Page 72 of Jackrabbit

Beau drew to his full height and stepped up to Colt, kept moving until Colt was forced to step back, and back. He hit the side of the truck and dropped his arms, and Beau dug his fingers into Colt's hip. Colt let out a gasp, and Beau leaned down until his lips were brushing the shell of his ear, until he could feel the heat from Colt's flush.

“You wanna challenge me, boy?” he murmured, voice low and gravel-rough. “You want me to fuck you?” Colt's hips tried to jerk, but Beau dug his fingers in harder, held him down against the side of his truck. “Then find a new coach. Because as long as you're in my seat, I'm not touchin’ you.”

Colt’s pupils were blown to hell, his cheeks flaming. There was still a challenge in the press of his lips and the draw of his brow despite how wrecked he looked, and he shook his head. He grabbed Beau’s collar and pulled until Beau was forced to either lean down or let it rip.

“No,” Colt snarled.

“No?”

“No.” Colt pushed, and Beau let himself be moved back. “I won't find another coach, and you damn well know it. But you're forgetting a third option.”

“That right?” Beau asked as Colt leaned down and grabbed his bag despite the way his hands were slightly shaking.

“Yeah.” Colt turned to Beau and raised an eyebrow, the defiant little brat. “I'm gonna find someone else to fuck me.”

“Get in the truck.” Beau kept his voice low and even, biting back his visceral anger. “Right now.”

“Nope.” Colt grinned at him—sharp and mean at the edges—as he started walking away backwards. “I got plans. I can walk myself home. Night,coach.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked away, shoulders back, bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. Beau watched him go until his jaw started to achefrom how hard he was clenching his teeth. Until the urge to grab him by the back of his neck and shove him into the bed of the truck had passed enough for him to shake out his fist.

He got into his truck and quietly closed the door.

He needed a goddamn drink.

Chapter 37

“Ruin me.” Colt kicked his apartment door shut and dropped his bag and then stripped his shirt off. It landed on his spare helmet. “‘Yer talkin’ real big, boy. Fucking sanctimonious, sexy, goddamn asshole.”

He yanked off his shoes and stomped to his kitchen, where he pulled out the bottle of tequila Camila had brought on his first day of house arrest. The shot glass that said ‘fuck me, I’m Irish’ hit the counter with a sharp click, and he filled it to the brim.

“Fuck you,” he said to his poster of the Reeve, all clean-shaven and stupidly handsome. He raised his glass at it and took the shot with a choke. “Damn, Mila, you really were trying to kill me.”

The second one went down easier, and he dropped his shorts before going to the bathroom to take out the plug and wash it. Stupid. Stupid fucking idea. He'd felt so sexy, two fingers deep, imagining Beau’s face if he found it

Now, setting the toy out to dry, he just felt cheap and unwanted.

And somehow still horny as hell. How was he supposed to feel when the shape of Beau’s fingertips was burning into his skin thirty minutes and two miles later?

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck this.”

He kicked off his boxers and took a quick shower. Hell if he was going to sit around feeling sorry for himself. Hadn’t he made a promise?

‘I'm gonna find someone else to fuck me.’

Nothing if not a man of his word, Colt pulled on his favorite lacy black boxer briefs, paired them with a neon pink fishnet top that teased at his abs and disappeared into the racing tee he'd cropped years ago, and slipped on his tightest pair of jeans. Flicked eyeliner on and left his house with nothing but his wallet, some condoms, his phone, and a few one-use packs of lube.

He'd be damned if he let anyone, especially that man, make him feel small.

***

The Sapphire Room was packed even on a Sunday night. Bass pumped in the soles of his shoes as he stepped out of the security hall and into the club proper. Two girls nearly tripped over him as they tried to get to the dark corner to his left without taking their hands off each other, the air was frigid, and it reeked of stale booze and sweat.

“I love it here,” Colt sighed as he headed toward the bar and let the overwhelm of the atmosphere seep into his bones.

He ordered a beer from a local brewery because the tequila was still burning unpleasantly in his gut and turned to lean against the bar so he could watch the writhing mass of bodies under the strobing lights. Sweaty faces flashed purple and pink and blue as people danced like they were doing a lot more with a lot less clothes. Two guys with a short, pretty girl sandwiched between them leaned around her and kissed as they ground her between them, and she tipped her head back on one of their chests to watch before pulling the guy in front of her away for her own kiss.

Colt shifted restlessly. Maybe they had room for a fourth. Probably not. That looked like a relationship from where he was standing across the floor. Pity.