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My gaze flicks to the next photo, a group shot of a bunch of men in suits standing around a race car. The two in the middle have an arm looped around each other, a trophy between them.

The man on the right is Luca Ashford. If I hadn’t seen him last night, I’d recognize him from the media.

But it’s the other figure that has me inhaling sharply.

My dad.

My heart kicks against my ribs, a dull alarm. Despite working on Ashford cars his entire career, he told me he barely knew Luca.

Here, though, they could be the best of friends.

“There you are.” I turn back to see Theo Ashford, handsome and grinning. “This is for you. Shay,” he adds, saying my name like it’s a trophy as he passes me a lowball glass full of amber liquid.

The first sip tastes sweet on my tongue, chased by a low burn in my throat.

I turn back to the photos, but Theo’s already steering me to the kitchen with a rallying cry of “More shots!”

I’m already buzzed when I wander outside to get some air. I can still feel the caress of Jameson’s hand on my hip, hear his scornful voice in my ear.

The race comes back to me, my body thrumming with the echo of adrenaline. Do the drivers play games like Shotgun because they can get away with it? Or is that the only way they can blow off steam?

Maybe it’s to feel invincible. Not made of flesh and blood, but speed and ambition.

My fingers trail along the hedge that borders the pool. In September, no one’s in it. As I watch, a leaf drops off a tree and sends little ripples along the surface.

Movement on the other side makes my pulse accelerate, but whether it’s the alcohol or what I’ve already been through tonight, I’m not afraid.

Not even when Jameson Ashford moves out of the shadows, a drink in one hand. He’s graceful, measured, his body perfect under the dress pants and shirt.

“Why did you let Theo win?” My voice carries over the music echoing from the house. “Was it brotherly love? A birthday gift?”

Jameson drains the drink in a fast gulp. “Stay away from Theo.”

The alcohol is definitely blurring my brain, because it sounds as if he’s being protective.

“He chose me tonight.”

Jameson stops opposite me across the ghostly ocean of blue, setting the glass on a nearby table with a clink. “He’ll get you out of his system and we can get back to the family business.”

I take a step toward one end of the pool. “Unless I get under his skin.”

“Like a disease?” His scoff echoes off the concrete.

“Like a drug.”

I take another step. Jameson does the same.

“You’d enjoy that,” he predicts. Despite the darkness, his attention is sharp, a laser slicing through me.

“He might like it too.”

I’m not sure I even believe the words, but I’ve never needed to prove someone wrong so badly—about this or anything.

When I reach the end of the pool, he paces a circle around me. The jacket’s gone, the top button of his shirt unfastened so I can see the muscles of his throat work. The fabric clings to his strong shoulders, the hard abs I felt beneath my fingers.

“There’s no happy ending for you and my brother.” His voice is composed, and I wonder if it’s his default setting when he’s not running over classmates or threatening them.

I tilt my chin up. “You wouldn’t know a happy ending if it ran you over in a Porsche.”