Page 62 of Jackrabbit

Beau’s lips twitched in a soft sort of smile as he looked down at Colt through the rain that was lashing sideways now. “I’m not.”

It was a good thing the clouds had made it gry and dark, because Colt’s cheeks had to be pink with the way they’d heated at that confidence. He nudged Beau with his shoulder just as they threw the placements up on the board. Colt’s gaze flicked up and scanned for his own name.

He didn’t have to go far. “Fourth. Not bad.”

“You’re starting in fifth, though.” Beau glanced down at the tablet he was holding and wiped it off with his sleeve. “They inverted the top eight. Qualified fourth, so that puts you in fifth. Means you gotta work for it. Rain’s letting up, so they’ll run the dryers and start, but it’s still gonna be slick. Dryers aren’t perfect.”

“Aw, fifth? Well, that’s rude.” Colt watched the board switch to reflect that information, the rain drizzling to a stop now. The crowd gave a cheer that sounded weak and distant after the racket of rain pounding on hoods and bleachers. Beau somehow still looked hot in a dripping windbreaker—what the fuck. Colt shrugged. “I like driving in the rain.”

“I bet you do.” Shaking his head, Beau tucked the tablet into his coat. “Less controlled, more chaos, easy to spin out, and easier to do something stupid to fix it. Sounds like you.”

Colt narrowed his eyes. “I think that was an insult, but for the sake of my pride, I’m gonna pretend it wasn’t.”

A series of trucks ran the track, dragging high-powered dryers behind them that pushed the water off the asphalt to make it less slick. The sun crept out from behind the clouds, and mist curled up in the wake of the trucks. It took eight minutes, maybe, before the trucks pulled off and disappeared.

The signal to get to the grid echoed across the grounds, and Colt’s attention snapped to the board. He pressed his hand against the wasp necklace under his shirt and took a breath to try to steady the way his body was starting to jitter.

“Colt.” Beau was holding Colt’s helmet under one arm. “This is your element. You’ve got something here none of them do, y’hear? Show ‘em that grit, boy.”

Beau’s faith in him was steadying. It took the writhing anxiety in Colt’s stomach and muffled it into something quieter. Some of the tension in Colt’s muscles drained out as he took off Beau’s windbreaker and traded it for his helmet.

Their fingers brushed, and Colt let it linger, leaning closer so he could drink in Beau’s warmth and scent one last time before getting in the car.

“When I win this, you gonna finally admit that you like watching me, Beau?’

Beau’s gaze flicked down so briefly that Colt couldn’t be sure if it had sought his mouth, then it was back on Colt’s eyes. “Get on the grid, Rourke.”

“Uh-huh.” The world went slightly muffled as he slipped on his helmet. He zipped up his suit the rest of the way and clasped his collar. “That’s not a no.”

“Boy, get in the car.”

Colt tossed Beau a cheeky grin. “Yes, sir.”

He climbed up into the car window and slid into the damp seat. Once he’d pulled on his harness, he waited for Beau’s customary check with too much anticipation. Beau filled the window as he leaned in, and Colt bit his own lower lip. Knuckles dragged across his chest as Beau tested tension, and heat slithereddown Colt’s spine. Which was his own fault, actually. He’d been a flirty little shit like always and worked himself up.

When the helmet was strapped into the HANS, Beau gave those two ‘good to go’ taps, and Colt steadied himself.

Eyes on the prize.

Colt was immediately assaulted by the memory of Beau’s chest. Wrong prize, geez.

By the time he was in his place, he was vibrating in his seat. Kendrick was next to him on the grid in sixth on the outside. He was gunning like a moron, rocking on his shocks again, and Colt didn’t need to look to know he had turned his whole body to watch him. Colt kept his eyes forward as the pace laps started, held his place and his patience right until they were pulling in front of the grandstand.

Then he turned as much as he could, keeping his path without looking directly at the track at all. Kendrick spotted him, and Colt pressed a hand over his visor where his mouth would be. He mimed blowing a kiss, and—because Colt was an asshole—he cupped his hand and gave an exaggerated princess wave. Kendrick drifted and jerked the wheel to get himself back in line.

Colt laughed and settled back in his seat just in time for the pace car to shut off its lights.

Seconds after the flag dropped, visibility went to shit as everyone hit the throttle and sent up rooster tails of water behind them despite the dryers. Kendrick lunged, his engine a desperate, angry scream as he tried to pull in front of Colt.

Too much gas, dickwad.

Kendrick's tires losing purchase vibrated through Colt's steering wheel, and he snorted. When Kendrick’s back end stepped out—a slow, sickening slide toward the grass—Colt kicked his own car’s tail just enough to pivot and avoid a collision. Beau would have reamed his ass for it on a dry day, but the back ofthe pack was struggling to get their grip today, and Colt was going to need a lot more of those moves to keep his edge.

P7 and P8 had already gained spots, but P1 and P2 had both nearly fucked themselves on turns one and two. They were approaching turn three with extreme caution, and P3 sailed right past him on the outside to get near the wall, where the grip was better. That was what he should do, too. He knew that.

But as his car thrummed beneath him—as his focus narrowed to the road, the wheel in his hands, his foot on the gas—he dive-bombed the corner instead. He braked so late that someone without his background would be shitting their pants if they’d tried it, but the sound of his tires sliding as he drifted to rotate his nose was like coming home. He’d heard it a thousand times, only this time it was accompanied by the roar of nineteen other engines and the rumble of the track’s soaked grooves.

He passed P1 and P2 and left Kendrick sipping his rooster tail as he straightened out and grinned like a fucking psycho. God, he felt alive. Everything was quiet except this, except him and his car and his tires trying to find their grip.