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Liam
I exit my Twitter app, wishing I could erase another article detailing me as some F1 fuck-up after my hookup with Claudia. My dick really got me in trouble this time. Usually, we work together because two heads are better than one.
My recent indiscretion threatens my contract renewal with McCoy, my dream team, the one I worked hard to join. No pressure at all. Either I perform well, or I’m demoted to a lesser team after two years of racing with them.
My team gives me the opportunity to compete against two of my friends who happen to be some of F1’s best. Jax, Noah, and I make up a trio destined for trouble and trophies. To us, driving feels as fundamental as breathing, eating, and fucking.
The adrenaline high I experience when I sit behind the wheel beats nothing else—except I’ll come down hard from my high like a lousy hit if I don’t land a new contract with McCoy. So, I need to work my ass off double-time to prove my worth because being a past two-time World Champion means nothing when I fuck the wrong girl.
Don’t get me wrong, I know my agent will receive multiple contract deals from opposing teams, but I love my spot in McCoy. I have enough fight left in me to give a nail-biter show to the fans, the team, and Peter McCoy himself.
I wrap up getting dressed and lock up my Monaco flat. My shoes click against the cobbled steps as I walk toward my car, breathing in the salty air from the Mediterranean Sea.
I drive down the roads of Monaco, the engine of my blue McCoy convertible revving as I shift gears. Tall buildings and coastal waters soar past me. The ringing of my Bluetooth speaker interrupts my thoughts.
“Hey, Pa, what’s up?”
“Hi, what are you up to? Do you have a second?” My dad’s German accent carries through the speakers.
“Sure. I’m driving to a meeting I have with McCoy.”
“Good because we need to talk. Your mom and I saw the latest story. Please tell me it isn’t true.”
I grind my teeth together as I think of what to say. “Which part? The fact that I fucked Claudia? Or how I kicked her out of my apartment without a kiss goodbye?”
My dad lets out a deep sigh. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I know, but what can I do? Yes, I had sex with her, but we never were a couple in any other sense of the word. We were more like fuck buddies. She knew the deal—hell, she practically came up with half of it herself.”
“What made you think hooking up with your boss’s niece was a good idea? That’s a new low, even for you.”
“She fell into my lap at the F1 end of the year gala. She’s beautiful, but I’ve since learned how desperation smells an awful lot like Chanel Number Five.” I should have taken her ambitiousness as a warning sign, but fame makes people arrogant and complacent.
“When are you going to grow up and stop acting like sex and women are transactional? I thought you’d stop once you turned twenty-six, for fuck’s sake. But here we are, almost three years later, and you’re still screwing around.” The speakers vibrate from his grumbling.
Guilt churns inside of me. “Maybe when I hit thirty-five? Retirement age, perhaps?”
“You keep messing around as you do, with women related to powerful men no less, then retirement will be a hell of a lot sooner than thirty-five. I can tell you that.”
Shit. Someone call a doctor because my dad gave me a third-degree burn.
I resist the urge to snap at my dad. “I get it.I fucked up big time, messing with the man who signs my paychecks. But I plan on making smarter choices this year.”
Thanks to my stupidity, I put a target on my back in a sport where there are only twenty spots with hundreds of eager drivers. No math needed to show what a fucking idiot I am because this one is easier than two plus two.
“I sure hope so. Look at Noah, now having to share Bandini with a younger driver. There’s always someone eyeing your position.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Santiago Alatorre is talented, I’ll give you that. But he’s a total psycho behind the wheel, so Noah having his hands full with him can work in my favor.”
“Not if you keep messing up. You know, I’d hate for the day to come when you meet the right girl, but you’re too blinded by your ignorance to see it. Your reputation will get you in trouble if you don’t fix it because no worthy woman wants to date a guy who acts like you do.”
“What woman wouldn’t want to date a successful F1 driver?” My knuckles blanch as I grip my steering wheel, my nails biting into the leather.
“The same type who wouldn’t want to date a has-been manwhore because she has enough self-respect for the two of you.” His clipped tone echoes through the speakers as I pass ocean-lined streets.
I take in a few deep breaths before responding. “I appreciate how much you care. Truly I do. But I’m going to fix it with McCoy, avoid drama, and stick to racing. No more stories about my dick in the papers. I promise.”
“If I had been half the idiot you tend to be lately, I wouldn’t have snagged your mom.”
