Page 19 of Downforce

My eyes bulge.

“Travis is delayed. He sends his apologies,” I tell the photographer. “He’s already let Drake and the other members of the team know.”

“That is not a problem,” the photographer says in an Italian accent. “We will just photograph Max since he is here, and then we can do the shots of both of them once Travis arrives.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the mention of my brother’s teammate.

“Yes.” He glances around. “I can’t seem to find Max. I am certain he was here earlier. Can you look for him?”

“I …” I trail off because no I can’t go look for Max Ferreira. It’s been a week since he moved into my building and I’ve managed to not see him since. Save for that one time I spotted him coming out of the elevator as I entered the building. I damn near had to do a nosedive off of the steps and around the building before he caught sight of me.

Don’t ask me why I did it.

It made sense at the time. Having as few interactions with Max as possible is my goal for the time being.

Once the season begins, we’ll both be so busy that running into one another will be virtually impossible.

I hope.

“Annalise,” the photographer calls, sounding as if that’s not the first time he’s said my name.

“Yes, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you could go find Max for me?”

I swallow down my initial response and give a short nod. This isn’t a big deal and it’s not like I have much to do with Travis not being here. Though I did want to read a couple of articles and respond to a shit ton of emails. Most of which are requests from sports podcasters and YouTubers who all want a chance for a sit-down interview with Travis.

He hasn’t done very many this off-season because he wanted to spend as much time with Alyssia and Lucky as possible.

“I don’t think that’s⁠—”

“No need to come look for me.” Max’s voice surprises me into silence as I whip around to find him smiling down at the photographer.

I hate that I have to look up at him.

What I despise even more is the easy way his sparkling gaze slides over to me. His expression doesn’t change or reveal much but I get caught up for longer than I should. It’s one of the rare moments all of the competing thoughts in my head dull.

The silence doesn’t last long, though.

Within a beat of his appearance, I spin on my heel toward the photographer. “Looks like he’s been found. Since I’m not needed for anything, I’ll be over there.” I point over my shoulder toward the corner of the garage that looks out of the way.

The photographer stops me.

“Do you have an idea of Travis’ arrival time?”

I recheck the text he sent to make sure I read it right the first time. “He said thirty minutes. But that was ten minutes ago,” I add.

“Max’s solo shoot shouldn’t take much longer than that. Then we can set up to do the double shoot. If Travis isn’t here by then, you can stand in for him to help me get the angles practiced before he comes.”

My attention goes to a silent Max. His gaze isn’t silent, though. The glint in his eyes reveals he picks up on how uncomfortable I am with that.

“He’ll be here by then,” I assure the photographer before heading to the empty chair in the corner to respond to those emails.

It takes me absurdly longer than it should to send out some basic replies. I’ve done this type of thing hundreds … thousands of times, yet my attention keeps drifting toward the middle of the room where Max has donned his fire engine red racing uniform.

The jumpsuit fits him perfectly, a little extra room in the back, as with all of the racing jumpsuits for seating. When he takes his helmet from one of Amato’s employees, tucking it underneath his left arm, I can’t help but picture him wearing it.

There’s something about a driver in his racing suit that just⁠—