Flynn came in P4. It’s a great way to start the season, but I understand this disappointment. If he’d placed even one spot higher, he’d be the first Australian to ever stand on the podium at their home grand prix.
Honestly, though, finishing at all is cause for celebration. The first race of the season is always challenging. And despite the good weather, there were a myriad of technical issues and mechanical failures today. Six cars didn’t place—four of them DNF-ing and two not starting at all.
One of the things I appreciate most about my friends is that it’s rare anyone lets what happens on track bleed into our group dynamic. The drivers are all ruthlessly competitive, but we all make a concerted effort to be kind when we get together for Sweatpants and Chill.
“Ready?” Bea asks.
I can’t help but grin at her.
She’s wearing a kangaroo onesie complete with a little joey sticking out of the pouch sewn onto the front.
“You’re ridiculous.” Laughing, I close my hotel room door behind me and double-check the handle. “Before we go, we need a selfie.” I extend my arm, making room for Flynn, then snap a photo and stash my device.
“Let’s hop to it,” Bea says.
I shake my head. My friend is truly one of a kind. She’s supermodel gorgeous, with shiny auburn hair and big, bold, beautiful green eyes. She’s the kindest soul, but she also has no shame and truly doesn’t care what people think.
I’m jealous of the way her brain works. I spend so much time stressing about what people might think of me, sometimes spending hours dwelling on how I’m perceived. Beatrix makes self-confidence look effortless.
She’s been touring with Flynn on and off for the last several years, though she accepted a position with Kelly’s social media department three years ago. Last year we didn’t see her a whole lot. After hermom’s stroke, she went home so she could care for her while she recovered. I’m so glad she’s back in the mix full time this year.
Flynn secures a rideshare, and we walk through the palatial lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Melbourne right on time.
We’re greeted by name by a concierge, then escorted up to Stefan’s suite.
As we step inside, Flynn emits a low whistle. This hotel room is absolutely the perfect place to gather for Sweatpants and Chill.
A sweeping entryway opens into a two-story living area with several doors I imagine lead to bedrooms. The rest of the main space is taken up by an incredible kitchen.
Most of our crew is already here. Bea’s kangaroo suit is definitely the most ridiculous, but she’s not the only one who went all out for tonight’s gathering.
Kenji is wearing a hot pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, which hugs his hips and butt like a dream. I’m low-key jealous of how good he looks in it, honestly.
Saint is wearing black silk pajamas. They’re pretentious and gaudy, yet they’re quite possibly the most on-brand attire I’ve ever seen him wear.
We trek into the kitchen, where almost every surface is covered with snacks. The drivers won’t have more than a single beer and a few other treats, yet there’s enough food here to feed an army, not just the eleven of us. But that’s how it goes in Formula 1.
As our friends notice our arrival, the energy in the room revs up, and then we’re practically tackled by Shelby, who bounds toward us, cackling at Bea’s outfit.
Once she regains her composure, she pulls me into a hug.
I loop my arms around her in return. “Congrats.”
She came in P10 today. It may not be the best spot, but a point is a point.
“Thanks,” she says, though there’s no missing the disappointment in her voice. “I can’t believe how much I struggled after I switched to softs.”
“It’s only the first race,” I remind her, squeezing her shoulders. “You’ll get them next time.”
With a smirk, she lifts one shoulder. “I know I will.”
Shelby’s confidence is inspiring. She is a very cool, collected driver who doesn’t let much get to her, and she has two years of experience more than most of our friends, having started in Formula 1 two seasons before the Elite Eight came onto the scene. The woman is the queen ofcomposure, just like my sister Aurelia, who happens to be Shelby’s best friend.
Speaking of best friends…
I scan the room, searching for mine.
“She’s over there,” Shelby mutters, clearly reading my mind. “Have you talked to her yet?”
