Maman fixes him with a look. “Thomas, be nice to our guest.”
“Hugo finished fifth today,” Julien says to Matthieu, pointedly ignoring their oldest brother. “It’s a big deal that he was able to pass both Mercenaries in a McLean.”
“Santiago gave me a real battle through the straights, but I managed to lose them in the turns.” He lifts a shoulder into a shrug. “Still, not bad for a midfield car.”
Matthieu looks down the table at Thomas and Maman arguing in harsh whispers and back to the duo. “Why doesn’t everybody just drive the same car? Wouldn’t it be more fair?”
“It’s ateamsport,” Julien explains. “The differences are part of it.”
“Then why don’t you just make a faster car?”
“Why don’t you just cook better food?”
“How would you make it faster?” Hugo asks, like he’s seriously asking for advice.
Matthieu doesn’t have a license, much less a car. “I don’t know? I’m not a car person.”
“We’ve got car people working all year long to make our cars go faster. Some teams just get the recipe right.”
“Huh.” Matthew stews on that for a moment as he pretends to read the menu. “That makes Julien’s win today sound far less impressive.”
“Hey!” Julien squawks. “Be impressed! I’m still impressive!”
“A bad chef in a good kitchen won’t suddenly cook better. He needs the skill before he gets in the car.” Hugo points at his own menu, at a chicken dish. “That sounds good.”
Julien leans over under the guise of looking at his selection.
Hugo smells better than he ever did while they were dating. His cologne is musky and more adult than the sweat and dirt that coats fresh-from-the-car teenagers.
“Y’know, only a really good chef could squeeze out a fifth-place finish from a bad kitchen.”
Hugo smiles as he slides his menu between them and leans closer. “We’re collecting new appliances every day. Pretty soon we’re going to be fighting for wins. You can count on it.”
“As long as you stay behind me in Imola.”
“No promises.”
After the waitress collects their orders and menus, Matthieu has nothing else to distract himself with. He pointedly clears his throat and asks, “So why did you two break up in the first place?”
“Smooth, Mathé.”
“I’m just saying—” He’s neverjust sayinganything. “I mean, Juju, you werereallyupset. It’s interesting how those feelings could be swept under the rug so quickly.”
Julien scoffs.So quickly. It’s been years.
“There was a lot of resentment towards the end.” Hugo sips his water and fixes Julien with a stare, daring him to disagree.
“And a lot of jealousy, at least on my part.”
“Mine too.” Hugo shrugs. “You won the championship and moved on. Felt like I was getting left behind.”
“There was nowhere for me to move on to, though. It would’ve been better if we both lost. If both of us could’ve kept competing.”
“I dunno about that.” Hugo casually shifts in his chair and his knee connects with Julien’s. “We’re at a restaurant celebrating your record-breaking victory. Life has a funny way of working out in the end.”
Julien pushes back against Hugo’s knee but keeps the contact. Their friendship might be a little raw, but he can still remember stolen touches in the dorm room, sneaking around classrooms, and sharing cramped showers at the tracks.
There’s a heat in Hugo’s smile that says he remembers it too.
