He shrugs, suddenly finding his racing boots fascinating. "Around five? Couldn't sleep, so, noticing the headquarters was open, I figured I might as well be productive.”
He then goes on about how he recently moved to that apartment complex where all the engineers are staying, how he’s still adapting, what he’ll be doing for Christmas, and then he shifts to talking about the car.
I listen while suiting up, mentally preparing myself for what comes next.
The balaclava.
The helmet.
The pressure against my battered eye socket.
Maybe I should have stayed in bed after all.
"So the front end bites much earlier now," EJ continues, oblivious to my growing dread. "They've stiffened the springs,which helps with turn-in, but you have to be smooth, or it'll punish you."
"Sounds like my kind of challenge," I say, zipping up the suit and reaching for the balaclava. "Did you try it on a wet setup? Since it looks like we'll be testing in the rain at this rate."
EJ nods enthusiastically. "That's where it really shines. The new diffuser creates so much more downforce that—"
"Jesus, you're both here early."
Johnson's voice cuts through as the door swings open. Our head engineer strides in, three water bottles clutched in one hand. His red hair and beard stand out against his black and red Colton Racing polo, making him look like a badass Viking who's taken up motorsport and is ready to dominate.
He tosses bottles to each of us with unreal accuracy, then freezes, staring at my face. "Holy shit, Foster.” A hearty laugh echoes in the simulator room. “Please tell me the other guy looks worse."
I pull the balaclava over my head before answering, grimacing as the fabric slides over my tender skin.
Johnson drops into a chair, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "What the hell happened to you?"
Before I can answer, EJ jumps in. "He went to a metal show. His face had an immediate encounter with an elbow. He got a black eye. The end."
"Thanks for the quick summary," I mutter, shooting him a betrayed look. "Really appreciate the support,teammate."
Johnson's laughter fills the room.
I reach for my helmet, dreading the inevitable pain. The moment it slides over my balaclava, pressure builds against my bruised eye socket. Not unbearable, but definitely not pleasant. I wince involuntarily.
"Maybe take it slower today," Johnson suggests, his expression shifting to genuine concern. "We've got plenty of data from EJ's runs this week. No need to push if you're in pain."
"I'm fine," I insist, the automatic response of every racing driver since the dawn of time. "Nothing some ibuprofen can't handle."
EJ snorts. "He needs a medic, not painkillers. You should've seen him skulking in with sunglasses, and a beanie pulled down like he was trying to rob the place."
"It was a disguise," I explain to Johnson's raised eyebrow. "A failed one, apparently."
Wait…
"Epic fail," EJ agrees cheerfully. "Violet spotted him immediately. You should've seen her face when she saw his. Priceless."
"You saw that?" I ask, momentarily horrified. Had EJ witnessed our hallway encounter?
"Just when you arrived, I had jumped out of the simulator to grab an isotonic from the vending machine."
My cheeks heat slightly.Fuck. I’m getting too comfortable and careless. The last thing I want is for this relationship to be found out, especially not on her terms.
I clear my throat, forcing my focus back to the helmet in my hands. "Anyway, what's the plan for today? What do you need me to focus on?"
Johnson, mercifully, takes the cue to shift back to business. He pulls out a tablet, swiping through to a specific setup sheet. "We've made some adjustments to the power mapping based on EJ's feedback. More progressive delivery, less of that sudden surge that was catching you both out at corner exit."
