Page 133 of Full Throttle

Silence fell, broken only by the tick-tick of the turn signal. Cap pulled out a granola bar. He seemed to be biting back words, and Juliette raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

Cap unwrapped the bar. “I’m only going to say one thing, and it’s probably stupid.” He shoved half of it into his mouth. “Hastings was my teammate for four years. I’ve seen him date dozens of women—”

“Is this meant to be helping?”

“—and he didn’t give a shit about any of them,” Cap finished. “You know why? Trying to get close to him is like—” He made a noise. “You can’t do it. He’ll bite off your hand. Only Liêm’s managed it, and honestly, none of us have a clue how.”

“Do you have a point?”

“He let you in,” Cap said. “That has to mean something.”

Juliette considered this. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“That was stupid.”

Cap poked her. “Shut up.”

He was smiling, though. Juliette snatched the granola bar, ignoring her brother’s protests as she polished it off. “Penance,” she said through a full mouth, and Cap had the good sense to sigh and be silent.

There was a figure waiting for them in the car park as they arrived, shielding his eyes as he leaned against a wooden post. A female news anchor was eyeing him with interest, although Baz’s attention was on Clyde, who was happily trying to catch a squirrel. He looked up as they approached.

“Well?” Baz asked. “Did you both survive the journey?”

Juliette swung her legs out. “Cap let me drive. So yes.”

His gaze was cautious. “And you’re…okay?”

Cap bent down to ruffle Clyde’s neck. “She gets one free punch. Then we’re even.”

To her surprise, Baz smiled, and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to momentarily lighten. “Oh, I can think of a better punishment than that. Can’t you, Lettie?”

She frowned. What was he…? Oh. Oh. “No. That’s too mean.”

“Not mean enough.”

She shook her head. “He’ll never agree to it.”

“He has no choice.”

Cap scowled. “What the bloody hell are you two on about?”

“Pizza,” they said together, and Cap groaned.

“Oh, god, please. Anything but that.” He shuddered. “The claggy bread, the way the grease gets all over your fingers…” He gave Juliette a hopeful look. “Are you quite sure that you don’t want to punch me in the face?”

Someone shouted her name. Paparazzi lined the wooden posts, their cameras exploding like the silver flash of a blade, and her stomach clenched. Damn. She hadn’t considered that the press might wait for her arrival, but it made sense; they’d want to know if she was racing today. Cap placed a hand on her back as if he intended to hustle her toward the paddock, but Juliette shook her head.

“I’ll speak with them.”

Cap glanced at the mob. “Are you sure?”

Juliette pinched her fingers together. She’d spent too long hiding behind the wheel of a car, squeezing her eyes shut so that she couldn’t see the oncoming collision. The press had been her champion and her critic, her defense and her prosecution. But they didn’t know her. She hadn’t given them the chance to. And how could you like something if you didn’t understand it?

“I’m sure,” Juliette said.