I tip my head to the side, and my voice comes out shaky.“That’s not what you’re asking, though, is it?”
He nudges his coffee toward me, his face immediately impassive.“Can’t blame a guy,” he says, shoving his free hand into his jeans and stepping backward, readying himself to go.
“I’m always here for a coffee on the lot,” I assure him, but he’s already turned away.
The race is thrilling.Edge-of-your-seat, heart-stopping, blood-pressure-raising, I-need-a-fucking-beer thrilling.
I’m out on the pit wall, my body rigid in my seat, my mouth dry, as Matt moves with stealthy determination.He’s driving like a predator, ready to pounce on the Williams in front of him, but the tires are shot and he really needs to pit.
I hold my breath, not wanting to interfere with the team’s plans.I close my eyes and pray Archie is on the case.
Just then, I watch the Williams turn into the pit, and now I know for sure Matt will follow.I let out a slow breath.
“Box, box,” Matt calls through the team radio as the crew behind me assemble.
“Softs?”the strategist bellows.
“Let’s go,” says Archie.“We need to come out in front of that second Alpine.”
“No shit, Fuck-Knuckle,” Matt replies.
He pulls into his spot, the waiting crew poised and ready, and I spin around to watch the lightning-fast pit and change of tires.I’m sure I see Matt’s helmet turn my way before he’s back in the pit lane and accelerating out toward the track,MIND MY HOT REARemblazoned in all its ridiculous glory.
“Two point twelve seconds,” says the strategist, to muted cheers.That was fast.“We can do this.”
I hold my breath, watching the Alpine screaming down the straight, but Matt is out already, and after a little bit of defensive driving, he’s done it.He’s slipped out of the pit lane just ahead of the Williams, and now we’re in ninth place.We’re in the top ten, and with all cars having pitted, it’s now a race to hold position and hold on to those precious top-ten points.
We have points!
I can scarcely believe it.All he has to do is defend his spot.But Matt, it seems, has other ideas.He takes an incredible swing into the apex, and cruises out onto the next straight.And he’s...fast.Very fast.
I hold my breath.He can’t be trying to get to eighth, can he?
My eyes skirt to the second screen as I watch Noah squeal past that very same Williams.My eyes bug.My heart isslamming against my rib cage.We have ninth and tenth now.This is incredible.
I turn to Noah’s race engineer, just as Noah shouts into the radio.
“I got him!”
“Copy that,” says his engineer.“Keep pushing, Noah.”
Meanwhile, Archie is swearing like a sailor, “Push, you fucker!”at Matt.
But it’s a Rossini in front of him.He’ll never catch it....Will he?
As they cruise out of turn five and into the chicane, Matt manages to gnaw off another half a second.I gasp, clutching my chest.The crowd is roaring.
Keep focused, Matt.Don’t get into your head.You can do this.
He bears down on the red beast ahead.He is bumper-to-tail and as soon as he hits the drag-reduction zone he will have him, and we will have a car in eighth position.
My favorite part of racing are these special little strips on the track where a driver is allowed to open their rear wing flap to increase speed.This is where so much of the overtaking happens, but you need to be close enough to the other car to utilize it.I imagine the sweet sense of revenge Matt will feel overtaking that Rossini and I want it for him so badly.
I feel a little head bump at my hand and look down to see one of Barry’s dogs has found her way onto the lane.I should send her safely back into the garage, but instead I stroke her head in soft rhythmic moves, which is soothing me as much as it is her.“I can’t believe it,” I say breathlessly.“We’re going to get points.”
I swing my head around to find Barry, who is pacing back and forth at the garage entrance, unable, it seems, to watch the screens.
“You can do it, Matt,” I whisper.
