“It is our house red,” the sommelier says, filling the glass with the blood-like liquid.
“I ordered white.”
“You ordered steak.”
He leaves the bottle and walks away before Sam can ask for ice. He doesn’t know shit about wine, but he prefers cold drinks and the red is disappointingly room temperature.
“You wanted the French experience.” Lucas gestures broadly to the room.
“You’re not wrong.” Sam takes another sip of wine and makes a face. “This explains so much about how Thomas is.”
Lucas hums and switches Sam’s wine for his ice water. “I prefer red.”
Sam’s so grateful to have something palatable that he sucks half the glass down.
“So have you reconsidered your retirement yet? Stickin’ around?” Sam says it like a joke, but he’s not joking. They’re a third of the way through the season and nobody has given him an update on Lucas’s plans.
“Actually… yes.”
“Yes?” Sam repeats. Maybe the red wine has affected his hearing somehow. “Yes, you’re sticking around? You’re going to drive for Red Boar again next year?”
He needs to keep his voice down—people are nearby—but he can’t help his excitement.
Lucas shrugs. “Maybe a year, maybe two. Enough to get the VFIBR kids up to speed.” He takes a sip of the wine. “And to win Germany, of course.”
“Of course.” Sam could kiss Thomas for his contribution. “So you’ve signed the contract? Everything’s set?”
“I’m still arguing with Adam about it. You know how that goes.”
No, Sam doesn’t know how that goes. Usually, he’s grateful to receive a contract at all. He always signs it immediately, before Adam can snatch it back.
The food arrives, and the food runner rearranges the table while he sets the plates down in front of each driver. By the time he leaves, the wine glass is in front of Sam and the water cup is full and back in front of Lucas.
Sam looks at his plate, then Lucas’s, then back up.
“Is this the first course?” Lucas asks, rearranging their cups. He has a pinkish patty in front of him that screams of processed meat.
“I don’t think so.” Sam’s steak is so tiny, it fits snugly in the hole he makes between his thumb and middle finger. “Look at this thing, it’s smaller than my dick.”
Lucas laughs as the sommelier returns with a chilled wine bottle and another glass. “Care for a glass of wine with your meal?” he pointedly asks Lucas.
“Sure.”
He pours a taste of the white, then a glass, before topping off the red wine and setting it in front of Sam. As soon as he leaves, the drivers switch glasses again.
“Next time, I’ll get whatever that thing is.” Sam nods towards Lucas’s plate as he cuts his steak into quarters. Any smaller and he might not be able to catch it with his fork. “How is it?”
Lucas pops a chunk into his mouth and chews. After a second, he makes a surprised face. “Pretty good. Tastes likeLeberkäse.”
Sam doesn’t have a reference point for that, so he takes a bite of his own. Despite its laughable size, it’s actually very good. The fries too, which is a surprise for such a hoity-toity place.
“How is your cock steak?”
Sam guffaws. “Well, it tastes more like steak than cock, so no complaints.”
“Small blessings.” Lucas cuts another slice off his meat patty. “Speaking of French cock, how’s it going with Thomas?”
Sam’s knife slips and screeches against his plate. He clears his throat with a cough before responding. “I dunno what you mean.”
