‘You lost yours in Spain, remember? And I figured you’ve probably already bought new ones but back-ups couldn’t hurt, right?’ She doesn’t say anything as she turns them over. ‘You mentioned pink noise settles you on flights and, well, you’ve got a lot of flying coming up. I was going to get you noise-cancelling ones, but you probably want a one-size-fits-all, and it’s not easy to work out with those. They’re big and awkward.’ I’m rambling, I know I am, but the quickest way to stop me would be for her to say something.Anything.
‘Thank you,’ she says at last, and it sounds strangely loaded. It’s only a pair of earphones, not a diamond necklace.
‘Don’t sweat it.’
‘I got you something too.’
My interest piques. Is it too much to hope for a sex swing?
She reaches into a cupboard and with every passing second, I’m more sure it’s not a sex swing. I’ll have to content myself with this view of her ass, which also works. She places a pink cardboard box in front of me and opens it.
‘You’re going to try a yumnut,’ she says.
I don’t want to tell her I went to Marks & Spencer the day I landed at Heathrow and tried a yumnut, and can confirm it’s disgusting and she’s crazy. Isa was a fan, though. ‘Sure.’ I couldn’t even refuse her if I wanted to. Her anticipation’s so damn cute.
‘Take your pick.’ She points to them in turn. ‘Lemon meringue, raspberry royal, plain jane, and billionaire.’
I recoil. ‘Lemon meringue. Any of them chip-flavoured? Covered in salt?’
‘No. Maybe you should keep it simple and go for the plain one.’
I don’t want her to think I’m boring. ‘Hell no. I’ll take the billionaire one.’ It’s the least offensive-looking – no crazy whipped cream, no thick lemony syrup.
Jules snorts and puts it on a little plate for me. On the count of three, we cheers our yumnuts. A vicious burst of sugar rushes across my taste buds and my gag reflex baulks.
‘Delicious,’ says Jules, tickled by the disgust I’m failing to hide.
It takes every effort to swallow the thick lump of dough. ‘If you say so.’
She’s still laughing when jelly dribbles down her chin. I’m across her side of the bench before I know I’m on my feet. I scoop the red goo with my thumb and hover it in front of her mouth. She holds my gaze as she takes it between her lips and sucks. I didn’t know that particular appendage was connected to my cock, but apparently it is.
She gets shy and dips her head, stepping away. ‘I didn’t invite you here to take advantage of you.’
‘It’s not taking advantage if I want it more.’
We stand together in total stillness, punctuated only by the clock in the corner. I can smell the coconut of her shampoo.
She shakes her head muttering about eyelashes and picks up her phone. ‘Look at this.’
I drag my feet back to my stool, telling myself there’ll be time for that later but patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.
She’s pointing to an article about me onRaceWire, with ‘before and after’ shots under the headline:Leone’s Comeback Kid. The ‘before’ is a photo from the Bahrain Grand Prix back in March. I’m wearing Dior wide-leg pants and a flowing shirt inbright red – which I still think looks badass. The ‘after’ is from Spain, in the outfit that reminded JC (and me, but I’d never tell him) of Trey’s dad.
‘The public are noticing,’ Jules remarks as I scroll down. ‘And look here.’
She flicks onto another tab showing a Reddit fan thread, then she types my name into TikTok. The screen’s flooded with girls discussing my transformation to mostly Tate McRae and Taylor Swift songs. I don’t know why I’m always linked to Tate McRae. I’ve never met the chick.
They’re saying I need to be studied, that I’ve gone from chaotic to charismatic, that my soundbites are the best in F1. One person called me wholesome. Apparently I’m now the poster boy for ‘soft power’. I don’t know if I should be happy the plan’s working or offended they think I’ve come so far, and I need to ask Isa what the hell ‘soft power’ means.
‘What’s this?’ I click on a video titled,‘The Work of Jules Butler?’
‘She’s smart,’ Jules says with a gentle smile as the TikToker details all the similarities between me and Jules’ exes, calling her a ‘miracle worker’. She’s not wrong.
Then she asks what this means for Jules’ official boyfriend, Tom.
‘Ok cool,’ I say, hastily clicking off it.
Jules returns to the opposite side of the island and silently drinks her lemonade.
