Page 9 of Retrograde

Lucie had the taste of champagne on her tongue, and she still despised it.

Pretending to like it was a full-time job at this point.

She still couldn’t fathom how the drivers didn’t physically gag on camera during podium celebrations, because she still failed to hide her distaste most of the time.

Surely they didn’t like it. She was a wine, fruity cocktail or beer girl; preferably local to wherever she was visiting at the time. Anything else was for rich people.

So really, it made sense that racing drivers didn’t complain; they fell into the rich people category.

Not that it was a bad thing. That circle of rich people consisted of her friends and co-workers, and she loved them all dearly, but she still had every right to judge their questionable taste in alcohol.

She swatted Brett’s hand away in disgust as he lifted the three-litre bottle to her lips again.

The birthday boy wasn’t getting away with it this time, she’d had enough.

In a sweaty, overpriced club on their second night in Las Vegas, she was desperate for a decent glass of red.

Was a wine glass the most practical thing to take onto a dance floor?

Perhaps not. Was she past the point of caring? Yes.

‘Live a little!’ Brett yelled in her ear.

‘I am living a lot , sweetheart. Who was dancing on the bar an hour ago? Me or you?’

‘Don’t sweetheart me, Luce.’

‘I always sweetheart you. It’s our thing,’ Lucie scowled up at him. She’d known this man since they were eighteen years old and not a single day had gone by where they didn’t call each other by a nickname. Admittedly, she’d used his a lot less in the last couple of years.

‘Yeah, and our thing cannot be a thing when I have alcohol in my system and there’s a hundred thousand dollars a night hotel room with my name on it.’ He looked at her with a fire in his eyes that she had seen a million times.

‘Oh, calm down, you think I’d let anything happen?’

‘You gave in two years ago.’ Brett nudged her arm gently, reminding her that as much as she had tried to extinguish the fire, it was always there. Burning slowly, waiting to be stoked. But Lucie would never be the one to stoke it, not again.

‘That was two years ago, Brett. We should move on!’ she shouted, as if to emphasise that she was done with the topic, and almost collapsed with relief when she saw their friends making a beeline for them through the crowd.

Friends who were oblivious to their secret little rendezvous and found their flirting adorable.

Marco, puppy-like as he was, clung to Bea’s arm like he feared he would get swallowed up by the socialites and cougars of Las Vegas.

To be fair to him, it was highly likely.

The entire club knew who the boys were. Brett Anderson, Julien Moretz and Marco De Luca, three of the most famous racing drivers in the world, the men who made up Revolution Racing.

They had placed on the podium for every race since the team was formed eight years ago.

For context, that was fifty-six races. Even their rivals couldn’t help but admire the talent coming from their garage, and women threw themselves at them.

Like the leggy blonde gazing longingly at Brett from across the room, who Lucie knew more than likely had a shot if she timed her approach right.

Despite Lucie being aware of the woman, Brett was not.

He was crossing into Lucie’s personal space, pulling her in close like he was protecting her from something.

The only thing she needed protecting from was hormones: his and hers.

She knew when Brett was after something, and as his lip hovered closer to her ear, she somehow knew what was coming.

‘You’re getting dangerously close, Anderson, and we promised we wouldn’t go there.’

‘I’m just fantasising.’ He was so nonchalant, so calm and collected. How could he act like there wouldn’t be consequences? He may not have been affected last time, but Lucie had been battling confusion from the very moment she had woken up next to his naked, albeit perfectly sculpted body.

‘Dare I ask?’

‘I’m just thinking about how I want to take you up to the penthouse suite and give you the kind of experience that requires you to sign an NDA in the morning.

Relive our night in the Alps.’ Brett spoke in a murmured tone, but she heard him loud and clear, even amongst the noise.

Of course, it helped that he had pulled her into a quieter corner of the club, where there was a little less attention on them.

As she stepped away from him and caught the way his eyes raked over her body like she was a five-course Michelin-star meal, something inside her screamed to give him what he desired.

No . God, where had their friends disappeared to?

Faith could talk sense into her. Not Bea.

Bea was the devil incarnate and would encourage every intrusive thought Lucie had when it came to this six-foot-two, tanned, beautiful man.

Faith may be all happy and shacked up with the Belgian god of racing, but Lucie didn’t want his Australian counterpart.

