Page 139 of Jackrabbit

Colt grinned. “Yeah, Mateo will get you. Had me throwing up all over their backyard for my twenty-first birthday. Marisol made me sleep on the hammock outside.”

The woman in question sidled up next to him and pinched his cheek. “Well, Mateo had to sleep on the lawn chair. So, you got the better end of the deal.”

“I like your hammock,” Colt told her as he took the beer she held out to him. “Think I spent more time in it than my own bed that summer.”

“Well, you were half in love with Mila at the time.” Mateo came up on Colt’s other side and nudged him with his elbow. “Following her around like a lost puppy. It was cute.”

“Prettiest girl I’d ever seen,” Colt agreed. “All greasy and mean and dressed like—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll end you before your name even gets on your new car.” Camila grinned at him and clinked her bottle against his. “And you were never in love with anyone in your life. Just a horny little shit who knew how to charm people.”

Colt’s heart slammed against his ribs, and he took a drink to cover it. Never in love with anyone in your life. She was right. But not anymore.

Eyes sliding across the room, Colt looked for Beau like he’d been doing every five minutes for the past hour. He’d been talking to Joyce last time Colt had checked, standing by the bathrooms with a glass of whiskey and nodding while she chattered. Colt didn’t see him anywhere now. Joyce was talking to Terry, the linecook, and she smiled at Colt when he caught her eye. She waved, and Colt waved back before he drained his beer.

“Here.” Mateo took Colt’s empty and handed him a new one he’d had under his arm. “It’s not a going away party if you aren’t throwing up on the plane tomorrow.”

Laughing again, Colt took the bottle and sipped. Absolutely no way in holy hell was he getting on that plane hungover. But as he looked around again for Beau and didn’t find him, he thought that maybe he could use a better buzz.

An hour later, still no Beau.

“He’s in the garage,” Camila said as she took a long drink of her seltzer.

“I know.” No point in pretending. Colt had spent the past three nights in Camila’s bed doing nothing but half-crying about how Beau had told Liberty no the day after they’d gotten back. She knew.

Gently, Camila took his bottle. “Go on. Everyone’s too drunk to notice you left your own party anyway.”

Colt had already been planning his exit, but Camila’s smile kind of made him want to cry. He wrapped an arm around her and grabbed the side of her head so he could kiss her hair. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“You’ll fly me out with your rich boy money.” She slid her arm around his waist and squeezed. “Gotta find my NASCAR husband, you know. You owe it to me at this point.”

“Everyone I’ve met so far is real queer, babe, I’m sorry.” Colt pressed his cheek against the side of her head. “But, I mean, Vic is hot. I’m sure she’s got a good strap game. You could—”

Camila pulled back and punched him in the arm, and he laughed as he rubbed the ache and hurried away before she could get him again.

***

Sweat dribbled down Beau’s neck and into the collar of his Pantera shirt, the one Colt had been wearing the last time he’d been sleeping in Beau’s bed. Over a week ago now. Toast was pissed. Not even sleeping in Beau’s room anymore, like it was his fault.

He swiped sweat from his brow with his shoulder and turned the wrench again.

Itwashis fault.

Of course it was.

Even the goddamn cat knew it.

There hadn’t been much time the last two months to work on the Camaro. The grease under his nails had been from Colt’s car, but it was all washed now, replaced.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside the bay doors, and the crickets went silent as the floodlights kicked on. He knew it was Colt without having to look up.

“Hey, Beau.”

Beau’s hands paused what they were doing for just a second before he kept going. “You’re s’posed to be at your party.”

“Yeah,” Colt agreed as he kept walking. “But you’re not there.”

“I was.” Beau pulled the part he’d been working on out and wiped it down with a clean cloth. Turned to set it on the rolling cart next to him. “Third time Joyce pinched my ass, figured it was time to go.”