Page 17 of Full Throttle

Nate gave her an odd look. “Headmaster Simmons told us last night.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Nate shrugged. “He came into the dormitories.”

Juliette stirred in her milk. She should have guessed. As the only occupant in the female dormitories—which were more of a closet—she was often forgotten about. Still. She would have expected an update from Baz. As if he could read her thoughts, Baz shot her a guilty look.

“Sorry. I should have texted you.”

Juliette waved him off. “I didn’t peg Dominic Hastings as the sort to like teaching.” She hadn’t pegged him as the sort to like people in general, let alone a throng of overzealous teenagers.

“He takes an interest in rookies,” Nate said.

“No,” Phil said smugly. “He takes an interest in wiping out the competition, dickhead. Everyone knows that.”

Nate smirked. “Guess you have nothing to worry about then.”

Phil threw a piece of toast, and Nate dodged. Baz frowned, as if still considering Juliette’s words. “Maybe someone volunteered him for the position.”

“Who?” Juliette asked.

“I don’t know. His father?”

Juliette considered this. Vance Hastings did seem like the type to court positive press, but not at the expense of taking his son—and his prized racer—away from training. “What’s he teaching?”

“Driving,” Frederick said, appearing by their table. “He’ll be taking over our lessons on track over the summer break. My father told me.” He plucked a piece of bacon from a younger boy’s plate, ignoring his shout of outrage. “Nice hair, Marchmont. Did you walk directly into a leaf blower?”

Juliette ignored this. It was, she had found, the most successful defense against Frederick’s particular brand of bullshit.

Nate braced his elbows against the table. “Your brother races with him, right?”

Juliette glanced at Baz. “They’re teammates. And they’ve been for dinner a few times.”

There. That felt like a fair way to sum up the fact that Cap had once asked Dominic if he fancied a round of golf, and Dominic had stared at him blankly and said, “What, like on our day off?” Dominic Hastings didn’t really do friends. Didn’t see the need for them, apparently.

Nate looked hopeful. “Do you reckon Dominic would give me an autograph?”

Jasper chucked an orange peel at Nate. “Fuck that. Do you know how many models Hastings knows? He’s dating this Brazilian one who does the lingerie shoots. Her friends are so fit.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Like he’d introduce you.”

“Sod that,” Teddy, the final member of their table, announced. “I wouldn’t mind taking Hastings for a ride.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you think, Juliette?”

Frederick smirked. “Might be the only way she can get ahead. By giving head.”

Juliette’s voice was cool. “I don’t see how you’d know, Von Galen, considering you’re not getting any.” She turned back to Teddy. “I don’t give a fuck about Dominic Hastings. I’m here to drive. Not to make eyes at our guest instructors.”

Teddy sighed. “Spoilsport.”

Jasper looked incredulous. “You don’t mean that. I’m straight, and even I want to date the bloke. He’s offensively handsome. Not to mention a racing legend.”

Juliette took a sip of tea. “You know Hastings isn’t god’s gift to humanity, right? He’s just a guy. And also a nepo baby.”

Phil shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”

Juliette did her best not to look at Baz, who was fighting back a smile. Philip Worthington came from a long dynasty of racers, just as most students at the academy did; it would have seemed impossible to Phil that Baz’s parents once had to sell their house to fund his karting, or that Juliette worked at an ice cream shop every summer to buy new race suits. She could only imagine the horror on Phil’s face if she told him. Why wouldn’t you just use your trust fund?

Formula 1 was a wealthy industry, which meant you had to come from a wealthy family to gain entry. Then you would accumulate even more wealth by racing, and give birth to the next generation of racers, who would inherit that wealth.