Page 94 of Jackrabbit

“Well, Iamgrade A, choice—”

“Colt!”

Colt sighed and glanced back inside toward Beau’s office door. “It's not a big deal, Camila. And it's not like I'm tying him down, you know. We'rejust…playing.”

He wouldn't say no to being tied down himself, though. Now,thatwas a great idea. Ratchet straps?

“Oh my God, you're an entire moron, aren't you?” Camila punched him in the arm, and he hissed as pain shot up into his shoulder. “He's not just my boss! He's yours. And your coach. Jesus. What about Liberty?”

Colt rolled his eyes. “What about them?”

“If they find out you're boning your coach, are they still going to consider taking you on?” She frowned and put her hand on her hip in a picture-perfect imitation of her mother. “If it gets out?”

“He's not officially my coach.” Colt ran a hand through his hair, his gut twisting. “Liberty will provide one when I go over. And anyway, it's just four months.”

Camila searched his face. “You can't just fuck him for four months and leave, Colt. He's not some twenty-two-year-old you picked up at a bar. Merc's a really good man.”

“I know that.” He clenched his fist and let it go.

“Did you know that James was living on the streets when Merc hired him?”

“No, but—”

“Did you know that when Joyce almost lost the diner after her wife died, he paid her rent for three months?”

“I—”

“You can't just screw with someone like that, Colt. It's—”

“Why are you assuming it's me?”He didn't yell, but even he could hear the venom in his voice.

Camila froze. “What?”

His eyes burned, and he looked into the shop so he didn't have to see her face. “Why are you assumingI'mthe one who doesn't—” He stopped and let out a long breath before looking back down at his best friend. “This isn't just something I'm doing to him, Mila. He's…he doesn’t do more than casual either.”

The phone inside rang, and Colt glanced up as Beau grabbed it. He'd put on his coveralls but left them unzipped down to his navel. God, he was handsome. All broad shoulders and smile lines and a sharp jaw. His eyes caught the morning sun filtering in through the front window, and they blazed.

“Oh, babe.”

Colt tore his gaze away from Beau to see that Camila had caught his stare. She wasn't mad anymore. Her eyes were wide with sympathy, and she grabbed his hand and laced their fingers. “This isn't just playing for you, is it?”

“Of course it is.” Colt swiped his eye with his shoulder, and every muscle on that side groaned. He smiled anyway. “I'm Colton Rourke. Everything's a game.”

He slid his hand out of hers and turned away, and when she tried to call him back, he kept walking.

***

The rest of the day sucked, but Colt kept hearing echoes of that chuckle as he worked and groaned and tried not to die. Made it a little bit better at least. By 4:15, they were in Beau’s truck and heading out of the parking lot. They didn't drive toward the gym, though.

“Where are we going?” Colt asked. Beau didn't answer, and Colt turned to glare at him. “You're gonna put me out to pasture, huh? Useless, useless driver who can barely lift his arms. Don't do it, boss. I'm still good for some things!”

Beau snorted. “That right? Like what?”

He waited until Beau glanced at him to wiggle his eyebrows. “I've still got a mouth.”

“Should know by now,” Beau mumbled, flipping his turn signal as they pulled onto the road that led to his house. “Walk myself right into it all the damntime.”

Beau was quiet as he pulled into his drive and got out, in direct contrast to Colt, who moaned like an eighty-year-old retired farmer when he hopped down out of the lifted truck. He followed Beau into the house and immediately looked for Toast, his favorite fuzzy beast. A soft, aborted meow drew his attention to the far side of the living room. Toast stood, stretching on his bookshelf perch, eyes locked on Colt.