Page 111 of Jackrabbit

“You’re a fucking coward.”

The words landed between them like a flash grenade, and for a long moment Beau was speechless. His ears rang, his teeth ached, and he couldn’tbreathe.

He swallowed. “That what you think?”

“Yes!” Colt ran both hands through his hair and tugged, letting out a laugh that didn’t sound like one at all. “Yes, I do. Because you’re not just a fucking mechanic from bum-fuck, Arizona. You’reThe Reeve. A goddamn legend. You think they wouldn’t hire you on the spot if they knew that? But you’re too busy digging your own grave to say it!”

“The Reeve died, Colt.” Beau’s eyes burned, his throat was tight, and he wasn’t yelling anymore. “He died when Sutton Tate took him out on the track and burned to death in front of him. He’s gone. I’m all that’s left. And if I—” He took a shaky breath. “I can’t watch you die, too, Colt. I can’t.”

“Fuck, Beau.” Colt fisted the front of Beau’s shirt. “I need you to look at me when I say this: I amnotSuttonfuckingTate.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to!” Colt yanked on Beau’s shirt. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me? Like you—” A tear dripped down Colt’s cheek, and Beau’s heart twisted. “Like you look at me and you see him instead?”

Beau looked at Colt, at this boy who had slammed into his life and rearranged everything by existing exactly as he was, and he couldn’t lie. Not to himself, and not to Colt, either.

“I did. At first.” Beau’s voice cracked and another tear slipped down Colt’s face, and Beau wiped it off. “That first day, the way you walked in here, all fire and no fear—yeah, I saw him. And maybe that’s why I agreed to train you even though I didn’t know you, even though I wanted nothin’ to do with racin’ anymore. But you’re not him, Colt.” He cupped Colt’s jaw and caught the next tear on his thumb. “You proved that the first day you ever sat in my sim when you came back instead of storming off or breakin’ somethin’. You proved it every time you listened, every time you—”

Beau couldn’t finish. There was too much, too many times, a million moments that proved over and over that Colt wasn’t Sutton, wasn’t the man Beau had loved so fiercely he’d smothered him into his grave. Colt was more. So muchmore. Sutt had been a live wire, always one spark away from an electrical fire. But Colt was a laser—concentrated, deliberate, and blinding. And he made Beau feelalive.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” Colt whispered as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Beau’s chest.

“I can’t—” Beau buried his hand in Colt’s damp hair that smelled like vanilla shampoo and wrapped the other around his back. “I can’t be everything you need. I’m damaged. Beyond repair, maybe.”

“You think I'm here because I want you perfect?” Colt pulled back enough to look in Beau’s eyes. “I like you how you are, Beau. I like that you're sometimes mean, possessive, controlling—and I like that you're also sweet and kind. I like how you laugh like you're surprised by it, and how you watch me in your clothes and pretend you don't.”

Colt reached up and wrapped his arm around Beau’s neck. “I never asked for perfect. I just asked you to want me.”

Beau’s breathing had gone shallow, sharp and rasping in his ears, and Colt was looking at him like he was everything he'd ever wanted, and Beau was undone.

“Christ.”

Beau grasped both of Colt’s thighs and lifted. He caught Colt’s gasp with his mouth and turned to press him against the wall as Colt locked both legs around him and groaned.

They kissed like they were starving for it, tongues and teeth and hands. The pressure behind Beau's fly was a dull, insistent ache. Colt dug his hand into Beau's hair and tugged, drawing a moan from him, and wiggled down until he could grind his own length over Beau’s. Sparks shot up Beau’s spine as he moved his hands from Colt's thighs to his ass.

“Touch me,” he growled into Colt’s lips as he rolled his hips into Colt’s and pulled. “Fucking touch me, boy. Show me what you want.”

Colt whined, high and needy as he fumbled between them to get a grip on Beau's shirt. “Off,off, fucking—off.”

Beau let go, trusting Colt to keep himself up with his back to the wall, and ripped his shirt over his head. His hands were back on Colt before it hit the floor, and Colt pulled him in for another kiss. Colt pushed his hands against Beau’s bare chest and moaned, thumbed both of his nipples and pulled his mouth away to press hot, wet kisses along Beau’s stubbled jaw, his neck. He paused at Beau’s collarbone and sucked the skin into his mouth, worried it into a bruise as he trailed one hand down Beau’s stomach and grabbed the softer skin there, groaning, wanting.

“Shower.” Colt pushed, trying to get Beau to move while still clinging to him with his legs. “Get in the fucking shower.”

Beau ran his hands up Colt’s back under his shirt and rolled his hips, hot and so gone. “Why? Want you here. Now.”

“Nuh-uh.” Fisting Beau’s hair again and tugging until Beau was forced to pull back or lose hair, Colt licked his lips. “This isn't your show. It's mine. I'm gonna get my mouth on every inch of you I can reach, baby, and we're gonna be clean for it.”

Want shot through Beau so fast he went dizzy with it, and he pulled Colt into another kiss, hiked him higher, and walked him toward the bathroom. Colt broke their kiss halfway down the hall to pull his own shirt off before grabbing Beau’s face and slotting their mouths together again.

The tile in the bathroom echoed their ragged breaths back at them as Beau shoved Colt into the shower door and blindly reached to turn the tap on. He’d never been this desperate for another person, the need so thick he was drowning in it.

Colt tried to reach between them for Beau's zipper, growling when he couldn't. He huffed when Beau set him down so he could actually manage it.

“Needy.” Beau kissed Colt’s neck, and Colt batted him away to get to his pants.

“I'm not needy, I'm—” Colt shoved Beau’s pants down and pushed forward to pull a nipple between his teeth. “—fucking—” He scrambledto get his own shorts off and moved back in, dragging both hands down Beau’s chest to the waistband of his boxers. “—desperate.”