I relent, channelling as much confidence as I can muster.
“Jessica Edwards,” I say, acutely aware of the weight my words carry.
“Steve, Jessica. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but I don’t lie, so I’d rather say I hope we don’t run into each other again.” I stand there, tension crackling in the air, suddenly acutely aware of just how tall he is.
I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his striking gaze, which seems to pierce through the noise surrounding us.
He studies me for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes, then adds,
“Or maybe I do.” With that, he strides purposefully into the paddock and the exclusive realms reserved for drivers.
We linger a moment longer, watching him go, and it takes me a few seconds to digest the fact that Luke Hastings, with all his charisma and star power, just hinted he hopes we run into each other again.
Chapter 3
LUKE
I collapse onto the coach in my driver’s room, which is stocked with all the essentials a driver would need during a race weekend.
A full fridge with water, energy drinks, snacks, and fruit.
Then I have the bathroom, which features a luxury shower. That is the most essential part of a driver’s room.
When you’ve been driving around the track at about 300 km per hour, sweating off several kilograms of your own body weight, you need an excellent shower.
I also have a TV and a PlayStation to entertain me in between the action, mainly consisting of workouts, racing, and meetings.
Other than that, the F1 lifestyle isn’t all that glamorous, at least not while we’re in the paddock, which tends to be a lot during the race weekend. I don’t mind.
I’m grateful to be living this life and for the opportunities I’ve had. But it can get boring with the same routine every weekend.
I smile to myself, thinking back to the meeting with the feisty brunette.
What a breath of fresh air she was.
I was storming off after a rough free practice, during which everything in the car felt off. I wasn’t in the mood for interviews about my poor performance on the track.
I wasn’t paying attention when I smashed right into the cameraman and sent him tumbling into the beautiful Jessica Edwards.
Usually, I would apologize to Steve immediately for bumping into him, but before I even got the chance, Jessica was on me.
The fire in her eyes, especially before she realized whom she had used her snarky tone on, was such a refreshing sight.
Normally, people fall all over themselves if they ever feel like they’ve stepped on my toes or said something wrong. It gets exhausting being surrounded by people who only say yes.
That is, until you mess up or do something they dislike or that costs them money, then you’re lectured like a child.
Even when you’re 25 years old, like me.
Jessica didn’t back down, even after realizing who she had been talking to. The slight widening of her eyes when she regained her balance and looked at me revealed her everysecret.
She knew who I was, but that didn’t stop her.
Even when I challenged her and made it clear she shouldn’t speak to me like that, she remained firm and set me straight.
It was hot.
Seeing Jessica stand her ground and not quiver under the pressure of talking to a high-profile athlete was invigorating.
