“I should check in with Sofia,” I say. “And you should go get in your car.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Yeah, alright. I’ve got a bunch of media stuff after this, so just grab the hotel key from my bag if you’re done earlier.”
“I will.”
He kisses me again, a casual brush of warm lips. “You can steal a t-shirt from my room if you want, too. Unless you’d rather take that actor guy up on his uncommonly kind offer.”
I choke out a disbelieving noise. “Are you serious? He was all over you!”
He laughs. “We were literally just talking about books. Meanwhile, you walk up and say, like, ten words, and the poor guy’s offering up his own clothes.”
“You,” I say fondly, “are actually delusional. And you’re going to be late. Off you go.”
He kisses me instead, only stopping when I summon up enough willpower to push him away. “I’ll see you later,” I promise.
He gives me a swift, sweeping look that shifts the pulse of blood in my veins. “Yes, you will.”
The edges of my lips curve upward—maybe he could be ten minutes late for practice, just this once—but then his race engineer, Freddie, sticks his head out at the end of the hall and hollers, “Keeping!”
“Coming!” Travis calls back. He gives me another crooked grin and heads off, leaving me to slump back against the wall and let out a shaky laugh.
I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, I’m covered in some random kid’s vomit, and I’m likely to spend the whole weekend standing around uselessly in Crosswire’s garage.
And damn it if I’m not so happy to be here.
Chapter 2
Sofia Conyers is the only female team boss in F1, and in my humble opinion, she’s also the best at the job. She’s worked at Crosswire for her entire career, first as an intern in their London factory while she did her engineering degree, then as a race engineer. When Tom Kellen stepped back from the team principal role a few years ago, he named her as his successor, and she led the team to three consecutive Constructors’ Championships. Everyone who works at Crosswire absolutely adores her, and I do, too.
I am a little terrified of her, though.
She’s about a thousand times smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, for one thing, but she also holds my entire future in her hands. There’s a rumor running around that Eric Clayton might retire at the end of this season, and if he does, Sofia will be the one who decides who’ll replace him. Nothing happens at Crosswire without her approval. Even if some Cole-Milton-esque driver swept in with millions, without Sofia’s stamp of approval they’d go absolutely nowhere. Which means that every interaction I have with her sort of feels like an audition.
Like right now, standing beside her in the garage as FP2 comes to an end. It’s been a fairly uneventful session, though it wound up starting late after a track marshal claimed they saw a stray dog running around near turn five. No one ever actually found the dog in question, but they spent at least twenty minutes looking for it. When the cars finally made it out on track, the drivers’ times were fairly predictable. Travis was the fastest by four tenths of a second, followed by Mahoney and Clayton.
Sofia drums her fingers on the table, her expression tense. Crosswire has a solid lead in the Constructors’ Championship, but the Drivers’ Championship is a three-way battle between Travis, Mahoney and Clayton. Every weekend, Crosswire seems to have the fastest car, and every weekend, Travis comes out of nowhere to challenge them. He and Mahoney are currently tied for the championship, with Clayton only nineteen points behind.
“What’d you think?” Sofia asks me.
She doesn’t really need my opinion on anything, I’m sure. This is just a test, to make sure I’m paying attention. “Travis is faster on a single lap,” I say. “But our data looks way better for race pace.”
“And yet, you don’t think that we’ll beat him,” she says shrewdly.
I rub the back of my neck, smiling a bit self-consciously. “Honestly? Probably not. But even if he takes this one, our car’s better suited for Austin. We can get him back then.”
She sighs. “Your damn boyfriend’s going to turn my hair gray.”
I flush bright red. “Sorry about that.”
“Though I suppose I can’t fault you for taste,” she adds. “He really is an incredible driver. Anyway, why don’t you head out? You look like you need some rest.”
“I don’t mind staying,” I say automatically.
She snorts. “That’s nice, Jacob, but very unconvincing. Go get some sleep. That’s an order.”
I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am!” she calls after me. “Little shit.”
