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.
24
Sophie
Maya and I keep up our tradition of Wine Wednesdays. We sip from white wine a la box, which is a classy affair when paired with our plastic wine glasses, two pounds of fried chicken, and French fries. The whole girls’ night wouldn’t be complete without a grand finale of Hershey’s chocolate.