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Just you and me for now, pal.
* * *
Tension in the pit garage chokes me. The Chinese Grand Prix, a usually fun-as-fuck race, feels tainted by my nerves. I drink water to combat nausea and the dryness in my throat.
Jax pats me on the back with a bronzed hand, pulling me away from my negativity as he passes me my helmet. We match, wearing similar flame-retardant gear while looking distinct with customized helmets.
“Try to not let the pressure get to you. As much as I want to kick your arse into next week, I’d rather do it with your head in the race.” He runs a hand through his short curls.
I tug on the zipper of my suit. “Says the guy who spends twenty minutes in the bathroom before every race. What are you doing in there? Deep breathing exercises?”
He cracks his neck, drawing my attention to his tattoos starkly contrasting against his pristine white race suit. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“No shit. I know you don’t have a chick in there so it’s probably something weird and kinky you do by yourself.”
“Fuck you very much, arsehole. I happen to like relaxing before a race.”
“With all the partying you do on the side, I don’t blame you. I don’t know how you function half the time.”
He shoots me a mischievous grin. “Probably because I have you to clean up my messes for me. Nothing says a good night’s rest quite like you tucking me into bed.”
Through everything, we remain as tight as teammates can be, not compromising our friendship for competitiveness. Any time he needs me, I’m there for him. A random call at 2 a.m. to pick him up from some seedy side of town while he sports a new shiner? No problem. He needs me to help him get out of bed after a complete binger the night before, including removing women from his hotel room? I got it. Random last-minute request for my private jet? Let me call that in. That’s how it is between us, no questions asked.
I struggle to hide my smile. “God, you’re fifty shades of fucked up. You know that, right?”
“My issue is that I know it all too well.” He walks off toward his race car.
My gloved hand pats the hood of my race car before I slide into the cockpit, the tight space welcoming me back. The steel-gray color glistens from the sun and pit lights while the steering wheel blinks back at me in a silent hello. I take a deep breath, welcoming the scents of oil and rubber.
I pop on my helmet and flip down my visor, ready to get this shit on the road.
Honey, I’m home.
* * *
Do you know what happens when you race cars at two hundred plus miles an hour? Adrenaline. I crave a cold beer and a good fuck after a race, except I can’t do anything like that until my recent headlines blow over.
New season, new me. What an affirmation.
The adrenaline high from winning the Grand Prix makes it difficult to contain my excitement during the latest press conference. I sit with Jax and Noah as we answer F1-related questions from reporters. No use complaining about these boring parts when I get to live my dream every damn day.
What more can I ask for? Well, maybe the removal of my newly acquired purity ring, but fuckers can’t be choosers.
I school my features when a reporter asks about my upcoming contract agreement. “I love the team at McCoy, and they’ve been great with me over the past few years. The company knows what they’re doing, so I’m holding out to see what happens. Call me an optimist.”
“How is your relationship with McCoy after everything that occurred in the media this winter break?”
“Things couldn’t be better, and the team is ready to win this season. McCoy is my priority and my race car is the only woman in my life.”
Noah holds back a laugh next to me. His blue eyes and dark, wavy hair shine from the bright lights. The asshole knows things with McCoy are rocky, ever since Claudia threw a heel at my head when I pulled the plug on our brief sex-capade. Thank fuck for fast reflexes. Sadly for her, her tantrum didn’t have the desired effect of rough makeup sex because vindictive women don’t do it for me.
The rest of the conference feels mundane once reporters move on to someone else.
Noah pulls me aside once the F1 Corp member announces the end of the conference. He tugs me in for a hug and a smack on the back before letting go. “You need to figure out something to fix this relationship thing. You’re going to end up getting screwed out of a contract if McCoy can’t trust you to not screw up again. Other teams are probably wondering what you’ll do next. You’ve created a media shitstorm that reporters can rave about.”
“And what exactly do you suggest I do? I can’t help how Claudia keeps spreading rumors about whatever we did.” I find the process of defending myself exhausting.
He smirks at me. “Keep your dick out of any girls for a while. Think you can handle that?”
