Mia, Shelby, and Beatrix are the only people who know the truth about how I came to be offered this position. Or at least they know the simplified version. We FaceTimed for hours on Saturday as we all packed and prepared for the start of the season. I told them what happened with the couch. I explained that Alaric now knows I’m Luca’s ex and that his son owes me a lot of money.
I glossed over a lot of the details, though: like how kind and thoughtful the man is or how deeply I’m attracted to the brachioradialis muscles in his forearms.
I didn’t mention the driveway incident either. Just like I skipped over the meal he cooked for me. I also steered clear of describing theway my belly still does a little flip-flop when I think about how he tenderly cupped my face when I was stalled in his driveway.
Nope. Not going there.
There’s a decent chance I’ll come face to face with Alaric later today. If that happens, the last thing I need is to be daydreaming about his strong grip on my chin or his intense, soulful gaze.
“Finally,” Mia grouses once security has released her.
Shelby and I exchange a look. While I’m anxious about my first day, my nerves have nothing on Mia’s current mental state.
It’s her rookie season. She drives for Abrams-Rhea, a female-owned and led team that came onto the scene two years ago. While Mia is beloved by her fans and exceptional in everything she does, she’s the only rookie on the grid, and the media’s been having a field day picking her apart and making unkind predictions about the season ahead.
“Hey.” I lace my fingers with hers and squeeze.
With a big breath out, she meets my gaze.
“We’re here. We made it, Mimi.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile despite the trepidation clearly swamping her. “Don’t let anyone around the paddock hear you call me that, please.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But promise me you’ll let yourself be excited about today. You’re on the grid this year, babe. That’s a big fucking deal, and as your bestie, I feel compelled to make sure you soak it in.”
“What she said.” Shelby hops in front of her sister and grips her by the shoulders. “Get excited, sis. You’ll never have another first day in F1 again.”
Mia’s face goes ashen, like she might be sick, but she fakes a smile and squeezes my hand.
“This is me,” she murmurs, releasing me a few moments later. The signature purples and pinks of the Abrams-Rhea suite make a bold statement as the first stop in the paddock.
“Don’t work too hard,” I tease.
“Want me to take your pic for Mom?” Shelby asks.
Mia shakes her head, though her face goes pensive again as she surveys her team’s headquarters.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” She blows out a long breath, squaring her shoulders, and walks toward the front doors.
Once she’s disappeared, Shelby and I continue our stroll.
“You’ll be at dinner, right?” my friend asks.
Our tight-knit group of friends, the “Even Better Eleven,” is meetingup for dinner tonight. We do it at the start of every season, and it’s usually an event I look forward to.
That’s the plan, though I have reservations about it.
I have no idea who knows what about my split from Luca. It’s safe to assume the whole group has been informed, but gauging whose side anyone is on is difficult. And I don’t know whether Luca’s been chirping in people’s ears and shoring up support for himself in our less-than-amicable split.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, yet it weighs on me heavily. The Even Better Eleven are my closest friends, and while Luca isn’t part of our group, he spends a lot of time with the other drivers. The prospect of losing any of them because of my failed relationship tears at my heart.
It’s also causing my brain to war against my desire to spend time with my favorite people. It would hurt less to be unaware of who hates me than it would to have to navigate changes in attitude and opinion among my friend group.
The anticipatory rejection alone makes my stomach hurt.
When I don’t answer right away, Shelby ducks closer. “Ev…”
It isn’t that I don’t want to go. It’s because I’m heartsick over the idea of losing any of the people I care about.
