Page 78 of Jackrabbit

Colt finished tucking the wasp under his shirt. He found her immediately, pretty with dark skin and a puff of hair that was all bleached on the left but natural on the right. He snorted. “Yeah, she’s hot as fuck. Way out of your league.”

A kid scream-laughed as his dad picked him up and ran up the stands with him, feet thundered on the metal as someone started their qualifier, and Colt took a long breath in. Savored it. He loved race day—the dirt, the grit, the sounds, the smell of shit hot dogs and even shittier spilled beer.

“Xavier, I know you’re not sitting here watching girls instead of finishing that checklist,” Beau rumbled behind them, and Colt grinned. And then there was the growl of Beau’s voice with that accent, all serious and sexy and in control. Xavier winced. Beau was behind them watching with a raised eyebrow. “Get your ass back to that car.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Xavier clicked his heels together and saluted before he jogged off. He was wearing a black Jackrabbit shirt again, but this time the rabbit was designed in vibrant, neon pink. It was awesome.

“Haven’t seen you take a drink in fifteen minutes,” Beau told him.

“You been watching me, Beau?” Colt asked, shooting Beau a coy smile.

The last two days had been interesting. Not as tense as Colt had expected after Beau had destroyed him with nothing but his thigh against Colt’s taint and his voice. His fucking voice. Colt had jerked off more in the past two days than he had in the last two years, all to the soundtrack of that rough, dark drawl.

Beau had been watching Colt, his eyes on him so many times he’d memorized the feeling.

What had he been thinking? Hopefully, the same things Colt had been thinking.

“Drink,” Beau grumbled, and Colt put the straw between his teeth and grinned around it while Beau glared.

He took a sip because he wasn’t an idiot, that weird taste—like someone had eaten a grapefruit and burped into a cup of salt water—washing over his tongue. It wasn’t so bad now that he was used to it, but the first time Beau had handed it to Colt he’d given his coach such a look of betrayal that Beau had damn near laughed at him.

“Colton Rourke,” someone called, and Colt and Beau turned at the same time to see Sameer walking up to them carrying several thick, black cases and a heavy-duty black backpack over his shoulders.

He was grinning, wearing a Jackrabbit t-shirt and jeans. “Pre-race hydration? Vic’s crew chief, Patrick, practically has to force them down her throat. She hates those drinks.”

“Sam!” Colt smiled, shaking his head. Behind him, Beau went very still. “What are you doing here? Isn’t your flight at, like, ass o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He held up one of the cases. It had ‘Liberty Speedworks’ written across the front. “But I told you you’re kicking up a fuss at work. Vic wanted me to get footage of your race so she can watch it in high-def since I’m already here visiting the folks.”

“What?” Colt bounced on his toes as his heart skipped. “No fucking way!”

Sam laughed. “Yesfucking way.” He set down his cases and leaned closer, pressing his fingertips against Colt’s wrist and lowering his voice. “Between you and me, Jake Peters walked off four months ago and took one of our biggest sponsors—Stillwater—with him. The way you’ve been blowing up since you started your social media run has got a lot of eyes on you.”

“Holy shit,” Colt whispered. He grabbed Sam’s forearm, squeezing it like a stress ball. “Sam. Oh my God. This is—”

A large, warm hand settled on the back of Colt’s neck, and Colt froze. Shit. Colt had intentionally provoked Beau using his night with Sam, and here Sam was at the race wearing Colt’s brand, touching him. Was Beau mad? With the way his fingers were very subtly tightening on Colt’s neck, Colt was going to guess that was a big, fat, yes.

Which, hot. Very hot.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Beau’s hand. He smirked, and Colt remembered confessing that he was more or less gone on someone else. It must have been dead obvious who it was.

“You must be the coach.” Sam hitched his backpack further up on his shoulder and held out his hand. “Sameer Kulkarni with Liberty Speedworks. I’m Vic Navarro’s racing engineer.”

“I know who you are.” Beau didn’t take Sam’s hand. “We’re going to the pits. Enjoy the race.”

“Beau, be nice,” Colt hissed, and the hand at the back of his neck tightened again.

“Actually, if you’ll allow me,” Sam continued, entirely unfazed by Beau’s cold tone and already picking up his bags. “They’ve requested I get some shots of the engine. They want to know what he’s already working with. You understand, don’t you, Mr—?”

“Moore,” Colt offered because Beau wasn’t going to. He pulled out of Beau’s grasp and took one of Sam’s bags for him. “And of course he doesn’t mind.” Heraised his eyebrows at Beau, whose jaw was ticking. “He’s thrilled for me. Right, coach?”

“Mhmm,” Beau bit out, and, boy, Colt was going to have a lot to talk to him about on the truck ride home. The jealousy was so thick he could taste it.

Delicious.

He guided Sam back toward the pits, dodging other crews. “Where’d you get the shirt?” Colt asked as they slipped through the gates.

“Oh, that girl saw me in the parking lot.” Sam plucked at the front of the tee. “Camila, was it? She said if I was going to show up like some sort of sugar daddy I could at least prove it by buying some of your merch. How could I refuse?”