Page 20 of Jackrabbit

“Holy shit!” Colt unbuckled himself and hauled his whole ass out of the seat, stumbling as his sneakers hit the garage floor. “I did it! Ifuckingdid it! Did you see that?”

Without waiting for an answer, Colt threw himself at Beau, wrapped his arms around his neck and yanked him down into a hug. He whooped, probably right in Beau’s ear. “Beau, did you see it? I did it. Oh my God.”

Heat slipped around his back, and he felt Beau’s arm against his side, his broad hand hovering just over Colt’s spine. He didn’t return the hug, but he didn’t push him away either. And to Colt, who had been gravitating around Beau for weeks like a horny moon, it was a total victory.

He pulled back and hopped on one foot, then the other, ran his hands through his hair and grinned like an idiot. “I’m going again.”

“Nu-uh,” Beau said. He reached out and grabbed Colt’s shoulder to still him. “Water. Food. You’re running on adrenaline now, but you’ll pass out if you keep going.”

Colt’s body chose that moment to make his head swim. He took the bottle Beau handed him and leaned back against the sim cage, closed his eyes and laughed as his head hit a pole.

“Come on,” Beau called as he walked toward the house. He stopped with his hand on the knob and nodded at the door. “Come eat, and I’ll let you go again before I take you home.”

Glorious, frigid air hit Colt’s sweaty skin when he walked through the door, and he sighed in relief. He'd pushed the heat to the back of his mind, too caught up in the living wet dream he'd just had. The reality was still settling into his soul, rearranging something essential. It was one thing to have a dream, to imagine you have raw talent. It was another thing entirely to sit in the same seat your idol had trained in and prove to him and everyone else that it was true. Bravado was armor. Colt knew that. He'd sat in that seat and known he could fail.

But he hadn’t.

A towel hit him in the face as he was closing the garage door, and he caught it before it fell and wiped from his face to his neck. Beau pulled out his own towel and closed the door to the linen closet. He wiped the back of his neck and up into his thick, dark hair, his body shifting under his damp shirt. Colt dragged his eyes down the line of Beau’s back to his—

Colt put his towel back over his face and breathed into it for a second.

Down, boy.

Calling himself boy only brought the way Beau did it to mind, and Colt’s cheeks went hotter.

He was a mess. Jesus.

A soft ‘rrroooowww’ came from the living room, and Colt peeked over his towel to see Cat watching him intently from his perch on the back of the couch. His tail was swishing lazily, so fluffy it looked like a feather duster.

“Hey, Dump Truck,” Colt called, and Cat opened his mouth for another soundless meow.

Beau snorted from the kitchen, and Colt grinned. He settled his towel around the back of his neck and followed Beau into the kitchen, where Beau was busy rinsing brown rice at the sink. There were stools around the butcher block kitchen island, and Colt dropped his towel onto one before sitting on it. He let out a soft hiss as he did, every muscle in his body pissed as hell about what he’d just put them through.

“Drink this.” Beau pushed a glass of milk across the counter to him before turning back to the rice.

“Does a body good, huh?” Colt took the glass and drained half of it. “You know, when I think workout recovery, milk isn’t exactly in my top five options.”

Beau’s damp shirt strained against his thick chest as he shrugged. “Got protein and carbs. It’s good for recovery. You’ll have an electrolyte drink after.”

You’ll have. Notyou should, butyou will. Colt and authority had a rocky relationship. But something about it being delivered in that rough drawl made his mouth itch to give a yes, sir.

Colt rested his chin on his hand and became one with the stool as Beau dropped the rice in a rice cooker and started it. Glass containers clinked as Beau pulled them out of the fridge and set them on the counter. They were full of cut chicken and different vegetables, all directly from the meal plan Beau had sent him. Which he’d been trying to stick to by cooking every night. Now he felt ridiculous for not prepping it all at once like Beau had. Dragging himself to the kitchen every night cussing and grumbling as he cut and his body screamed for sleep was peak inefficiency.

Cat hopped up on the counter, and Colt jolted.

“Hey, big guy, you scared me.”

Cat huffed at him and stuffed his nose in Colt’s half-empty milk glass and Colt pulled it away. “No milk for you, mister. That’s a myth. Milk is bad for you. But I’ll sneak you some chicken off my plate later.”

“Like hell you will,” Beau grumbled from the stove as he stirred the vegetables. “Don’t you spoil my cat.”

Lowering his voice, Colt scratched under Cat’s chin. “Don’t worry. He won’t see. You deserve to be spoiled, don’t you?”

Cat meowed and pushed under Colt’s hand so he could headbutt Colt in the chest, and Colt grinned.

Chapter 13

Beau turned the stove off and was just in time to see his cat—who had once bitten a hole in Camila’s finger when she’d come to bring Beau paperwork while he was sick—hook both paws over Colt’s shoulder and demand to be held. His purr was so loud it drowned out the sound of chicken sizzling.