I spend the week before the Hungarian Grand Prix collaborating with the team, testing my car, working out, and spending time with Sophie. The latter ditched me when her dad asked her to spend a few hours with him.
Jax and I hang out in the McCoy gym. It’s an athlete’s playground housing all types of equipment, reflex trainers, and the best F1 simulation system. The smell of cleaning supplies and sweat welcomes us as we get a workout in between our packed schedules.
“I’ve barely seen you all week. You’re going to ditch me, leaving me to make friends with Santiago and that silent and brooding asshole from Vitus. You know the guy. He looks like some Michelangelo statue with the personality of one too. Stiff wanker.” Jax’s muscles flex as he lifts a dumbbell.
I withhold my chuckle. “Well, Noah and Maya aren’t a thing. And I’ve been busy doing my job.”
“Those two might as well be. Noah stares after her all the time, and Maya avoids him like he has an STD.”
I clutch the weight in my hand. “Eh, I don’t know about them. Noah’s not one for commitment.”
“And what? You’re a commitment advocate all of a sudden?”
I shrug, trying to come off more nonchalant than I feel.
“Oh shit, is the mighty Liam thinking about a real relationship? Is the sex that good with your Bandini princess?”
It’s easy to forget how effortlessly he reads me. I increase the speed of my reps. “Again, it’s not like that. We’re just having fun. I don’t want to talk about what we do in private with you.”
He looks at me stunned. “Since when do you not care to share info about whatever girl you’re shagging?”
I grit my teeth together. “Starting now. Stop making a big deal out of nothing.”
Jax leans his head against the workout bench, his chest shaking from laughing. “Shit. Relax, I was fucking with you. I wanted to see how serious you are about her, but I guess it’s nothing but sex between you two.”
My chest tightens. “Did you forget to take your meds today? I forgot if being a total dick was a withdrawal symptom.”
He howls from another laugh. Jax doesn’t find my low blow the least bit hurtful, pissing me off more. I hate his words because they hit true. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, with Sophie agreeing to my terms because I’m a selfish shit who wants her and our friendship.
I distract myself with jumping rope. Jax grunts as he switches to the cardio machine. He discards his T-shirt, revealing most of his tattoos. A badass motherfucker, going through that kind of pain for a body full of tattoos.
“And you’re not the slightest bit concerned of her wanting more than friendship from you?” His gaze sizes me up.
“No, we added benefits, not vows. Stop being such a shit friend right now, looking to get a rise out of me.” I’m glad I never shared Sophie’s list with him because he’d give me crap all day about it.
He whistles at me. “All right. I’m sorry. I’ll drop it so don’t get your knickers in a twist. But just so you know, this will never turn out well.”
I shake my head as I wrap up the last set of jumps. “I don’t know why you keep making such a huge deal about this thing with Sophie.”
He fiddles with the treadmill’s buttons. “I’m warning you that you might not like the end result if you don’t face your shit.”
Guilt sits heavy in my gut at the ramifications of a new contract with McCoy. I never told Jax about Rick’s call, afraid to face the truth. But the truth has a funny way of catching up to me whether I like it or not.
Crew members work around the garage, checking on the cars while my engineers talk to me about logistics. I tell them the different issues I found while practicing. People underestimate the amount of time racers spend with the crew, testing out new theories and working through problems. Besides racing and attending parties, I spend a shit ton of time in business meetings.
I crave winning this race. Even though Peter offered me a contract extension, I don’t want to feel a false sense of hope since he hasn’t gotten back to me about my counteroffer regarding the anti-Sophie clause.
Claudia hasn’t attended any other events since the gala where she met Sophie, thank fuck. Her absence helped me repair my relationship with the team and Peter. He seems in better spirits, even going as far as giving me a clap on the back after a McCoy press conference.
Despite Peter’s good mood, I won’t close myself off from other teams, no matter how much I like McCoy. They need to revisit their deal and come back with a better offer, preferably one that doesn’t include giving up someone I care about for racing.
Peter shows up out of nowhere, gracing the garage with his presence. The fancy suit he wears sticks out against the crews’ fire suits and headgear. “You’ve been doing amazing this season, Liam. Place in the top three for us, why don’t you?” He grins at me.
“I plan on it.” I continue with my pre-race checks, killing an hour before the race. I’m man enough to admit I get pre-race jitters and whatever fucker says different is a liar.
I head on up to my suite, ready to hop into my race gear. My phone buzzes from a new message.
Naughty Sophie: Word on the street is that you do pretty well here. I don’t want to inflate your ego any more, but good luck and hope you don’t suck too badly.
I laugh as I type out my message.
Me: Want to make a bet?
Naughty Sophie: Those never end well for all parties involved.
