Chapter 24POSITIONAL SACRIFICE
MIAMI
It’s kind of scary howgood I am at acting like I’m okay.
On the plane ride to Miami, sitting next to Faust in first class, I act like nothing happened—is happening. Like he hadn’t irrevocably changed my relationship with sex less than twenty-four hours ago, like I don’t want to put my head on his shoulder for the flight. When we land, we meet with Christine, and I act like I don’t notice her side-eyeing me while we climb into the rental car, off to this week’s home base. All day on Wednesday, I have meetings with Mei where she doesn’t ask me about it at all—besides one quiet, “Anything I should know about?” that’s dropped when I say, “Nope.” I’d saved the day with Faust’s outfit; clearly, I wouldn’t screw up this job by dating a driver we all hate.
I send Maisie a message that everything is fine, Bernard’s tag was a mistake, not to worry her pretty little head. One by one, I deactivate my other social media accounts.
It’s fine. I’m okay.
Because whatever Faust had done to make them trust me again is working. Eddie’s the only Stark-Benzin employee brave enough to broach the topic, while we’re watching the sprint race on Saturday. A normal F1 race, but faster and shorter and spontaneously injected into race weekends by the powers that be.
“Heard you’re dating that dude.”
“From?”
“A little birdie.”
“Shoot that bird.”
Eddie snorts. Normally, he watches the sprints in the garage, but the team principal had asked him to keep an eye on Christine while she films. And earlier, she was being filmed here in the Paddock Club, walking through, explaining her pre-race prep. It’s all very meta.
“It isn’t a good idea, y’know.” Eddie spins around on his barstool. How, I don’t know. Mine doesn’t spin. “He’s kind of a shit.”
“I know.”
“Faust is way better.”
Rolling the cuff down on Faust’s jacket, I play with a loose thread on the sleeve. “I’m not going to date anyone, Edward.”
“Not the full name.” His nose wrinkles. “Are you not supposed to? Like, will you get fired?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Gotcha.” He spins toward the balcony. “That’d suck. We like you. And Faust’s like our dad, you know?”
So, what would that make me? I don’t ask, pulling out a new fidget toy I’d gotten in the airport and foisting it onto him. Rainbow, clicky, with those little silicone Bubble Wrap nubbins. “Whoa! Rad.” He starts popping them in and out immediately.
Mostly I’m okay, because I’ve used what happened as an excuse to ice Bernard out this weekend.
Let’s talk in Monacohad been the message.
Okayhad been his reply.
It’s a psychological war crime, I know. I’m dumping him in like two weeks, yes. But this is my last weekend here on the team. I’m lying to people I’ve grown to care about every time I open my mouth. And I guess Faust repeatedly asking me what I want has made me more aware of said wants.
I want this weekend. I want to be okay, until I can’t be anymore.
“Hey, Cat.” Eddie has popped every nubbin inside out and is slowly starting to reverse them. Below us, the cars go roaring by, a plastic bag dancing in the wind behind them. “We should go out. Maybe not tonight, but, like, Monday? They have clubs open during the week here.”
“Sure.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve never been out in Miami.”
“Oh my God, it’s literally that Will Smith song. Like—”
