stairs in record time. She shoved the door to the guest bathroom open and turned on the shower.
Keats was already jumping in despite the icy-cold water. “Fuck. They’re going higher.”
He went for the button on his jeans before Georgia could even process what he was doing. The jeans came off in a rush, leaving Keats standing under the spray in a pair of black boxers. He kicked the jeans to the other side of the tub, his motions frantic, and brushed at the ants with his hands.
Not knowing what else to do, Georgia reached for the handheld shower attachment, turned it on the blow-your-head-off setting, then aimed it at Keats’s legs. Finally, the ants started to fall off and swirl toward the drain. But a few of them were determined to hold on.
“Shut the curtain,” Keats said, his words frantic. “No way these bastards are going any higher.”
“What?”
“Curtain,” he said through clenched teeth, and she got it.
“Oh, right.” She yanked the curtain closed and heard more wet clothes hit the bottom of the tub.
While more cursing ensued from the other side of the curtain, Georgia worked hard at not going into a panic. Someone was in her house. A man. Someone she didn’t know. No one had been inside besides one repairman since she’d moved in. But the adrenaline pumping through her seemed less to do with her safety and much more to do with the fact that Keats was naked on the other side of that thin shower curtain.
She occupied herself with stomping the stray ants that had fallen onto the floor, while Keats washed off the last of the little demons. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to fight off the tension, and heard a long sigh from Keats. “You okay?”
“Well, they didn’t get to the no-fly zone, so there’s that.”
“Can you tell if you have a lot of bites? They’re poisonous and too many can be serious and maybe you need a doctor and maybe—”
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