“About you?” Sam thinks back, but Lucas doesn’t talk about other drivers often. “Not that I remember? You want his autograph or something?”
Everybody likes Lucas—he’s a legend.
“No, no.” Thomas looks nervous, but that’s probably because he’s still in enemy territory. “I do not think he likes me very much.”
“Nah, he’s a good guy.” Sam’s never seen Lucas hate anyone. Well, other than his old teammate. “You’re a threat to us in both championships, so that’s probably it. I don’t think it’s personal.”
Thomas exhales audibly, but keeps otherwise quiet as they navigate the labyrinthine hallways.
When they see the paddock, Sam asks, “You got it from here?”
“Can I walk a straight line?” Thomas ducks out from under Sam’s arm. “Yes, I am pretty sure I am okay now.”
“Just making sure, don’t want you getting los—shit.”
“What?” Thomas follows Sam’s eyeline and stops in the hallway. “Shit.”
Sam smiles at the photographer whose camera is trained on them. He pushes Thomas forward, but the Ferraro driver buries his face in his hands.
“Lorenzo is going to kill me.”
“You were just apologizing to me, there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“Sounds like you have never met Lorenzo.”
The Ferraro team principal has never been on Sam’s radar, no.
Thomas breaks away, walking faster and hiding his face as well as he can. It’s useless—he’s still wearing his full race suit. He’d be recognizable from across the entire paddock.
Sam would rather face the issue head on. He walks right up to the photographer. “Hey, how you doin’?”
“I’m not deleting them.” Okay, so much for pleasantries. “And they’re backed up automatically, so you can’t strong arm them out of me either.”
Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “Not asking you to do any’a that. Just wanted to ask if I could pick my favorites.”
“Oh. Um—” The photographer turns his camera so Sam can see the screen, but the driver has to cup his hands to shield it from the sun.
There’s no mistaking it—they’re all pictures of Thomas leaving the Red Boar garage. It’s not even a little subtle.
“I like that one.” Sam says about a picture where they’relooking at each other. Thomas’s expression is worried, but that’s normal for him. “That one too.God, not that one.”
“No, it’s not great.” The photographer flags the image in-camera. “That can happen when you shoot in a burst.”
Most of them are fine, but Sam makes sure the photographer knows which ones he prefers. “If I’m going to see these pictures everywhere for the next month, I wanna make sure I like them.”
As predicted, the rumor mill spirals with speculations about Red Boar recruiting Thomas to replace Lucas. The media won’t let up, posting the photos as often as they possibly can.
Man, that photographer better have made bank.
Thomas acts like it’s the end of the world, even after Ferraro publishes a whole-ass press release about how integral he is to the future of the team. They even convince him to sign another contract extension.
Still, maybe the reason people won’t let it go is because it’s not a particularly bad thought—Thomas at Red Boar.
Sam could compete against him with equal machinery. No excuses—they could finally find out who is the better driver once and for all.
Then there’s the little things—social media games, fan stages, publicity stunts—things that would just bebetterif Sam could suffer them alongside someone he likes.
Plus, Red Boar could save money on hotel rooms if they shared. Keeping costs down benefits the team. It’s the noble thing to do.
