Page 9 of Jackrabbit

Beau leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms. Watching, steady, so unhurried that Colt felt like a prey animal darting around a lion that hadn’t quite decided if he was worth standing up for yet.

“Yes.” Colt nodded. “Every day. However early you want me here. I’ll—whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

“Even if I don’t train you?”

Colt’s stomach clenched, but he worked his jaw and squared his shoulders. “Even then.”

“I won’t pay you,” Beau said evenly.

“S’okay.” Colt stilled his tapping toes and flexed his fingers instead. “I can get a night job, or—”

“You can bus tables for Joyce.”

“Bus—” Colt bit his tongue and nodded. He’d liked that old lady anyway, and he could more than manage bussing tables. But still. “How do you know she’ll even hire me?”

“She will. Bus boy’s on medical leave.” The counter creaked as Beau hauled his whole, giant self up straight. “She needs the help, and she’s already meddling with you. Means she likes you.”

Beau turned and walked away, and Colt opened his mouth to say—what?

Thank you?

Colt had dragged Beau’s clearly painful past out like blood-soaked linens the night before, had run his mouth and fucked everything up in his usualspectacular way. And then he’d shown up with an apology on his tongue, and Beau had…fixed his problem. Given him a job like it was no big deal.

Thank you didn’t feel like enough.

“Beau—” he started, taking a step forward.

Beau stopped, his shoulders going rigid. He didn’t turn around. “You’ll call me sir or Mr. Moore.” Beau’s voice was flat and controlled, the kind of tone that made Colt want to become one with the floor. “Never Beau. And if I hear ‘Reeve’ come out of your mouth one more time, you’re done here. We clear?”

Colt bit the inside of his cheek. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Beau moved toward his office again. “Coveralls are in the front garage. Pick some and put ‘em on. The bathroom is next to the lobby. Clean it. And don’t forget the phones.”

For the next hour, Colt worked alone. Two of the guys came in and out of the shop while he cleaned the bathrooms and answered phones, but they must have been as afraid of Beau as he was because no one said a word to him. The work was mindless, which was never good for Colt, but it wasn’t sitting still so at least there was that. He did best when he had something to do with his hands.

He was mopping up a set of boot prints when he caught sight of Beau sitting in his office. Wearing honest-to-God reading glasses that glinted gold in the light slanting in from his office window, Beau was concentrating on the computer in front of him with a frown. The gold of the frames made his skin look even more sun kissed.

God, what a fucking daddy.

Colt jerked, his shoe sliding through the soapy mop water on the floor, and caught himself on the edge of the front desk.

Jesus fuck. Stop.

The mop squeaked against the tile as he vigorously scrubbed.

Great. Perfect. His childhood hero was sitting in there looking like every thirst trap on the internet, and right now with dirty mop water on his shoes was when he chose to notice. As if Colt didn’t have enough problems.

The door to the garage swung open, and someone stomped over to him. Camila, of course, her long brown hair thrown back in a bun, wearing the black coveralls she’d spent weeks embroidering a rose into. Oh, and she was mad. Her eyebrows were doing the thing. If Colt gave her a minute, that vein in her forehead would pop to the surface.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, giving his shoulder a shove. “And why are you wearing—what the fuck, Colt? I told you you can’t visit me at work. Are you trying to get me fired?”

Leaning on the mop like he hadn’t used it an hour ago to scrub piss off the bathroom floor, Colt grinned. “What? I thought if I showed up and pretended to work here, everyone would just accept me as part of the shop. Like a shop cat.”

“Colton Rourke.” Camila snatched the mop handle out of his hands and he let it go. “Why is everything a joke to you?”

“Aw, Mila, you wound me.” Hand over his heart, Colt took the mop back with the other. “I’m here officially. Kinda? I dunno. Your boss is really hard to read, did you know that? How do you ever know if you’ve done something right, or if he’s thirty seconds from firing you?”

Camila looked from his shoes to his throat and raised an eyebrow. “What, he actually hired you? You’re not just here to fuck with me?”