Me: Says who?
Naughty Sophie: Says the party of one who loses every time.
Me: This one will end better. If I end up on the podium, you hang around McCoy garage for the German Grand Prix.
Seeing as Peter needs to attend some McCoy board meeting in London that weekend, I don’t see his presence being a problem. Chris could give zero fucks about who hangs around his garage as long as I perform my best.
The three dots appear on my screen once before disappearing. Minutes pass and I call it a loss, zipping up my race suit. I can’t help wanting Sophie to spend time with me and my family during my home race, a part of me wishing to stake a claim and show her off. Another part of me invites her for the purely selfish reason of being afraid to face my brother alone. Sophie keeps me sane enough to not do something stupid, like avoiding my family while booking them VIP seats far away from the action.
I smile when my phone vibrates against the coffee table.
Naughty Sophie: Sounds like a benefit for you.
Me: No. We both win from a quickie in my suite. You hanging around is an added bonus.
Disappearing dots taunt me. It’s a stupid bet to get her to hang around me instead of the Bandini garage for once. And to be honest, I wouldn’t say no to a pre-race fuck.
Naughty Sophie: You need to up the ante if you’re going to be sending me messages like that. You get me in all of your McCoy glory if you get P1. I prefer winners.
I beam at her sassy words. She throws me off yet keeps me centered all at once.
Me: We can both be winners if you agree. Podiums and Orgasms. You’re turning me into a modern-day poet.
Naughty Sophie: Good luck. I’m leaving before my phone combusts. Bye!
Talking to Sophie puts me in a much better mood. I like hedging bets with her, especially when it breaks up the usual expectations to succeed and place on the podium.
I leave my suite and head back to the pit garage. I situate myself in the cockpit, adjusting my neck brace and steering wheel as the crew pulls me toward my third-place position on the grid. Sophie wants me to place first, which means I have to overtake both Santiago and Noah and keep the lead within seventy laps.
There’s a slim chance I can pass Noah, the leader of the race and a damn good defender. But screw it, I’ll give viewers quite the show, all for the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman invading my brain every single day.
Lights flash one at a time before they all shut off. My foot pushes against the throttle and my car speeds down the track before I rapidly approach the first turn.
Bandini cars rush in front of me, the two scarlet red vehicles competing against one another. My race car lingers behind them. The front wing of my car nearly brushes against Santiago’s as I close the distance between us.
The blur of the crowd flashes by me as our cars pass another lap. My car vibrates as I press down on the accelerator, the rushing sound of the car bringing a smile to my lips. Sweat clings to my suit as we go around the track for the next twenty laps. I keep my P3 position, defending myself against Jax as he hangs behind my car.
“Liam, Noah and Santiago are going to have to pit soon. We have a strategy that can help you win, but you have to trust us. We’re going to have you pit three times this race and use soft tires.” Chris’s voice echoes through my earpiece.
It’s a risky move that will give me greater speed than the standard medium tires, but more pit stops mean less control of my overall time. I could still win, but I’d have to race like my car’s on fire.
“How certain are you that the crew can complete the stops in under two seconds?”
“I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance.” Shit.
I clench my gloved hands. “All right. Let’s do this.”
“Box after this next lap.” Chris mutes himself.
My car shudders, the grip of my tires slowly becoming less stable as I continue to drive down the track. After another lap, I pit and my team absolutely smashes it, completing the stop in under one point seven seconds—a new F1 record.
“Nice work, Chris. Good call.” I eat up the distance between the Bandini boys and my car, leaving little room for error if they do anything rash. The three of us move in tandem and conduct a beautifully executed turn. Noah and Santiago drive side by side at the next straight, their red paint glossy under the afternoon sun. Their front wings remain parallel to one another as Noah tries to inch up ahead of his teammate.
The next turn approaches quickly. Noah remains concentrated on Santiago and not letting him overtake at the corner to the point that he forgets about me.
I rush by the two of them, leaving them behind in my side mirror. My soft tires push me faster than theirs. The team goes ballistic in my earpiece, screaming as I solidify my first-place spot. I smile at the crowd’s roars competing with the rumbling of my engine.
I aggressively hold on to my first-place position because I don’t want Bandini to gain confidence. Like an addict, I live for this high, becoming a lifetime junkie for adrenaline.
“Liam, you’re an absolute animal today. Good work.” Chris congratulates me while I run my last lap.
I lift my fist up into the air the moment I pass the checkered flag. Chris plays one of my favorites as I race down the track once more for a victory lap, the sounds of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” crooning through my earpiece.
I hope Sophie likes the color gray because she’ll look killer in my number. She should blame herself for my plans. After all, I learned from the best.
