“I’m not going to get eaten alive out in the real world. You raised me better than that. If I survived an all-girls school and three years at uni, I think I can make it out there. Honestly, we’re lucky the plaid skirts and mean girls didn’t cause any psychological damage.”
“You’ll always be my little girl. The same one who put pigtails in my hair to match yours or drew fake tattoos with pens all over my arms.”
“Speaking of tattoos, I was prepping myself for the real deal by testing out designs. That reminds me of my full sleeve idea. Thoughts?”
His eyes narrow, and his smile turns into a frown.
“I’ll take that as a no. Darn.” I snap my finger in mock frustration.
“Show up with a tattoo, and you won’t be on the next plane to Italy. Oh, no. You’ll be off to Antarctica attending a once in a lifetime trip to see penguins and melting icebergs.”
“I wonder if Leonardo DiCaprio would be down to assess climate change damage with me. I heard he likes to visit the South Pole too.” I flash him a mischievous smile.
“Get out of here before I revoke your plane ticket and all-access pass.”
I scoff in fake horror. He gets up from his chair and pulls me in for a quick hug, squeezing the air straight from my lungs.
I’m grateful for his leniency on the F1 issue. I get to trade virgin cocktails for champagne, bounce houses for gala events, and my princess costume for evening gowns. Finally, I’ll live the life my lavish tastes deserve.
Men should be the least of his worries because, excuse my language, but I’m ready to fuck shit up.
3
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.