Page 74 of Jackrabbit

Right?

He pushed through the patio door into a cloud of cigarette smoke. It was hot even after the sun was down, but it hadn't rained since Saturday, so at least it wasn't sticky. The smoke kind of made his mouth water, though. Should’ve brought his nicotine gum.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked as they settled in a corner under a broken floodlight. “I got the feeling I said something wrong back there.”

“No.” Colt pressed his upper back against the rough brick wall, and Sam came to stand in front of him at a respectful distance. Everything was slightly muffled after the noise of the club, that fuzzy sort of feeling like something was pressed against his ears. “It wasn’t you. You’re sweet. I just…”

“Just..?” Sam prompted. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You can talk to me.”

The wall scratched his back as he shifted. “I have to be honest that I’m…really,reallyhung up on someone else. I’m…he doesn’t want me, or can’t admit he does—doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m just here for a good time. I’m not looking for anything. You’re really nice, and I don’t want to lead you on.”

Sam’s smile was kind as he brushed some of Colt’s sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “In the spirit of honesty—I’m not looking for anything either.” He ran his fingertips down Colt’s neck to his collarbone. “I fly out Thursday morning. My life is in Charlotte, neck-deep in telemetry data and a driver who thinks oat milk lattes count as fuel. I just want one uncomplicated night with someone beautiful before I go back to the chaos."

“Beautiful, huh?” Colt hooked his finger in one of Sam’s belt loops.

“Very.” Sam’s hand slid onto Colt’s waist.

“How about you kiss me and show me just how pretty you think I am, Sameer?”

“Your wish,” Sam said because he was, apparently, committed to being charmingly cheesy.

Colt wrapped one of his arms around the back of Sam’s neck as they came together, opened his mouth and ran his other hand up Sam’s back. It was a very nice kiss. Sam knew what he was doing, was soft but insistent, not shy about pressing his body against Colt’s or running his hand along the waistband of Colt’s jeans.

The tongue against his tasted like vodka and lime instead of coffee, and Sam didn’t kiss like he was trying to brand Colt’s mouth with his own. But as he pushed Colt gently into the wall and slipped a knee between Colt’s thighs, itsent off pleasant little sparks in Colt’s gut. Sameer was getting hard, and maybe it wasn’t that dizzy-can’t-breathe-oh-god feeling Beau gave him, but it was good.

He wanted it, wanted this, wanted to go home with an attractive man and feel desired.

When he pulled back, he pressed a kiss against Sam’s jaw and gave it a soft nip. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Absolutely,” Sam agreed. “My hotel is down the street, if you’d like to walk? Just let me go close out my tab.”

Colt pulled him into one more kiss and sent him off. He tipped his head back against the wall while wisps of clouds passed across the stars. He wouldn't cheapen this by thinking of Beau the whole time, but as he waited for Sam to come back out, he allowed himself one moment to remember the want in how Beau had kissed him, the way his mustache had rubbed Colt raw, his hands like brands against his chest and back as Beau had ripped open Colt’s suit like he just might die if he didn’t get his hands on Colt that second.

By the time Sam was done paying, Colt had swallowed all of that down and shoved it into his ‘shit to deal with later’ box. He wrapped his arm around Sam's waist and leaned in as the other man did the same, and decided he deserved this—deserved to be wanted without the weight of someone else's guilt.

Chapter 38

Beau rubbed his palm into one of his eyes and glanced at the clock for the hundredth time that morning. 6:45.

He was too old to be shooting cheap whiskey until two in the morning, and he was damn lucky he didn’t have any appointments scheduled for himself. With how his body was making him pay penance for last night’s shit decisions, he’d be a damn liability under the hood.

The clock ticked to 6:49 as he finished his third cup of coffee. He drummed his fingers against the front desk.

Where the hell was Colt?

He’d been standing outside the front door at exactly five every single morning since that first one. Even though he didn’t have to, even though they’d never agreed to it, he was always there. Sometimes simmering mad, sometimes half asleep, usually smiling.

Beau had been prepared for simmering mad.

No part of him had been prepared for the absence.

“Ay, who’s got aBentleyon the books?” Xavier called, and the sounds of power tools cut off as every nosey kid in his shop stopped to look.

“Who’s got a Bentley in bum-fuck, Arizona?” Camila asked, cleaning off her hands with a shop rag. “Also, dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs,” Liam whined. “You always get the pretty ones.”

James’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, that’s Rourke!”