Page 103 of First in Line

“Alright. Can you show me that model again? I really like it.”

We spend another twenty minutes on the phone until one of his teammates shouts that it’s dinnertime. We reluctantly hang up, and I return to sit on the couch, eyes on my model.

We’re almost there. We’ll have our dream house soon. And nothing will force us apart like this ever again.

Jackson’s car passes below us, soon followed by one from Mercedes, and a little farther, Red Bull Racing. The windows rattle in their hinges with each one of them, the air vibrating from the sheer speed and power of those engines. According to the stats displayed on one of the screens, he’saveraging a minute and seventeen seconds per lap, which is amazing.

Of course, he’s about to win again. This is one of Jackson’s favorite tracks. He has been on the Monaco podium since the first time he raced here, seven years ago. And he has won for five consecutive seasons. Yesterday, during the qualifications, he even broke his own personal lap time record, which earned him pole position today. I’m not quite sure when F1 drivers age out of this job, but Jax clearly isn’t anywhere near it.

I take a sip of my champagne, the fine bubbles tickling my tongue. A waitress with a tray of tiny pastries comes close to offer me one. After only a moment of hesitation, I take another single-bite raspberry pie.

The speed at which I’m getting used to all this luxury is alarming. I haven’t mingled with anyone, staying in my lane the whole weekend because I’m pretty sure that with a single conversation, they’d be able to tell I don’t belong here. I’ve still been enjoying the amenities and opulence, though. Going back to Colorado, where there’s no champagne or unlimited French pastries, will be rough. But it’s a necessary evil.

Already, I can feel myself getting wrapped up in Jax’s aura. We can’t be seen frolicking around together, so we’ve spent almost all of our time in his room. Whenever he’s busy with his obligations, I go out for a stroll by myself, enjoying the beautiful scenery of Monaco. I even spent a couple of hours at the beach yesterday, sunbathing and taking a dip in the Mediterranean Sea. It’s still a little cold, but not enough to deter me and others from giving it a try.

As soon as Jax is available, though, I join him in his room and help him decompress the best I can. Telling him I was leaving after this only pushed him to demand more of me and my body. But I enjoy every minute, so I’m not complaining. In fact, Iwelcome it. This is a one-time thing. Might as well make the best of it.

Somehow, it still doesn’t feel real. Being here with him, spending my days surrounded by beauty and luxury… It feels like a glitch, like a lie. Especially since earlier this week, I was unaware that any of this would happen, heading to work as if everything was normal.

Only this man could make my life derail this hard. And only he could make me not feel too bad about it.

The cars pass by again, and I could swear Jackson’s lead got even stronger. He really was born to race, wasn’t he? And no matter how small it was and how long ago it was, I helped him get here. It’s something.

In the corner of my eye, I see someone come up next to me. A man, also interested in what’s going on out there.

“Where do I know you from?” the stranger asks after a moment.

Startled, I turn around to find Wesley Pryce by my side, eyes on the track below.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you from somewhere, but I can’t remember.”

Crap. There’s no way he remembers me from that one time we met almost eleven years ago. “I was here yesterday and the day before,” I explain.

He looks at me this time, scanning me with attention. “No, I know you from before that. You were younger.”

“I just have one of those faces,” I invent.

I look outside again, waiting for Jackson’s next pass.

“Didn’t you throw a binder at me one time?”

Genuinely shocked that he would remember me after all this time, I look at him with wide eyes. My surprise seems to confirm his suspicions because he smacks his hands together with pride and says, “I knew it! I never forget a face.”

“Mr. Pryce, I—”

“Call me Wesley. We’re practically old friends, aren’t we? I’ll always consider you one for selling me on the best driver in the world.” As if on cue, Jackson’s car passes again.

“I take it you’re happy with your investment?” I ask.

“That would be an understatement.” He looks at the track for a moment, watching the cars desperately trying to catch up with Jax. “My company is my job,” he then explains. “But this… this is my passion, my hobby.”

“You’ve chosen what might be the most expensive pastime in the world.”

“And I will spend every dollar in my name if that’s what it takes to keep it going.”

“Thankfully, you won’t have to with a pilot like him on your team.”