Page 99 of Jackrabbit

“You got it, boss.” Xavier pushed Colt away and got the others gathered for work.

“So, that lady,” Colt started as he rolled his shoulders. “Kinda different vibes, huh? You think she’s a NASCAR scout?”

Beau hummed. “Maybe. Saw three walking by this morning.”

But he had a feeling she wasn't, the more he thought about it. The NASCAR scouts were almost all older white men wearing some kind of branding. Whoever she was, she was gone, and Beau had a race to worry about.

***

Colt qualified P3 in his round, which was real good so far as Beau was concerned. Especially since he'd never qualified in a pack before. It was a different beast.

“Your heat is fourth round.” Beau leaned back against the hauler, and Colt ran a towel through his curls. “I'll be spotting just like we practiced yesterday, but the heat won't be like anything you've done on the track so far.”

He handed Colt a bottle of electrolytes and watched until he sipped. “It's gonna be a dogfight. Half your pack is probably rookies, the other half is pros who won't let ‘em take their spots in A-Main. You're gonna have to work for it.”

Colt grinned. “My specialty.”

Yeah, it was. And Beau had made him prove it repeatedly the day before at the track he'd rented himself from sundown to midnight. When Colt tried to stretch his arms over his head, he winced and dropped his hand to his side instead. Beau's fault, and he felt bad for it. At the same time, if he couldn't race sore here, he'd never make 300 laps in a Cup series with no power steering.

“Get in the hauler,” Beau told him after another aborted stretch. “Suit down, shirt off.” Leaning down, Beau lowered his voice even though there was next to no shot of him being heard. “And don't you give me shit about it. I'm gonna tape your ribs. You'll let me unless you wanna risk Xavier doing it.”

For one second, Colt’s eyes drifted to Xavier like he was really considering it. He shook his head. “Fine.” He pointed a finger at Beau’s chest and gave him a mock glare. “But no funny business.”

Beau shoved his shoulder, pushing him toward the hauler and heading into the truck cab himself. He dug out his medical kit and flipped the lid. Pulled out a roll of acid green KT tape he'd bought specifically for Colt and wished for just a second that he hadn't. The boy had called him a softie the other night, wrapped in Beau’s towel and leaning his forehead against Beau’s chest. As Beau tucked the tape into his pocket, he did feel soft.

He opened the door to the hauler as Colt was pulling off his shirt, and Beau sucked in a breath when he saw the state of his ribs. Christ. The whole side was a livid, mottled purple. Like someone had gone at him with a hammer.

“Hell, Colt.” Beau stepped closer and leaned down to inspect the damage, fingers hovering just over his skin. “Why didn't you tell me how bad this was?”

“S'fine.” Colt looked down at him. “I bruise like a peach anyway. It's in my genes.”

The hauler was sweltering this time of day, the sun beating down on it like a greenhouse that smelled like rubber and oil. Sweat trickled down the back of Beau’s neck as he pulled alcohol wipes out of his pocket. “Go sit on the bench over there. Right arm up, hand on your head. It'll open up the rib cage.”

“Yessir.” Colt came over, and Beau's eyes traced the line of his spine.

Gorgeous.

He shook his head and followed. Colt lifted his arm and put his hand on his head like he was told.

“I'm gonna touch you now. Gotta. It might hurt, but you'll feel better when I'm done.”

Colt swallowed. “Okay.”

He looked like a goddamn underwear model, all spread out on the bench. Beau wanted to bury his nose in Colt’s underarm, to kiss his bruises until he forgot they hurt.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous that the prospect of touching Colt even like this had Beau thrumming with anticipation. He couldn't help it. Sometimes he thought it didn't matter whether he was touching Colt for sex or for care so long as he was touching him at all.

Beau opened the first wipe and the smell of antiseptic burned his nose. He gently dragged it down Colt’s side, then around to his spine, before openinganother one and repeating the process. “The tape's gotta stick, or you'll sweat it off lap one. It's gonna be a real bitch to take off tonight.”

“I'm sure I can find help somewhere,” Colt teased. “I know a guy. Pretty sure he'll take it off for me if I ask pretty.”

“How pretty?” Beau asked as he pulled the tape out of his pocket and opened the roll.

Colt sucked in a sharp inhale, and Beau looked up when he felt those eyes watching him.

Colt pressed his knee into Beau’s thigh. “As pretty as you need me to be.” He wet his lips with his tongue and lowered his voice. “You know I would.”

He would. Colt would beg so pretty, on his knees if Beau asked. If Beau gave Colt what he wanted, if he let Colt touch him,servicehim.