Chapter 13 Switching Gears
Switching Gears
Now
Juliette stepped into the gym.
A cool blast of air conditioning struck her.
The scents of antiseptic and cucumber water hung in the air, along with sweat.
It could have been any gym in the world, except for the eerie silence: no whir of treadmills or clang of weights.
Just tinny music drifting out from a speaker. Dominic must have booked out the gym.
And speaking of which.
He stood by a water cooler, dressed in shorts and a backward baseball cap, scrolling through his phone. He stuffed it into his pocket as she approached.
“Marchmont. You’re early.”
Juliette nodded at his pocket. “Texting someone?” Probably the Swiss model with the cheese factory.
“Reading the news.” He knelt to pick up a tennis ball. “You made a lucky escape.”
Yes. She had. Her PR team had sent across an email that morning with the major headlines.
And sure, there had been a reel of her crashing into the barriers doing the rounds on social media, but was that really so bad?
She’d got off lightly. The largest British newspaper had buried the article on page ten, like a comedian too frightened of scaring off their audience with a controversial joke.
It seemed that the sole benefit of being the only woman on track, she thought wryly, was that nobody wanted to criticize her in case they came off as sexist. So, you know. Small mercies.
Still.
The grace period would last only so long. And she had her place on the team to worry about.
Juliette scanned the gym. “What do you want to start with? Weights?”
“Tennis balls.”
Juliette stiffened. “My reflexes are fine.” She was all for going back to the basics, but come on. Tennis balls?
Dominic held out his hands. “Prove it.”
“It’ll be pointless.”
He held her gaze. “Humor me.”
Well, if he wanted a demonstration…She held out her hands.
This was a familiar dance; someone dropped a tennis ball, and you caught it before it hit the floor.
Some drivers preferred fancier methods of reflex training, like hitting flashing lights, but they’d never had the equipment.
It had just been her and Cap, standing in a back garden, occasionally standing on garden furniture to keep the tennis balls away from their dogs.
Dominic dropped the ball. Her hand shot out.
“Good,” Dominic said approvingly. “You’re better.”
Did he mean that genuinely? Or was he being condescending? Either way, he’d succeeded in annoying her. “For the record, I know what you’re doing.”
“Enlighten me.”
She caught a ball. “You’re trying to turn on the Dominic Hastings charm and make me forget that you’re a raging arsehole.”
His smile grew. “You think I’m charming?”
“You missed the raging arsehole bit.”
“Selective hearing,” Dominic said gravely, “is a great talent of mine.” He dropped another ball. “We were civil once. We can do it again.”
Juliette actually laughed. “Civil? Is that what you’d call it?”
“What would you call it?”
Dominic dropped both balls. She caught them. Depends, Juliette thought. What do you call it when you ruin someone’s life?
“A mistake. That’s what I’d call it.”
Dominic’s eyes darkened. For an insane moment, she thought he might do something wild, like protest, or lob the tennis ball at the wall, but his voice was even. “Warm-up is done. Let’s get into it.”
The ball came down with force. She bit back a curse, scrambling to catch it. Dominic’s hands moved at mind-boggling pace. How the hell was he doing that? She forced her muscles to respond faster, to train harder. Sweat dripped down her spine. She’d rather die than lose. This was war.
It took a great deal of effort to sound unbothered. “You never did tell me why you came to the academy.”
“What?”
“The teaching role.” He wanted to make this a real competition? Fine. She wasn’t above distraction. “Why did you accept it?”
Dominic shrugged. “Maybe I was bored.”
“Unlikely.”
“Fine.” The balls moved faster. “I was scouting the competition.”
Possible. But…“Try again.”
“Maybe,” Dominic said, “I wanted to steal the bedsheets. There’s something about Egyptian cotton that I find irresistible.”
Juliette leaped for a ball. “You never sleep under the bedsheets. You get too hot.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “I didn’t realize you paid so much attention to my nocturnal activities, Marchmont.”
Irritation prickled. “I don’t.”
“Consider me flattered,” Dominic said.
“I don’t.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. Loads of women enjoy picturing me naked.”
Her head snapped up. “For god’s sake, I don’t—”
She missed the ball; it ricocheted across the gym, smashing into the water cooler. Paper cups toppled to the floor. Her harsh breathing filled the space, accompanied by a sick, creeping dread. He’d played her at her own game. She’d been distracted.
She recalled running after Ranya at Silverstone as a child, tugging on her sleeve. I want to be a driver too, miss. Do you have any advice?
Ranya had leaned on her cane, her dark eyes stern. And what had she said?
Defeat the man, not the car.
Juliette met his gaze.
“Again.”
Dominic shook his head. “We’re done for the day.”
He retrieved the paper cups, stacking them neatly by the water cooler. A trembling rage filled her. “I want to go again.”
“And I said that we’re done. You’ll burn yourself out.”
Her voice came out sarcastic. “Is that an order, sir?”
Dominic stilled. Dawn filtered through a skylight, cradling his dark hair with golden fingers.
His brown eyes looked almost unnaturally bright.
And his smell, she realized, her heart tightening; she knew that smell.
A combination of fresh woods and spiced biscuits, grapefruit shampoo and fabric softener; even after all these years, she could have recognized that scent anywhere.
Dominic’s jaw tensed. “You might not believe me, but I don’t get off on ruining your day. I’m doing this for the team. It’s dangerous out on track. A second of hesitation can be the difference between life and death. And Ranya’s right; you’re not there yet.”
Frustrated tears pricked. “You’re saying I’m not good enough.” She turned away. “Let me guess. You think I only got here because I’m lucky? Is that it?”
Dominic set down the tennis balls. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Dominic crossed his arms. “We make our own luck, Marchmont.” He shrugged. “So yes, I think you’re lucky to be here, but you made that happen. You. Not anybody else. Is that clear enough for you?”
Tinny music drifted from the speaker. Dominic swallowed.
“Three weeks,” he said. “Give me that, and then you never have to speak to me again.”
“Three weeks,” she echoed skeptically. Could they really survive that?
“What do you think?”
He took off his baseball cap, and she caught herself staring at his fingers. She’d spent the last two years trying to forget how they felt, rough and calloused as sandpaper. Could they really do it? Be civil for the sake of the team? She doubted it.
And yet.
There was her career to think about.
“Fine,” she said. “But there’s something you should know.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you threaten me with bodily harm?”
Hilarious, she thought flatly. “This changes nothing between us. We can be civil, but I’ll never forgive you for what happened in Paris. Never.”
The air conditioning was unnaturally loud in the silent gym. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she expected. An impassioned apology? An acknowledgment of their history? But in the end, Dominic only gave a breezy shrug, looking as infuriatingly apathetic as always.
“Feeling’s mutual, Marchmont. Now grab your things. We’ve got hill sprints next.”