“Switch positions.”
“Yep, okay,” he replies, diving off the race line.
“I know you don’t want to, but you need to consider the team.”
“I said okay,” Matt huffs. “Look, I’m already off the race line.”
He expects to see a flash of pink and blue but it never comes. Did Robert get in an accident? Matt checks his mirrors, but Robert is still behind him, off the race line.
“Why isn’t he passing?” Matt radios in. There's an undercurrent of fear that he might get punished for Robert’s refusal.
“We’re finding out.” After too long, Darian radios again with, “New orders—the team wants you to race.”
“Race?!” Matt checks his mirrors again. Robert’s back on the race line and closing the gap. “Fuck! Okay, yeah, I can race.”
Matt had been bracing himself for the overtake for the first fifteen laps, expecting the inevitable, but as soon as he is given the all clear, he’s flying.
He has a full eight seconds of clean air ahead of him and Robert’s just eating shit from sticking close in the corners. Still, the second car stays within DRS, inching forward on the straights, and Matt’s adrenaline pumps so hard he takes the corners a little faster than he’s used to.
He’s cutting time to the VFIBR ahead of him, and he can only pray it’s not the fuckingwunderkind.
“Car in front?”
“3.5 seconds.”
“Who is it?”
“Richardson.”
Okay, great. He can cut through on the inside, shove William back to defend against Robert, and lose them both on the straight.
Matt pushes, his gaze flicking to check the mirrors, to make sure Robert is still where he left him. He slowly closes in on the VFIBR, inching closer to DRS range. He has to be close enough when they pass the detection spot.
He is. Matt opens his DRS, overtaking William, and holds him off before they enter the fast corner.
—except, there’s a car already on the inside, braking late. The other Andes passes both Matt and William in one fell swoop.
“Fuck, Bobby, you weren’t supposed to pull it onME!”
There’s nothing left for Matt to do but chase after him. He can feel Robert’s laughter echoing in his bones. That stupid, smug, sexy?—
Oops, not that word.
They break away from William and approach a McLean. Robert overtakes it, pulling the same trick on the fast corner, and Matt can’t help the exasperation that bubbles up.
He was given the greenlight to race, but all he has is a front row seat to watch his good advice play out in real time.
The McLean holds Matt off for a few more turns before he finally gets the jump on it, his irritation building now that he has to play catch up again.
“How long to Robert?”
“4.2 seconds.”
Matt curses, but he’s closed that gap before.
“Box this lap.”
“My tires are fine.” They’ve got another two laps in them, maybe three. It might be enough to catch up.
