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“Luna has a press conference to do, Flynn.”
“Where do you think I’m going, Perez?” Devin said with a wink.
Rafe’s face tensed as I jumped to my feet and waved goodbye to my brother. Devin and I walked hand in hand, and once inside the pressroom, we took a seat next to one another. If Rafe were here, he’d pop a vein at the sight.
Avery Plett watched us closely. He was the head of media relations with the federation, and he’d already taken exception to me and Devin giggling to each other while we waited for the press conference to begin. Devin was trying to make the situation less stressful, but I was already on edge, and Devin was the only one putting me at ease with his silly jokes.
“And don’t talk about Blake and don’t talk about the car, and don’t talk about Flynn,” I said, mimicking my brother. “And don’t blink, and most of all, don’t breathe.” I made sure to whisper all this so no one else heard, not that anyone was listening.
Devin laughed. “That brother of yours is so uptight.”
“If he had his way, I wouldn’t say a word. I would just sit here and smile. Maybe nod a few times.”
As the last of the conference attendees took their seats, Avery Plett began the press conference. The first question was directed to Hans Lauder, seated to my right. While he responded to a question, I felt Devin’s foot brush against mine. I tried not to giggle, and when Avery Plett shot me a disgusted look, I composed myself.
“Luna,” an Italian reporter asked, “would you like to address the speculation surrounding the driving situation for Perez next year?”
“No, not really.”
The assembled crowd of reporters and onlookers laughed.
“Some news agencies are reporting that you have signed Blake Carlton.”
“Blake Carlton is a talented driver with a wealth of experience.”
“Does that mean you’ve signed him for next year?”
“It means he is a talented driver with a wealth of experience.”
He gave up, and another reporter was called on.
“Devin, Sunday’s race puts Russo and Erich Riedl in a must-win situation if Riedl wants to be world champion. What will you do to assist him?”
“Sunday’s race isn’t just important to Erich. If we want to move up in the constructors’ championship, we need all the points we can get. The last race for me wasn’t what I’d expected, but I am bound and determined to win this season. However, I’ll do everything I can to help my teammate become world champion.”
Speaking of the constructors’ championship, we needed points too. Every point meant a little more prize money at the end of the year.
“If you’re leading the race, and you’re asked to move aside, will you do that for Riedl?” a German reporter asked.
Devin smiled. “I will do what my team wants.”
As the questions moved to other drivers, Devin leaned over to whisper in my ear: “What do you say we go back to the hotel when we’re finished here? This press conference has got me thinking of things I’d like to do to you, and I can’t wait to get you into bed.”
“I hope you can wait that long,” I whispered back, my cheeks warm.
The next question was for Alan Barlow, owner of the Barlow team. While he responded, Devin’s hand found my knee. I jumped and gained the attention of everyone around me. I bit down on my lower lip as I grabbed Devin’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Luna, what will be the race strategy for Perez this weekend?” a Canadian reporter asked. “With only a handful of races left, where does Perez want to be at the end of the season?”
“Ideally, we want to grab as many points as possible in the races that remain,” I said as Devin played to the cameras. He placed one elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand and stared at me, nodding after every word I said. I looked at him briefly and laughed for a moment. “We want to prove to all our critics that we are a deserving team and that we have two very talented drivers.”
Suddenly, I was hit by a barrage of questions from all directions.
“And who will those two drivers be?”
“Rafe Perez and Pedro Martinez?”
“And next year?”
