‘You’re pretty fucking flexible.’ Too flexible. It’s rude. Some might say cruel.
She peels up and I reluctantly let go.
‘Thanks,’ she tosses over her shoulder.
A few damp strands have broken free from her ponytail and stick against the base of her neck. It would be nothing to move them with my finger and chase it with my lips.
‘Welcome,’ I murmur.
The door lurches open and we jump. The intruder halts at the sight of us, of this insanely fit woman and her unbelievably tight yoga pants, but pulls it together and makes for the treadmill, blushing from scalp to chin.
In all honesty, I’m relieved the moment’s gone. A couple of weeks ago I swore Minnie off, only to fall down at the first test. It’s like she’s a drug or something. I’m not sure my junk could’ve taken much more of her closeness and her scent and her softness and her rounded peach without some form of release. I don’t get it; I’ve shagged plenty of gorgeous women before. I couldhead into Bologna and bang someone tonight, if I wanted. What makes her so special?
I pick up my water bottle and sling my towel over my shoulder. ‘See you at the track?’
She smiles cheekily. ‘See you at the track.’
After calmly shutting the gym door behind me, I hurl myself towards the lift.
Chapter 13
MINNIE
‘Take a seat, guys. I just need ten minutes and then we can all go home. It’s been a long day,’ says Greg, gesturing to a table in the far corner of the media centre café, well distanced from photographers editing photos and journalists typing up qualifying reports.
I’m the first to sit, mainly because I need a little extra time getting down. I overstretched this morning and my range of motion has been diminishing with worrying speed. By bedtime, I’ll only be able to lie and stand. Drop my sleeping mask? Forget it.
Yesterday I gave Greg my big ‘we need a new format; I’m being underutilised’ speech, and it seemed to go down well (i.e. there was lots of nodding). He asked for a day to talk it over with his boss and said he’d get back to me. It looks like this impromptu team meeting is him getting back to me.
Brian and Krunal follow suit with less zeal. Greg fiddles with a wooden stirrer someone’s left on the table. When he accidently cracks it in two, he starts brushing away the muffin crumbs in his place setting one by one, until Brian clears his throat.
‘We’re going to make some very slight changes to the show,’ Greg begins, purposefully not looking at Brian, who’s regardingGreg like he’s trying to teach us the basics of aerodynamics. ‘At the moment, we each have our areas of responsibility.’ You can say that again. ‘In the interests of keeping things fresh, we’d like to mix it up a bit. For example, more of Minnie talking about the cars?—’
‘Now hang on a minute,’ interrupts Brian.
‘—and maybe Krunal in the comms box!’
Oh Greg.
‘What?’Krunal and Brian cry in unison.
‘I know fuck all about commentating!’
Our producer wafts his hand vaguely. ‘These are just examples.’
‘What’s going on? Why are there suddenly stipulations on what we can and can’t do? There’s never been a problem before,’ Brian says, looking squarely in my direction. I shrink as much as my muscles will let me.
The corners of Greg’s lips curve down and he shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter?—’
‘It does, actually,’ snaps Brian.
This is torture. The point of the conversation’s slipping away, taking any glimmers of improvement along with it. I’m itching to step in but nothing good would come from it. I’m the newbie. The silly blonde. The woman. It needs to come from someone in authority, even though said someone should never have been given authority over even distributing biscuits at break time. I can’tbelieveI’m missing the Eurovision Grand Final for this.
‘We’re responding to feedback that we need to freshen things up a bit,’ says Greg, quieter.
Brian arches a bushy eyebrow. ‘Feedback? From whom?’
‘From…’ The last of Greg’s gumption seems to have evaporated. ‘Social media,’ he finishes faintly.
