Page 50 of The Perfect Formula


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“Absolutely.”

I rolled my eyes, taking another sip of wine.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just sat there, drinking wine, existing in the same space without immediate conflict.

I cleared my throat, grasping for something to break the moment. “Is this some sort of post-race ritual?”

His brow arched. “What, sitting in silence with wine?”

“No. Being decent.”

“Ouch.” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m always decent.”

“Debatable.”

His smirk softened as his gaze roamed over me. “I do have a bit of a pre-race routine, though.”

I frowned, curiosity piqued despite myself. “Oh?”

“Before every race, I sit in the car, close my eyes, and run the whole circuit in my head. Every turn, every braking zone, every place I can push harder. I visualize the entire thing, start to finish.”

“You do that every time?”

“Every time.” He shuffled lower on the sofa, stretching out even more. “It started when I was a kid. My dad told me if I wanted to be fast, I needed to see it first. So I’d lie in bed at night picturing the track, memorizing every detail.”

“Sounds intense.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Everything about racing is intense.”

I rolled my wine glass between my fingers. “What happens if you can’t see it?”

“Then I’m not ready.”

I hadn’t pegged him for the superstitious type. He always acted so invincible. Men like that didn’t need rituals.

“What’s your post-race ritual?”

Griffin smirked. “Depends on how the race goes. If I win, it usually involves champagne and regrettable decisions.”

“And if you don’t win?”

He hesitated, his grip tightening just slightly on his glass. “Then it’s a long shower and getting my ass chewed out by my father.”

Julian did the same thing. He had a knack for framing criticism as helpful analysis. Every conversation came with a reminder that I wasn’t enough.

“What’s that about?” He circled his finger, pointing at my face.

“Nothing.”

“You made a face.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. Like you wanted to say something.”

I shrugged. “Just thinking your dad sounds exhausting.”

He laughed. “That’s one word for it. Be glad your situation’s different. Julian actually supports you.”