Page 51 of Full Throttle

How did anyone ever get used to this?

“Alex was never going to win,” Anthony announced, shuffling cards. “His car was a piece of shit. No offense.”

This last part was directed to Liêm—Alex’s teammate—who ignored him. The two men had exchanged a short, terse conversation when Anthony first arrived, and Juliette had caught snatches of tabloids and should apologize before she’d deliberately tuned out. That was their business.

Anyway, she was avoiding social media. The British press had gone from wary observers to eager fans, and the offers had begun to roll in: chicken burger adverts, zero-alcohol campaigns, and a six-figure deal with some Scandinavian skincare company that Zoe described as “using snail mucus in their products” but “in a trendy, millennial way.” She’d been terrified that the whole thing was a practical joke before Cap had reminded her of one crucial thing: There was nothing the British public loved more than an underdog, and Juliette was surprised to find that she qualified.

Still. The enthusiasm had created a new sort of pressure. “Put your phone away,” Zoe had advised, and Juliette had been all too happy to lock it in a drawer. A giant orange alien could have landed on the moon and she’d be blissfully unaware.

Anthony’s sleeve brushed her elbow as he set down the cards, which was the second time he’d done that. Hard to tell if it was on purpose; the stools were shoved so close together that it was difficult to avoid.

Baz nodded at the cards. “What are we playing?”

Anthony grinned. “Strip poker.”

Juliette exchanged horrified glances with Cap. The problem with being friends with your sibling, she thought, was that everyone forgot you were related.

Cap pulled a face. “You realize you’re sitting next to my little sister, right?”

She sighed. “I was born like, two minutes after you, Capulet.”

Her brother ignored this, slipping another piece of chicken under the table. Anthony shrugged. “Better hope she doesn’t lose then.”

“Pick something else,” Cap said.

“Strip roulette,” Anthony countered.

“Dios mío,” Baz muttered under his breath. “If you wanted to see a group of men naked so badly, Sinclair, you should have gone to boarding school.” He surreptitiously glanced at his watch, and Juliette hid a smile. If it was up to Baz, he’d already be at home with the football and his paints. “What about blackjack?”

Cap shook his head. “I’m too pissed to add things.”

“What about—?”

“Dom!” Liêm looked delighted. “You came.”

Juliette whirled and then immediately wished she hadn’t.

Dominic Hastings stalked across the casino. He wore suit trousers and a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Eyes lingered on him as he passed, women whispering behind their clutches. Dominic slowed, his eyes flicking over her black dress with almost clinical appraisal, and a low pulse started in her stomach. The dress was the first expensive thing she’d bought with her new salary, and as much as she hated to admit it, she’d thought about him while choosing it. He’d always liked a low back.

Juliette cleared her throat. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

Dominic’s eyes were dark coals. “Neither did I.” His eyes flicked to her shoulder blades and then away, and she felt a terrible rush of satisfaction. Good. Let him regret how things had played out. “What are we playing?”

“Truth or Dare,” Liêm volunteered.

Cap groaned. “No.”

“Absolutely not,” Anthony said.

“It’s my birthday this week,” Liêm said. “I get to pick.”

Dominic rolled his eyes. “It isn’t your—Christ.”

He hissed out a breath. Liêm, whose foot had mysteriously disappeared below the table, gave him an innocent look.

“You were saying?” Liêm asked. Dominic shot him a look, and he smiled. “Good. Here are the rules. You do the dare, or you’re out. Last one standing wins. Everyone understand?”

Juliette shifted. Oh, she understood. Whether it was a good idea, on the other hand…She glanced sideways at Dominic. The last time she’d played this game with the boys at the academy, Phil had ridden a highland cow naked through a local village. Who was to say that this time wouldn’t be worse?