Page 105 of Jackrabbit

“See?” Colt stood and winced. “Knows I need my beauty rest, or I'll be useless tomorrow. What a guy, right?”

“Absolutely,” the reporter agreed, notepad in hand. “If we could get a picture of the two of you—”

“No.” Beau put his hand on Colt’s shoulder and guided him away without a backwards glance.

“Didn't they media train back in the day?” Colt teased as they walked through the half-empty grounds toward Beau’s truck. “Thought that kid was gonna piss himself.”

“I pity the poor bastard who has to media trainyou,” Beau murmured. He squeezed Colt's shoulder. “Think you're funny?”

“I think I'mhilarious. Haven't you figured that out by now?”

Beau helped him into the truck, and Colt let out a long, relieved sigh as he finally got to take the weight off his aching feet. The driver’s side door shut, and Colt rested his head against the passenger window. “I'mtired.”

“Long way to go yet.” The truck rumbled to life, and Beau started driving them away. “You need Epsom salts, ice, arnica—” He paused, his handstightening on the wheel. “I can hire someone to come to the house, if…You got a huge check today. We can have someone come take care of you.”

The thought of a stranger’s hands on him after the shit-storm of a day he'd had made him sick. Especially with the way just being in Beau’s truck with Beau next to him, surrounded by his scent, was making Colt’s eyes heavy, making his shoulders unclench, his toes relax.

“I know what I said.” Colt turned his head to look at Beau, whose eyes were fixed intently on the road. He didn't want to hire someone else to touch Colt. But hewould, and that was enough right now. “But I don't want someone else's hands on me. I wantyouto put me back together tonight. And you said I could have whatever I want, so…”

Beau let out a long exhale, and his hands loosened on the wheel. “Alright.” His voice was low and rough, and he finally glanced over at Colt for just a flicker as they passed under a street light. He looked back at the road. “Alright.”

“I'm not saying this fixes everything.” Colt leaned his head against the window again, wincing as his bruise protested. “I still want to touch you. But right now, I feel like shit, it was a long day, I nearly wrecked, and I just…I want you.”

Even though Beau was quiet, Colt didn't mind. He was calmer. Colt could tell by the softness in his shoulders, by the set of his mouth. Beau didn't always have words like Colt did, but that didn't mean he didn't have anything to say. Closing his eyes, Colt let the silence sit.

***

Skin pink and smelling like eucalyptus, Colt sat on the edge of Beau’s bed wearing the shorts he'd left here last time—which Beau had pulled out of the guest room cleaned and folded, thank you, like he'd fully expected Colt to spend the night again. Beau shuffled around the room getting stuff together. He'd showered down the hall while Colt had soaked in a warm bath full of Epsom salts in the master bath, and his hair was damp and slicked back from his face.

Handsome bastard in his black sweats and tight brown tee, too.

“Alright.” Beau set the bottles he'd gathered on the bedside table. He pulled over the stool he'd carried in from the garage. “Sit here.”

Colt eyed it, cushioned and backless, and fisted his hand in Beau’s comforter. “But this is comfy. What if I lay on my stomach and—”

“And aggravate your bruises? No.” Beau patted the stool. “Sit.”

“Fine.” Colt sighed and did as he was told, settling with his back straight. “But I'd like to lodge a formal complaint.”

Beau snorted. “Noted.” He turned the stool until Colt was facing away from the bed and settled on the edge himself, and maybe it wasn't so bad, actually, because Beau bracketed Colt with those thighs he wanted to do all sorts of things to, and being surrounded by Beau felt safe.

Pathetic, maybe, but whatever. Pride had gone out the window weeks ago when it came to this particular man.

The cap of a bottle popped, and Toast meowed outside the door.

“You left my baby outside.”

“Oh, yours now, is he?” Beau set the bottle back down, and the room smelled like something herby. “Fine, you can clean his litter box tomorrow then.”

“You'd make an injured man clean a litter box? That's—” Colt gasped as Beau’s hand settled on his bruised side, the cold of the gel shocking enough to give him a burst of energy. “Fuck!”

“It'll warm up,” Beau murmured, his thumbs rubbing the gel into Colt's side in tight, circular motions. “Hold still.”

True to his word, the chill of the gel turned into a warmth that seeped deep into his skin and spread. The tension in his shoulders eased again, and it was a fight not to slump as the gel dulled the ache of the bruises, as Beau’s hands worked him over, sure and firm.

“Magnesium next.” Beau's voice was that low rumble Colt always felt in his toes, but with how close he was, with his legs bracketing Colt and his hands on him, Colt felt it everywhere.

The magnesium was a spray, the first hit on his lower back like a thousand tiny needles in his skin. He sucked in a breath and tried to squirm away, but Beau grabbed his hip to stop him. “Easy. It's just the salts working.” Beau's thumb stroked soothingly along his hip bone. “Breathe through it.”