Their slip-up two years ago gave her a taste but that was all she could ever allow herself.

She had seen enough before– and after– that night in Italy to know that she was better off without the drama that would ensue if they crossed the line again.

Brett was hers; he had always made that evident.

Just not in the one way she truly wanted him if they were to ever go all the way down that path.

‘Jensen, where have you been?’ she cried out when Faith finally appeared behind her at the perfect moment, one pina colada in each hand.

‘Getting you this.’ Her friend held up a coconut with a pineapple wedge, a blue cocktail umbrella and a neon-pink plastic swirly straw.

‘They do cheap umbrellas and swirly straws in a club like this?’ Lucie raised an eyebrow.

‘No, but they’ll go to extreme lengths for the birthday boy.’

‘This isn’t for the birthday boy.’

‘No, it’s for his Lucie-bear.’ Lucie scowled at her least favourite nickname, the one everyone around them had given her to wind her up.

Brett, thankfully, had only used it once, but of course the others had overheard it and it stuck.

‘And what Lucie-bear wants, Lucie-bear gets. I’m getting quite good at making demands, you know.

Comes with the trophy-wife territory,’ Faith stated proudly.

‘First of all, being attractive and being married to a man like Jules does not automatically label you a trophy wife. You don’t exactly fit the stereotype.’

‘Luuuuuucie!’ Julien flung an arm over Lucie’s shoulder, weighing down her tiny frame and resulting in her nearly losing her footing.

‘Jules, please take it easy. I do not want to deal with your hangover.’ Faith gently coaxed his glass of bourbon out of his hand and set it down on the bar.

‘Me? You were the one dancing on the bar!’ Julien feigned outrage. What he hadn’t noticed was that his wife was actually still sober.

‘Don’t you think they should get back up there, Moretz?’ Brett chimed in, holding Lucie’s gaze as he spoke. He was testing her, and she’d never been good at tests of any kind. Tests that involved avoiding a specific part of Brett’s anatomy, however? She usually aced those.

‘Oh look, Brett! That girl who was eyeballing you is making her approach! Enjoy.’ Lucie grabbed her coconut cup, Faith’s hand and her clutch bag and made a swift exit in the direction of the ladies’ bathroom.

She hadn’t even taken two steps before an entire group of women swarmed around the boys.

Julien, as drunk as he was, waved a cheerful goodbye and turned back to the bartender for another whiskey.

Marco and Esme stayed by Bea’s side, looking lost as ever, and Brett?

Well, Brett was Brett. He mingled and flirted and all thoughts of Lucie were forgotten.

Lucie leaned on the counter and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She somehow still looked relatively put together despite how hot it was in there.

Her lipstick was slightly smudged, her skin was dewy and her hair could do with some detangling, but it could be worse.

Her dress was a backless silver cowl-neck ensemble that Bea had got her for her birthday a few months ago, and it was her first time wearing it.

While her friends had body confidence to be envious of, Lucie sadly couldn’t muster it.

In all her years of working in social media and content creation, she was yet to post a bikini photo, and if it wasn’t so hot every time her friends did a resort trip or beach holiday, she would happily lounge by the pool in an oversized tee.

‘Faith, are you ready to head back out?’ she called out to the cubicles. Silence. ‘Faith?’

A quick sweep revealed that every cubicle was empty. With an eye roll and a sigh, Lucie ventured back into the depths of the club alone.

She glanced at the bar to see that everyone had left Brett to the wolves. Sorry, a group of attractive women. Not wolves. Though they behaved like it. Why did this always happen to her? Leave her alone at a racetrack and she could handle herself no problem. In clubs and social settings? Forget it.

She felt the anxiety set in right as Brett looked up and found her, then a split second later the bartender was tapping his shoulder and she’d lost him again.

But it wasn’t until she saw what the bartender was passing him that she realised she was in luck.

Two shots of tequila, meant to kill her nerves.

She leaned against the wall, waiting for him to reach her.

If anyone could calm her down, it was Brett.

She never felt out of place when his attention was on her.

‘You all right, my sunshine girl?’ He passed her a shot.

‘I will be.’ She downed it and grimaced.

‘Everyone disappeared, huh?’

‘As always. Esme and Marco probably went to find food, I’m sure they’ll be back.’