Page 98 of Jackrabbit

“Mhmm.”

Colt’s arm dropped too, hanging next to Beau’s just slightly behind them. “I like you possessive, Beau. But I'm not gonna play with you like that on purpose.”

Beau glanced at him and then back toward the crowd. “Never said you were.”

“You didn't have to. I haveeyes.” Colt kept watching the deafening crowd, but reached out with his pinky and slipped it around Beau's. “You've got me. I'm not looking anywhere else.”

Neither of them said ‘for four months’, but it lingered between them like something thick. Beau ran his thumb across Colt’s knuckles anyway.

They stood like that until the PA system screamed over the waiting crowd that qualifiers were about to start. Half the gathered racers imploded with activity, and Beau got the feeling that half of them were going to end up in B-main. Over-eager and nervous, likely less experienced.

He brushed Colt’s knuckles one more time and pulled away to check his tablet. “You're in round three for qualifiers. No one we know is with you.”

Colt leaned closer and peered over his arm at the screen. “Car 22 is. The one that took Kendrick’s place when he got the boot. She's pretty good.”

“She?” Beau looked up as the crew started making their way over, zipping up their suits and dodging the crowd.

“Yeah. She started back of the pack last race and was front of the mid by the end.” He shrugged. “She's good. Heard one of the other guys talking shit because she's a girl though.”

“Yeah, well, idiots are everywhere.” The tablet pinged with a message from the track forum, and Beau opened it. “Women are better racers than men most of the time, in my experience. If they can get past the bullshit.”

“Not a common sentiment in a place like this.”

Beau and Colt looked up to find a woman in front of them, mid-thirties maybe. She had on fitted black slacks, a black button-up left open at the collar, and a vest in June bug green. Her hair was longer and pushed back from her face at the top, tapering to shaved at the bottom.

“We're not common.” Colt stepped forward and held out his hand. “Colton Rourke.”

The woman's lips quirked as she took his hand, her sleeve riding up to show a tattooed wrist. “I know. Hard to miss if you follow racing circle socials.”

Charming smile out in full force, Colt let go and nudged Beau. “This tall drink of water is my coach, Mercer.”

“I see his social media personality isn't a front,” the woman mused as she took Beau’s hand. “What do you think of your odds today? The Copper Classic isn't like your usual races.”

“Field's tougher than we're used to. More experienced drivers, longer day, tighter pack.” Beau scanned the crowd again, and saw the guys holding back and watching them instead of approaching while a suit was close. “But Colt’s been running clean laps all week, his reaction times are solid, and he's good under pressure.”

Colt was watching him with sharp, heavy eyes. He wanted to know what Beau thought, too.Am I a good boyin a different flavor.

“Qualifiers'll tell us where we stand. If he keeps his head and drives his race instead of someone else's, we'll be competitive.”

Colt grinned at the suit. “I'm not here to win pretty. I'm here to finish strong.”

The suit smiled and nodded. “Good to hear it.” She glanced toward the track as the first qualifier started, then back to them. “Looks like we're underway. Keep it on all four, Mr. Rourke.”

“Will do.” Colt gave her a two finger salute, and they watched her disappear into the crowd.

Interesting phrasing. Not ‘how do you think you’ll do’, but ‘what do you think of your odds.’ He’d put money on her being a scout or a driver herself. They were all over this event, which made sense. The $25k prize some local casino owner had put up had drawn drivers from all over the state.

“Who was that?” Camila asked as she and the guys hustled up.

“Dunno.” Shrugging, Colt started more stretches. “Hot though.”

Camila rolled her eyes right along with Beau. “You think everyone's hot.”

“I just have a well-rounded appreciation for the human form.” Colt yanked Camila over and kissed the top of her head before pushing her back toward the rest of the crew. “Now go fix my car, grease monkey.”

”Grease monkey is rude.” Xavier came up behind him and pulled him back to ruffle his hair. “But I’ll forgive you because you were an A+ wingman just now.”

”Xavier, check those tires.” It was ninety-six degrees, but would drop drastically this time of year when the sun set. “Decrease the pressure for the qualifiers. Gonna be slick out there from the heat. He’ll want the extra grip.”