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Violet pushed him away from her neck and away from the bed. She gave him a mischievous look as she whipped the sheets off her naked body, then quickly shot to her feet.
“I’m going to shower and then get dressed. We should have a big breakfast downstairs before we head over to the venue. You are going to need it today.”
It took all of Franco’s power of fortitude and discipline not to launch to his feet, scoop her into his arms, and make love to her against the wall. The sex was beyond spectacular, but that would put him in a lazy daze, craving only her body and sustenance to keep going.
He gripped his fists together and watched her walk lackadaisically toward the bathroom. She leaned against the doorframe and gave him a wink before closing the door behind her.
“I’m locking it,” she bellowed.
The closer Franco got to Violet, the closer he wanted to get. Other than his racing, he had never been so electrically drawn to anyone or anything in his life, which filled him with a brimming sense of gratitude.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the sound of the shower being turned on hummed in the distance.
“The race. Think about the race,” he murmured to himself.
Violet had even made the effort to get herself dressed in the bathroom, which he appreciated, though he told her it wasn’t necessary. Her tigress emerged, pupils blooming into big dark moons.
“I’m a shifter, too, you know,” she said when she emerged in her blazing red jumpsuit. “I can smell bullshit from a mile away.”
They joked around playfully, then went downstairs for breakfast. Violet was right. It was essential that he get in the right amount of nourishment to energize him for the day ahead. His pores would be secreting an excessive amount of adrenaline, which would keep him high all day, but eventually, everything that soars must crash.
So he filled himself with an excess of carbs, fruit, eggs, and only one cup of coffee. It would keep him awake for the morning, but he also wanted to avoid that caffeine crash. Violet ate with him, saying that she could feel the excitement surging off his body like heat waves off the concrete in July.
The thought of the saboteur had been tucked away while they traveled to the venue, his driver taking them in through the throngs of fans waiting at the gate. He was starting to feel the race day jitters, that buzzing sensation that he had chased his entire life.
They moved through the gate, past security, and into the back lot, where the drivers, pit crew, engineers, and their families were all dropped off. He emerged out of the car with Violet in tow, already feeling like a champion with her on his arm.
The day was bustling with politicking as much as it would be with actual racing. His sponsors, Andrew and Max, along with other potential candidates who liked to throw their hats in the ring pre-race, hung around. Because of his unpredictable burnout the day before, more sponsors lined up before his garage than usual, like vultures wanting to pick at the meat that remained.
“You got this,” Violet said, squeezing his hand.
He squeezed back. It was insulting to see the sponsors who generally went for less successful drivers regarding him with dollar signs in their eyes, thriving on his potential, unfortunate loss. But having Violet there cushioned the blow.
He spoke with his sponsors, participating in the usual chitchat bullshit that he had done for years. He then had to be strung up in a pre-race press conference, a torture session approaching quickly.
“How’s the car looking today, son?”
Max wasn’t that much older than Franco, yet he loved using nicknames that would infantile Franco to him.
“I haven’t gotten to the pit yet,” Franco said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure Cornel has it glistening like a brand new quarter.”
Max guffawed, and it was then that Franco noticed that Violet had left his side. She had drifted away from the group, her adorable little jumpsuit a burning hot sun in his peripheral vision.
She stared out beyond the tunnel, giving him space to do the work she knew he was obliged to participate in. He realized she had never once complained about any of it. Nor had he asked her exactly how all of this madness was affecting her, though.
The press conference was set to take place just outside the racing gate. The race itself was at 1:00 p.m., and the hour was lightly striking nine in the morning. Fans hooped and hollered in their seats, making the entirety of the building shake and throb with anticipation.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Franco said, clapping his strong hand on Max and then Andrew. “I’ve got a press conference to do in a few minutes. I will be sure to get back to you once Cornel and I have spoken.”
They chuckled loudly, asserting their dominance, then Franco parted ways to get to his beloved.
She gave him a supportive smile when he approached, lovingly touching her wrists.
“I hope this isn’t too much for you,” he said, the thumping of the venue above a faint presence. “I will never be able to express to you how much it means having you here.”
She went to him, placing her hands on his chest. It made his heart thump with the rhythm of the chanting crowd.
“I will be here. Always. You do what you need to do.”
