Page 17 of Jackrabbit

“Be—Mr. Moore, is this your house?” Colt hopped out and vibrated in the driveway just like the jackrabbit Beau had compared him to. He bounced on his heels. “Oh, shit. This is your house? What’s in that garage? Can I see? Is there a stock car in there?”

“Boy, you need a gag?” Beau rumbled as he locked the truck. “Can you shut up for three whole seconds?”

Colt choked on air, his cheeks going so hot he felt sunburnt. Thank fuck Beau had kept walking, because he didn't need to see what Colt’s face was doing after hearing that rough southern accent ask him if heneeded a gag.Jesus fuck. He absolutely did not need the added images that brought to his mind. Like Beau sitting on a chair with whiskey in one hand, the other pulling Colt’s hair, those goddamn glasses on as Colt stayed on his kne—

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

His coach. That man was his fuckingcoach. It was bad enough that he spent time appreciating the view. He didn't need to add filthy fantasies to the mix, for the love of fuck.

While Colt desperately tried to fish his mind out of the gutter, his eyes drifted around the yard. Well maintained, landscaped, and pretty. Beau probably worked it himself, too. He didn’t seem like the type to hire someone. He thought about Beau in gardening gloves and a floppy sunhat and grinned. That was better.

He followed Beau's back through the huge wooden front door and let out a low whistle when he walked inside. It wasn't a rich fuck house like he’d grown up in. Nothing was extremely fancy or looked overtly breakable. But everything was quality. A fluffy, sturdy couch, a clean granite countertop, and dark green shaker cabinets.

It was nice.

Colt thought about his alley-pilfered couch, which he had finally broken when he'd flopped on it after training yesterday, and winced. Yeah, between that and the poster he still hadn’t taken down, Beau could absolutely never come to his home.

“This way,” Beau called, already halfway down a hallway to his right.

Oh, the garage. That had to lead to the garage, right? Was Colt really going to get to see a race car? Gen 6? Beau’s? Maybe he’d fixed it up after the crash. Maybe—

Right. No way. Not with the way Beau had gone flat and mean when Colt had mentioned the crash that night, Probably not a car.

Something moved to his left as he took a step toward the garage, and he turned to look. Huge and fluffy, the creature had long, reddish-brown fur that melted into black, huge triangle ears with tufts of hair sticking out their points, and massive yellow eyes.

“Uh, Mr. Moore?” Colt turned toward the animal and tried not to make sudden movements. “There’s, like, a wild animal in here?”

“That’s a cat.” Beau stepped up behind Colt, and the cat fixed its eyes over Colt’s shoulder. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out.

“Pretty sure that’s a small bear.” God, it was freaking cute. Colt knelt down, wincing as his quads protested, and held out his fingers. “Hey, baby. You’re so pretty.”

“He doesn’t like people much.”

Colt wiggled his fingers. “What’s his name?”

Beau was quiet for a long beat. Then, “Cat.”

“Cat?” Colt snorted and scritched his fingers against the floor,Cat’seyes darting toward the sound. “You did not name this apex predator Cat.”

Cat ambled toward Colt, his fur shining redder in the shafts of sunlight filtering in through the back windows. He fixed his eyes on Colt’s fingers, and Colt raised them for him to sniff. Cat gave him one long smell before he shoved his head aggressively against Colt’s knuckles.

Colt beamed. “Aw, look at that. You’re a sweet thing. Doesn’t like people, my ass. Are you just a big baby?”

Cat meowed, then fit himself under Colt’s hand and rubbed his spine all along it. He was so soft, and the purr that started deep in his chest sounded like a goddamn motor. Colt thought he might be a little in love.

“You're a traitor,” Beau mumbled from behind them.

As if he was trying to prove a point, Cat flopped onto his side and meowed while Colt scratched his belly.

“Alright, if you're done making friends.” Beau sounded grouchy, but not the type of grouchy that resulted in Colt having to take six laps around the outside of the gym. “Come out to the garage, Colt.”

“Bye, Princess Fluff,” Colt told the cat, giving him one more scratch before pulling himself to his feet.

“What did you just call him?” Beau asked as Colt followed him down the hall.

Colt grinned up at him. “Well, you clearly have some ridiculous name for him you're embarrassed to tell me. Thought I'd guess.”

All the confirmation Colt needed was Beau's silence as he opened the garage door. He laughed. “Oh, I was so right! What is it? Noodle? Dingleberry? No. Salmon, Frank, Duchess? How about—”