Page 63 of Full Throttle

Their team principal was frowning, holding her cane as if deciding whether to whack him with it. He surreptitiously moved the oil can closer with his left foot.

“What do you mean?”

Ranya’s frown deepened. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m not hungover,” Dominic said indignantly.

“Then what would you call this?”

He thought for a moment. “Severe dehydration.”

Ranya muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly like ducking unbelievable. “At least you had the good sense to get half the grid drunk with you.” She ran a hand over her face. “Yang is vomiting into a plant pot.”

Dominic spared a brief thought for Liêm, who had never done well on tequila, even at boarding school. “It won’t affect my performance. Trust me. I’ve been told that I always perform well, even on alcohol.”

Ranya looked up at the ceiling. “If that was an innuendo, Hastings, I swear to god…” Painkillers materialized in her hand. “Here. Take two of these.”

Dominic stared. “Seriously. How the hell do you do that? Are you a magician or something?”

Ranya ignored this. “Juliette! Come here, please.”

Slowly, Juliette released the computer mouse. She looked about as thrilled as a prisoner marching toward a chopping block. Ranya launched into a ten-minute talk about race strategy, and Dominic—who’d memorized all the race strategies last week—spent ten minutes staring at Juliette.

She looked tired.

Unusually tired?

Dominic picked up the oil can, turning it over in his hands. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her skin was fresh and smelled vaguely of strawberry bodywash. So she’d spent the night at her place. Interesting. But did she have company? Had Anthony stayed the night? Even the thought of that…

A wave of nausea struck him, and Dominic leaned over the oil can.

Bloody hell. He really might be sick.

“Hastings,” Juliette said.

He clutched the oil can. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

Dominic blinked. He hadn’t even realized Ranya was gone, which didn’t bode well for the race in twenty minutes. “You have smoothie. On your face.”

Juliette wiped the green smudge away impatiently. Her expression was impossible to read, and that, Dominic thought, was coming from someone who could regularly decipher the bottom row of letters at an optometrist’s office.

“You left early yesterday,” Juliette observed.

Dominic set down the oil can. “Good job I did.” And then, because he was a nosy bastard: “And you?”

“Shortly after you.”

Dominic paused. He had no idea what that meant, and it wasn’t like he could ask. “You’re upset with me.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be?” She zipped up her race suit, turning for the door. “Anyway, it’s nice to hear that you showed your companion a good time last night. Even with the alcohol.”

Cold realization gripped him. Fuck. She’d seen him leave with that girl, and then after what he said to Ranya…“Marchmont—”

“Hope you didn’t stay up too late,” Juliette called. “I’d hate for you to fall asleep at the wheel and crash.”

She slipped out the door. Dominic stared, his ears ringing. He hadn’t realized she’d been watching him that closely. Or maybe he’d hoped she’d been watching. Even now, he couldn’t deny that some part of him was pleased at the thought of it. Mind you, she didn’t seem jealous so much as pissed off, but the two went hand in hand, surely?