“Released what?” I crossed my arms as I frantically tried to think back to what the media could possibly be harping on about now.
“It’s all anyone is talking about!” Her eyes were fixed intently on her phone screen, not bothering to look up at me.
“Lily!” I waved my arms dramatically in the air, trying to capture her attention. “Released what?”
“Oh, sorry!” She shoved her phone into my hands, and it only took one glance for my heart to sink into the pit of my stomach. Staring back was a photo of me and Luca from Sunday, our lips locked in averyheated kiss. My fingers were intertwined in his dark, wavy hair, while his arms were wrapped around me, holding on to my lower back. Even though the image was slightly blurry with the zoomed-in angle, there was no denying it was us.
“What is th-this? H-how did they get this ph-photo?” I stuttered, panic creeping into my voice.
“Someone at the bar must have took it?” Lily shrugged. “Do you seriously not remember?”
Flashes of that night hit me as my mind tried to piece together the hazy memories from that night. The adrenaline rush after crossing the finish line, the celebratory drinks at the bar, and then Luca. His brown eyes, the way his hand felt on the small of my back as he leaned in close. It was all coming back in flashes, each one more incriminating than the last.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I remember enough. God, Isabelle is going to kill me.”
No, worse, she was going to lecture me on my stupidity and then kill me. We were meant to be putting on a professional front; making out with a rival during a champagne-fueled rage didn’t exactly scream maturity to sponsors.
“What! This is great, Georgia! Hell, people all over the comments sections are saying how your obvious hatred of one another must be a ruse, which is… better than what they were saying yesterday. I mean, who doesn’t love a romance featuring the sister dating her brother’s teammate?” Lily shimmied her shoulders like a mom who’d had too many mimosas.
Snatching my phone from the charger, I scrolled down my Instagram notifications. Hundreds of notifications had poured in, and while Nora managed my social media account, judging by how many unread notifications I had, she hadn’t been able to keep up this morning.
Lily looked over my shoulder, pointing one out. “Oh, look at this one. ‘Damn, Luca could have anyone, and he chose Georgia? She must be cooler than I thought.’ Aww…”
“I am cool!” I muttered. A word I had been using far too much recently.
“If you have to say it so much, is it true?” Lily grinned, giving herself a pat on the back.
I rolled my eyes, flinging my phone onto the couch. “This is ridiculous,” I scoffed. “I got caught making out with another driver on the grid, and with Luca Rossi no less. That’s so embarrassing and unprofessional!”
“Who cares who you’re sleeping with? You’re a grown-ass woman. You can sleep with whoever you want.”
And this was why I loved Lily. Even in her sunshine-fueled state, she approached life with such conviction, even if it wasn’t realistic. Life was full of injustices, ones that we had to navigate on a daily basis, as Isabelle liked to remind me.
I shot Lily a look that told her to get real. While the male drivers of the grid certainly did their best to test this theory, I couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of double standard the press had in store for me.
“Well, it’s irrelevant; I’mnotsleeping with Luca.”
Lily raised a brow. “Why not? He’s a snack.”
“Sure, if you’re into cocky party boys,” I shot back.
She smirked. “Kiss looked pretty real to me.”
To be honest, in my champagne-fueled state, from what I could remember the kissfeltpretty real. Luca’s lips were incredibly soft and inviting, but a kiss like that could never happen again, not with the paddock’s biggest party boy who was having issues with his own sponsors.
He’d had his chance.
“I only kissed him to get on Anthony’s nerves,” I bit out. In the moment, it had been the only thing I knew would wipe Anthony’s lurid grin off his face.
Hearing a buzz from my phone, I opened it to see a text from Isabelle.
Isabelle:
F1 offices at 8:30. Conference room 3. Don’t be late.
“That Isabelle?” Lily asked and I nodded.
“Time to get ready for my execution,” I sighed. “Thanks for coming by, Lil. Say nice things at my funeral.”
