“Right.” Julien nods to the heavyset Italian man Rafael usually sits next to in meetings. “Good to see you.”
“Ray, my number one mechanic, and Pit, my controls engineer.”
“Pit?” Julien leans forward, shaking hands across the table. “Like stop?”
“Like arm,” the gruff man answers.
“And, of course, Jill.” Rafael nods to the last man. “He doesn’t belong to me, though. He’s the front jack for both cars.”
Ray fake-coughs into his fist with a sneaky, “Slut.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Julien’s pretty sure he sat next to Jill on the egregiously long flight from Italy to Australia, but neither man mentions it when they shake hands.
“Glad you’re finally getting a chance to drive. I was in Form 2 the year you won the championship.”
“Really?” Then again, it was four years ago. Of course a front jack could be promoted in fouryears. Time only stops for Julien Dubois. “Who were you with?”
“Invictus.”
“Oh.” On Hugo’s team. That must’ve been disappointing. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine—we’re on the same side now.”
Pit clears his throat. “So… Thomas’s little brother?”
Great. “Yeah, that’s me.”Again.
“Cut it out with the little brother shit. He’s his own man.” Rafael reaches for Julien’s water, but stops. After a silent moment, he curses. “Any chance you’d be willing to grab one of those for me?”
“Nope.” Julien pointedly lifts the bottle and cracks the seal. “You’ve got one hand for one water. Figure it out.”
“Fast fuckin’ learner, you are.” Despite his lower tone, Rafael chuckles before he stands as dramatically as possible. He moans and groans, but Julien ignores him to work on his first plate of mushrooms.
“Hey, grab me one too.”
“How the fuck would I carry it?!”
With Rafael gone, Julien expects the other four men to talk amongst themselves. When they’re silent, he looks up, meeting their gaze. “What?”
“You’re not like Thomas.”
“We’re different people.” Julien pushes his empty mushroom plate away and starts on the flavorless melon. Why do they even have melon as an option? No one likes it.
Probably because idiots like him keep taking it.
“Are you… British?”
“My boarding school was.”
“This might be a stupid question,” Ray says. “But do you stream eRacing?”
Julien stops, his fork still stabbed through a chunk of melon. “What?”
“Your voice—it sounds familiar. I watch a couple of eRacers?—”
The other men scoff. “You watchfake racing?!”
