Page 86 of Full Throttle

Dominic snatched the jar, placing it back in the cupboard. “I need it for my maple-roasted carrots. And other vegetables.”

“And charnushka?” Juliette asked, her smile growing. “Do you need that for your carrots?”

“That’s for rye bread.”

She reached for another jar. “What about—?”

“All right,” Dominic said, hastily shutting the cupboard. “That’s enough snooping.” He held out the clothes. “For you.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way those are going to fit.”

“Your choice, Marchmont.” Dominic shrugged. “It’s that or going naked.”

Too late, he realized that saying the words naked and Marchmont in the same sentence was a mistake, since he could recall seeing her naked in excruciating detail and was now imagining it. Vividly. A charged silence stretched out between them. Juliette dug her toe into his wooden floorboards.

“I’ll just…” She took the clothes. “Where’s your toilet?”

“Down the corridor.” He cleared his throat. “First door on your left.”

Juliette left.

He braced against the counter, half closing his eyes. He gave himself two breaths before turning for the cupboard, digging out the arborio rice. Get your shit together. He shook the rice into a bowl, his fingers gripping the bag with slightly too much force. She’s your teammate. An incredibly hot teammate, granted, but the world is filled with hot women. He placed Juliette’s phone in the bowl, sweeping rice over the cracked screen. Anyway, you don’t even like her. Not after what she said in—

“Hastings?” Juliette’s footsteps sounded. “Did you find the rice?”

Dominic turned.

And stared.

Juliette had returned. She’d plaited her hair into a thick rope, and her cheeks were flushed. But it was her bare legs that caught Dominic’s attention. Her bare legs, he realized, with mounting disbelief, because she was wearing only his football shirt.

“Where are the pants?” Dominic asked hoarsely.

“It’s August.” She shrugged. “And this flat is like a million degrees.”

Dominic turned. “I can get shorts.” Fucking hell, he needed her to wear shorts. Those legs…They could be responsible for car accidents.

Juliette waved him off. “Your shorts won’t fit me.” She leaned forward to inspect her phone. The shirt rode up her legs, and Dominic dragged his gaze away. “Anyway, I won’t be long.”

“Right.” Dominic swallowed hard. Was she doing this to deliberately torture him? He wouldn’t put it past her. “Here.”

He held out his phone, and he noticed that she was careful not to let their fingers brush as she took it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dominic took a step back. “If Cap doesn’t answer and you need somewhere to stay tonight…” He gestured vaguely down the corridor. “I have a spare bedroom.”

He had two, actually, although he was embarrassed to say so. Juliette murmured a thank-you before retreating down the corridor. The phone rang, followed by Cap’s tenor voice, and Dominic exhaled. So he’d answered. Good. The idea of Juliette sleeping a few doors down, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt…

A painful bolt of desire went through him. Why had he agreed to this again?

Oh, yeah.

Because he was an idiot.

Dominic rummaged in a cupboard, unearthing supplies to bandage his busted knuckles: antiseptic, gauze, scissors…He could see Juliette pacing, sweeping her toe idly across his wooden floorboards. The name of a famous football player was emblazoned across her back, accompanied by a signature. To Dom, it read. Not bad for a rookie. I look forward to our rematch. The player in question had been a very nice Brazilian bloke who’d offered to let Dominic share his water bottle.

But honestly.

Fuck that guy.