Page 107 of Jackrabbit

It was quiet except for Beau’s breathing and Colt’s heart racing for so long Colt thought he was about to get told no for sure. Then Beau let out a puff ofair and turned to kiss the side of his head, those big hands running up Colt’s bare back. “Yeah, you can.”

Victory smelled like lavender and Beau’s sheets, apparently. Colt slipped off of Beau’s lap and pushed under the covers. He pulled them up to his ears and watched Beau finish getting ready for bed, his eyes growing heavy as Beau brought the medical supplies to his bathroom and went to open the door for Toast.

His eyes were closed by the time Toast hopped up on the bed and sniffed Colt’s face. Colt winced. “Gross. Why’s your breath smell like tuna?”

Toast meowed at him and rubbed his cheeks against Colt’s forehead, purring that crunchy purr as he shoved under the blankets and curled against Colt’s stomach like he had the other night in the guest room.

“You’re gonna have to come to bed eventually, Beau.” Colt yawned, listening to Beau still finding stuff to do in the bathroom. He cracked one eye open and found Beau standing in the doorway holding a box of disinfectant wipes and smirked. “Come on. I swear I don’t hog the blankets.”

Toast’s purring warmth made it almost impossible to resist the pull of sleep. When he blinked, the bathroom light was off and Beau’s heavy footfalls were coming toward the bed. The sheets pulled back so gently it felt like they hardly moved at all, and Beau slipped into bed as quietly as a man his size possibly could.

“You falling off the edge there?” Colt smiled and hid it under the sheets he was pretending not to smell. He was facing the middle of the bed, Beau on the side closest to the bedroom door. When he reached over, he had to stretch his whole arm before his fingertips made contact with Beau’s shirt. Another yawn cracked his jaw. “Doesn’t matter how far away you are. Sleep Colt is a heat-seeking missile. Gonna find you anyway.”

Beau laughed, and the bed dipped as he shifted closer. Not touching, but close enough that Colt was able to wrap his hand around Beau’s forearm. He fell asleep listening to Beau breathe, Toast making biscuits against his stomach.

***

When Beau woke, it was immediately clear that Colt hadn’t been lying about the heat-seeking. One of his hands was fisted into the front of Beau’s shirt, his face buried in Beau’s chest, and their legs were tangled. Goddamn octopus.

Toast was stretched across the pillow above Beau’s head like he usually was, making those soft snoring noises.

Beau shifted, pulling Colt closer. Apparently he’d been heat-seeking too, because he was in the middle of the bed with a death grip on the other man. Hell. But Colt waswarm, his breaths even and deep against Beau’s side. Beau pressed his nose into Colt's curls. He couldn't deny the ease inside, like having Colt against him—solid and real—soothed his restlessness. He left his nose where it was and closed his eyes. They had so little time, and he was done wasting it.

Chapter 46

Beau was watching Colt and pretending he wasn't while they worked. He'd given his last client to Camila because he wanted to stay inside and keep an eye on Colt—to make sure that he wasn't in too much pain, that the arnica he'd applied again that morning after breakfast was working its magic. But Colt was fine, of course, nothing but the occasional wince to show for the three beatings his body had taken in the past seven days. He hadn't put on his coveralls and was walking around the shop in his own shorts and Beau's Pantera shirt.

Which was so long on him it almost covered the shorts entirely.

It was distracting.

“You're staring,” Colt sing-songed at ten in the morning after he hung up the phone and finished typing in the appointment he'd just made. He turned his dimples on Beau and put his tattooed hand on his hip. “I could give you something better to watch.”

“Is that right?” Beau drawled, just like he knew Colt liked. He tracked his gaze from Colt’s neon-soled shoes, up his calves, his thighs. “View's pretty good. You'll have to be real creative if you wanna give me something better.”

Colt flushed from his collar to his ears, his eyes promising heat, and he took a step closer. He was just opening his mouth to say something probably filthy when the bell over the door jingled.

“Looks like I'm interrupting something.” A woman's voice, and she sounded amused. Beau turned to see the suit from the race, and his heart dropped. Shewas wearing a suit again, this one all stone-gray and complete with a coat. “I'd say I can come back later, but I'm on a schedule today. And I brought friends.”

“Whoareyou?” Colt asked. He took a step closer to Beau. “Stalking is illegal.”

Another woman walked through the doors and pulled her sunglasses off, short and slender with her hair left natural in a puff around her face. Dark-skinned with high cheekbones and big brown eyes, she zeroed in on Colt the second she was inside.

“Colton Rourke.” Her heels clicked against the tile as she walked up to them and held out her hand. “Laura Walters. You've met Vic.”

“Holy shit!” Colt scrambled around the desk to take Walters’ hand, eyeing the other woman with open awe. “You'reVic Navarro, oh my God, I should have known when you—” Cutting himself off with a gasp, Colt let go of Walters’ hand and ran his own through his hair. “Shit. You watched me race. Vic Navarro watched me race!”

He hurried up and offered his hand to Navarro, who grinned like she thought he was a cute, eager puppy and shook back. Beau closed his eyes for one heartbeat before squaring his shoulders and watching Colt shake hands with his future.

When the door opened again, Beau’s jaw ticked. They bring the whole goddamn team?

A man walked through, mid-thirties, about Colt's height, with a neat, military-style haircut and a well-groomed beard. One of his hands was a prosthetic, high-end by the look of it. His eyes scanned Colt as he walked up, assessing, intelligent.

“This is Marcus Hoyt.” Walters gestured for Hoyt to come closer, and he did, offering Colt his non-prosthetic hand.

Hell. Hoyt. As inthe Hoyts. Third generation by now. NASCAR legend who lost his hand and his career five years ago.

“Um.” Colt glanced at Beau for a split second before taking Hoyt's hand. “Yeah, I know who you are. You’re an incredible driver, Mr. Hoyt.”