Page 37 of Jackrabbit

“What's she running?” Beau asked. He shoved Colt harder with his shoulder. “Move.”

“I was here first,” Colt protested. Just to be difficult.

“Mhmm.” Beau pulled himself out of the window. Then, in front of God and everyone, he picked Colt up off the car with one arm around his torso, deposited him next to it, and opened the door.

Xavier wrapped his arm around Colt’s shoulders and shook him, leaned close so he could stage-whisper in his ear. “Twink.”

“Alright, come here,” Colt said, trying as hard as humanly possible to not process what the actual fuck had just happened. “I'm gonna kick your ass. Then see if you can still run your mouth.”

“You kick his ass, and I'm gonna have to finish that piece of shit Pinto.” Camila shoved Xavier gently between his shoulder blades. “Which, by the way, the owner is coming back in an hour. Go do your job.”

“Okay, mom,” Xavier said. But he went back into the shop anyway. Liam followed, jumping on Xavier's back and nearly toppling them both.

“We're gonna fix it up, right, Boss?” James asked as he poked his head into the passenger side. “Can't have his fool ass representing the shop like this.”

“Hey, be nice to her.” Colt placed a hand on the hood. “If she dies on me, I'm blaming you guys for hurting her feelings.”

“I'm gonna call Ángel and see if he has a fender at least.” James, who had entirely ignored Colt, pulled out his phone as he started walking toward the shop.

Camila pulled Colt down and kissed his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, you big idiot.”

Colt watched Beau pop the hood, and he felt like his smile might be a little fucking goofy. “Yeah. I'm kinda proud of me, too.”

Gasping, Camila pinched his other cheek. “Growth!”

Then she left, too, heading back toward the shop to finish up whatever she was working on.

“So, what's the verdict?” Colt asked as he stepped up next to Beau and watched him checking out the car.

“Good bones.” Beau pulled back and put one hand on the raised hood. “Ugly as sin, though.”

Colt laughed. “Yeah. But no one's gonna care about that when all they're seeing is her ass end.”

Beau was quiet for a long moment, staring into the engine bay. “It's a Camaro.”

Oh.

The midnight blue Camaro in the back garage. The one no one, not even Camila, was allowed to touch. Fuck. Beau worked on that thing with such deep focus, carefully silent, his hands moving like—like a prayer. Like how Colt used to work on Wasp.

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and turned toward the shop. “I wasn’t…I was looking for the make. It’s late model stock. Former regional car, you know? The body kit was—I could change it. Later, when I have more money.”

A breeze picked up, hot and dry, and dust kicked against Colt’s ankles.

Beau relaxed his shoulders, his fingers. “No. It’s a good car. Don’t matter what it looks like. Late model stock’s got more power. Makes it less forgivin’, and that’s good for NASCAR prep.” The hood clanged as Beau shut it. “You made a good choice.”

Relief simmered through him as Beau turned toward the shop, too.

Beau crossed his arms, bare and defined in the glaring sun, and Colt remembered the way it had felt to be manhandled by one. Like it was nothing, like Colt weighed approximately zilch. Was this the ideal time to be thinking about it? No. Was there ever an ideal time to get horny about your boss? Also no.

Fucking hot. So, so hot. Which, okay. He’d never really considered being tossed around. Usually, he was the one doing the tossing. But yep. He’d learned today that it was definitely something he could get behind. Or under.Or—

“You got your gear yet?” Beau asked, and Colt pulled his mind out of the filth it had fallen into.

Sort of.

Jesus, Beau had nice arms.

Stop. Fuck.