“He’s the only driver who offers to pay when we go out together.”
The audience laughs and Matt’s very sure they’re laughing at him. Who else would be so stupid as to pay for a billionaire’s meal?
Laurent continues, “And that’s really saying something, because he barely makes any money driving. He just loves to race.”
Matt gapes. “My salary is more than yours!”
Laurent raises an eyebrow. He might not get paid, but he's still a billionaire. No need to tack a driver’s salary onto Ashton Marvin’s cost cap when his dad can slip him a couple of bucks under the table.
Robert nods and lifts his microphone. “No, it’s true. He's a good guy. Probably my choice too.”
“Your—really?!” Matt forgot the microphone is still at his mouth and the audience laughs again.
Robert shrugs with a smile and Matt remembers that this whole time, they’ve been supposed to be doing this—supposed to be promoting this PR friendship.
“Oooh, it looks like the competition is heating up!” the announcer says, with glee. “Matthew, who would you choose as your best friend on the grid?”
“Um…” The audience chants Robert’s name, but every moment Matt stalls, Laurent’s face falls further. “Can I pick multiple?”
“It’s me,” Laurent declares.
Robert scoffs. “Well, I’ve known him since I was four, so I’m sure it’s me.”
It’s Laurent. But it’s also Robert. If it’s a question of who he’d grab a drink with, it’s Laurent, but if it’s a question of who had a bigger impact on his life, it’s Robert.
“Um…” It’s not that serious. Just pick one. Just make a choice and pick someone. Every ticking second wasted makes the entire thingthatmuch more awkward. Pick one person. Either of them. “Giovanni.”
Matt has never in his life had a conversation with Giovanni.
“That’s a twist I didn’t see coming!” The announcer is happy at least. “Giovanni, who would you choose?”
The Italian World Champion brings the microphone up to his mouth and says, “I don’t have friends. Only enemies.”
Fourteenth, then twelfth.
It’s frustrating to fight at the pinnacle of motorsport without making any points. For Matt to push for the entire race and keep his hopes up, only to fall short at the end.
The pressure is getting to Robert too—he only manages thirteenth both times. Both races are fought hard, but neither amounts to any points.
With three races left, there’s palpable tension throughout the paddock going into Mexico. Every person on every team wants to bring home more points before the end of the year.
“At least it’s a cooler race,” Matt says. He displays the data from all three practice races side-by-side on his laptop. His trainer-approved food sits abandoned on the mattress as he pulls the computer into his lap.
“Yeah, I could really feel the difference.”
Robert hooks his chin over Matt’s shoulder as he continues to chew his chicken. His jaw is a rotating pressure against him, drawing Matt’s attention further away from the data.
“Not just personally, either.” Matt dips his shoulder away from the touch and curls himself towards the computer. “Our cars tend to run hot, so the cooler the air, the less the engine overheats. I’m sure they’re just as grateful as we are. The elevation also makes a big difference, since it looks like?—”
Robert chuckles and forks another bite.
Matt looks up. “What?”
“The engines aregrateful. It’s just cute how you humanize things.”
“Well—” Matt sputters. “Shut up!”
“That’s why I didn’t say anything!”
