“Eight-time world champion Lewis Hamilton?Never heard of him.”
Archie chuckles.“If you’re retiring, can you let me know?I’ll need to line up another gig.”
He puts a finger up to his headphones as a radio message comes in.One sec, he mouths at me.
“I gotta go.Pre-race meeting,” he says, standing.“Don’t you got yours, bro?”
I shrug.“Maybe I’m already retired.”
“Finally, you’re here,” Chloe says, wide-eyed.She’s clutching an enormous water bottle in one hand and a clipboard in the other as she slips out of what is supposed to be the driver room, tucked away at the back of the garage, but appears to be also used as storage for parts.
At Rossini I practically had my own suite.This is going to be a long season.
“Yeah, I heard there’s a race.Thought I may as well show up,” I reply, as I strip off my T-shirt and pull my fireproof underclothes off the hanger, readying myself for the shit show.
But when the cooling gust of the air conditioner hits the bare skin on my chest, I open my arms toward it to feel more of that icy air in this sweltering heat.I run my hands down my chest to my stomach, where a few months ago, I had a really well-defined six-pack, and now it’s a little less taut.Maybe itistime to ease up on the burgers.
“Matt?”
“Sorry, I’m fucking hot.”
I turn back to her, letting the cool of the fan hit my back, as I cover my bare chest with folded arms, stretching myneck side to side.Chloe looks away, a little color flushing her cheeks.The Chloe I remember wouldn’t have even flinched at a half-naked dude in a changing room.She’s seen enough of them over the years.
Today, her hair is braided down her back, black cap pulled down, headphones around her neck.She’s in a black Arden Racing polo, and when she turns to glance back at the garage, I see the curve of her ass in tight blue jeans.But when she looks back, my eyes trail to that mouth of hers, and I have to look quickly away to kill the stirring feeling in my stomach.
“What is it?”I say, quickly fishing for my fireproof shirt and pulling it over my head to cover up.There are four crew in the changing room, almost two dozen out in the garage, and nowhere we can speak alone, though it’s clear as day that’s what Chloe wants.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she says, eyeing the crew around us, who are moving much more quietly now, clearly listening in while they gather gloves, tire wraps, and screws for a loose jack.“I’m sorry about what I said.Can we talk, please?”
“After,” I say pointedly, and she sighs.
“Is it the crash, Matt?Are you—”
I cut her off abruptly.“No,” I lie.
“Matt.You clearly havefeelings....”
“Oh, I have feelings, Coleman,” I say, laughing as I pull my shorts down so I’m standing in my underwear.Chloe looks everywhere but at me, and I hastily pull on my long fireproof pants.
Two of the pit crew try to slide out unnoticed, and I watch Chloe make herself small so she can let them through,muttering “sorry” no fewer than three times as they pass.She’s going to get eaten alive if she doesn’t learn to take up space in this garage.
“You don’t like the car,” she says matter-of-factly.
“It looks like someone designed it blindfolded.”
“Oh stop.It’s not that bad.”
“That Arden car is the Formula 1 equivalent of a circus car.”
Chloe’s mouth twitches like she’s wrestling away a grin.
“That Arden caris only two seconds slower in a single lap than McLaren.One point nine seconds slower than Rossini.Youcould be some of that difference.”
“It’s so sad it could make an onion cry,” I snap, as the last two pit crew creep out and I attempt to put a leg into my racing suit, losing my balance and nearly toppling over as I do.
I’m sure I can hear one of them mutterkarmaas they slip out of the room.I’m certainly not winning friends at Arden, not that I really care.Retirement is feeling more and more like the right move.
“Enough.Let’s be frank with each other.”
