Page 38 of Jackrabbit

“Uh—” Colt cleared his throat. “Yup. Well. Static Channel Apparel sent me a suit. It's got their logo on the back. The safety shit came from Dead Wake. Plus, like, five cases of their drinks.”

“Which you haven't been drinking, I assume,” Beau said. Colt grinned at him, and Beau rolled his eyes. He ran his hand over his mustache. “You’ll need a HANS.”

“Solo?”

Beau cuffed him. “Brace so you don't break your fool neck if you hit something. I'll send you a good one. Order it tonight.”

“Sunshine, that's just about the ugliest car I've ever seen.” They looked over to see Joyce leaning against the wall of her diner. She took a long drag on her cigarette and let the smoke curl out. “We oughta go celebrate tonight. Drink about it, you know.”

“You're speaking my language, Joyce,” Colt called. He bounced on his toes a couple times and shouldered Beau. “Whatchya think, coach?”

“I think the last thing you need is a buncha beers and a hangover when we're gonna be on that track every night till the next race.”

“Vodka soda with a twist of lime.” Colt put his hand over his heart. “I promise to only drink clear liquids. And, hey, lime! Vitamins. Fruit. Sounds healthy.”

“You can glare and loom and make sure he doesn't get white girl wasted all you want, big guy,” Joyce said.

That startled a laugh out of Colt. “White girl wasted?”

“Yep. You look like the type.” Joyce eyed him up and down. “Real pretty. Little dumb.”

“Aw, Joyce, you think I'm pretty?” Colt batted his eyelashes at her, and she grinned. “If I had the right parts for you I'd show you how pretty I can be.”

“Does your flirting come with an off button?” Beau grumbled.

It wasn't on purpose. Colt had a bad habit of talking without thinking, and he was amped about his car, riled from Beau manhandling him—it just came out.

“Don't worry.” He put his hand on Beau's chest and dragged it down to the coverall arms tied around his waist. “There's plenty to go around. Could be real pretty for you, too, Beau.”

Exactly one second after Colt hooked his fingers around the coveralls, his brain caught up with his mouth. His knuckles were pressed against Beau’s lower stomach, he could smell the engine grease and cologne and sweat and heat and—

Fuck. Shit, fuck, shit. Oh my God. Move, Colt. Fucking move.

But his body wouldn't cooperate. He still had his fingers in Beau's motherfucking clothes when his eyes flicked up to find Beau watching him. Very, very still.

Chapter 23

Colt’s knuckles burned into Beau’s stomach, the tips of his fingers just barely dipping into his waistband. The kid flirted with everyone. Beau knew that. But as Beau looked down into Colt’s eyes, they widened, and Beau had a front row seat to see the way his pupils dilated. The way his breath quickened, his neck flushing a pretty pink.

Christ. Colt wanted him, didn’t he? Every time Beau had seen Colt’s neck flush just like this after Beau had praised him, he’d probably been having a very different reaction than Beau had assumed.

Beau reached down and wrapped his hand around Colt’s wrist so he could pry it off his coveralls. He stepped into Colt’s space and lowered his voice. “Careful, boy.”

Colt’s lips parted, and his pulse spiked against Beau’s thumb. He looked scared, and he looked turned on about it. And Beau…

Liked that.

“You two need a minute?” Joyce asked, dry as dirt, and Beau dropped Colt’s wrist. The old crone was watching them with a shit-eating grin while she puffed on her cigarette. “Not that I’d mind a show.”

“Um, right.” Colt unfroze, bounding away like the jackrabbit Beau was always comparing him to. Twitchier than ever. “Just. Yep. Kidding. I'll—yeah. Drinks sound good, Joyce. I'll tell the guys.”

Then he was gone, and Beau was feeling kind of hot around the collar. Joyce laughed, and Beau flipped her off as he went back to his office. He shut his doorand ran his hand down his lower face. This was about to get real messy real quick if he wasn't careful. Fuck. Hehadto be careful here.

Beau sat at his desk and drummed his fingers against it.

Of course he knew Colt was attractive. He wasn't fucking blind. But before this it had been a passing thought. Kid flirted with damn near everyone, but Beau had heard him talking about girls he'd been with around the guys. And he'd assumed.

Wrong, apparently. Now that he'd seen it, he was never going to unsee it. Colt wasn't straight, and he wanted Beau. And Beau needed to take a minute and admit to himself that the thought of Colt under his hands, small and strong, a contradiction wrapped in a pretty package, was appealing.