Page 93 of Jackrabbit

Colt turned toward the truck. “I’ve got a shift with Joyce in the morning, so let’s pack it up.”

Chapter 42

Colt woke up groaning. He'd known he was going to pay for those moves on the track, but Jesus—he could barely turn his head. The ache was deep and total—his neck, his back, all the way down to his thighs. The bruises he’d suspected on his sides were throbbing, too, the punishment for slamming himself into the harness on repeat just to piss Beau off.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he pulled himself up and twisted out of bed. “God fucking damn.”

It took him twice as long as normal to get ready, not even an indulgent, hot shower soothing him enough for him to stop wincing as he put on his clothes for the day. No way in hell was he jogging to work like he was supposed to, so he opened his phone and pulled up a ride-share app. Hecouldcall Beau, who picked him up on his way to work when it was raining or dropped him off when practice had run long.

But that would be admitting defeat.

Speaking of Beau, though—

Colt grinned as he leaned back against his wall and pulled up his shirt. He stuck it between his teeth and palmed his chest, made sure his thumb was right on the edge of that dark, yellowing hickey, and snapped a picture. He sent it off to Beau with a winky face and tucked his phone in his pocket.

Beau—wearing a band tee and tight, black jeans that showed off everything Colt wanted to see—was just unlocking the front door when Colt gingerlypulled himself out of the car he’d called. He turned to watch Colt amble up to him, and his lips quirked. “Sore there, hotshot?”

“Fuck you.” Colt took a long drink of his burning hot coffee, his traps screaming.

“Mhmm.” Beau opened the door and held it for him. “Not allowed, ain’t that right?”

“Sure you are.” His thighs had gone stiff on the short car ride over, but Colt tried his best to walk like a normal human anyway as he passed Beau and flipped on the lobby lights. “Whenever you’re ready to give me what I want.”

Beau snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Twenty minutes later, Beau cursed from his office, and his phone thunked against his desk.

Colt grinned as he finished checking the schedule for the day to make sure no one was double-booked. “You alright in there, coach?”

“Fucking—what if I’d opened this message when someone else was around?” Beau asked, standing in the doorway and clutching his phone. Colt could just make out a flash of pink skin on the screen.

“Please.” Colt tucked the clipboard back under the desk and rolled his shoulders, wincing. “I sent that picture like an hour ago, and you just now checked it. You never look at your phone. Especially in front of other people.”

The front door opened before Beau could answer, and he hastily shoved his phone in his back pocket. Colt smirked at him and turned to greet Camila, whom he'd mostly avoided since the race Wednesday. She narrowed her eyes at him and popped her bubble gum, then looked at Beau, who cleared his throat and went back into his office.

“You've got an oil change coming in at seven,” Colt told Camila. She made her way to the desk and stopped next to him, pulling her hair into a bun. “And at ten—”

“Cut the crap,” she whispered, quietly enough that Colt was sure Beau wouldn't hear. “Something's upwith—”

Colt slapped a hand over her mouth and looked back at the open office door. The last thing he needed was Beau hearing Camila being suspicious. That would be a one-way ticket to never getting into bed with him ever.

A tiny wet tongue slipped across his fingers, and he yelped, pulled his hand back, and groaned when it tugged at his sore muscles. “Mila, fucking gross!”

“I need to show you something.” Camila sounded sweet, but her face said Colt would get an ass-whooping if he didn't cooperate. “In the bay. Come on.”

“Actually, I'm supposed to be answering phones, so—”

Camila grabbed his wrist and pulled, and Colt gritted his teeth. He could fight, but that would make his pain twelve times worse. This conversation was coming either way—if he didn't go now, she'd break into his apartment at two in the morning like she had that time he'd broken his leg and tried to hide it from everyone.

Sighing, Colt nodded and raised his voice. “I'll be right back, boss. Mila needs me in the shop. Can you get the phones?”

“Mhmm.”

Colt followed her out into the garage, and the second the door shut, she spun on him. “I thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself when it came to Merc.”

“How the fuck—”

“You think I'm freaking blind?” Camila poked him in the chest, hard, and he raised both hands. “I saw what happened last race when you pulled that move. You should have seen his face. I thought he was gonna puke on his boots, and then I walk in here, and he's looking at you like you're a slab of meat and you're looking at him like you're about to jump him right there.”