“So you want me to fuck you from behind and call you Lucas?”
“No.” Thomas’s gaze darkens. “What I want is for Rafael to fuck me and call me ‘mon cher.’For him to fuckinglookat me.”
Sam swallows the lump in his throat. It’s difficult to see himself mirrored in a man he hates.
“But what I am suggesting is for us—bothof us—to settle for one another instead.”
Sam can’t pretend he doesn’t see the merit in it. To have a go-to fuck buddy every race weekend—someone who could pass for Lucas and wouldn’t mind Sam calling out the wrong name in bed.
But it’sThomas. FuckingBig Toe.
Of anyone, whyhim?!
“This is crazy.”
“I know.” Thomas deflates. “I know it’s a stupid idea, but it felt so good. The fantasy of it, I mean. Thinking you were him.”
And, yeah. Sam can admit it felt good. For one perfect moment everything just clicked into place.
But was he willing to deal with Thomas to feel that again?Thomas.
“Let me think about it, okay?”
Thomas’s face shoots back upright. His large, unsettling eyes find Sam’s again. “You will consider it?”
“Yeah.” Something tells him Sam will do little else with his free time from now on. “Lemme get your number.”
After that night, Thomas is suddenly everywhere.
He walks the track at the same time as Sam, only about half a kilometer ahead of him. He sits only two rows away at the drivers’meeting. He stands only three drivers away in the press pit and only seven away during the national anthem.
It’s suffocating.
Thomas catches him staring sometimes, but that’s not saying much since Sam can’t bring himself to look away.
Thomas asked Sam to pretend to be Rafael and fuck him from behind. That has to be a good enough reason to space out—to gawk as often as he does.
He’s mostly intrigued by Thomas’s back. About comparing him to Lucas.
They’re around the same shorter height, sure. And yes, they both have disheveled, light brown hair. But Thomas is leaner, his hips narrower. If Lucas was to lean over, to present himself, there would be some meat to hold on to. If Thomas did? There’d be nothing. Just a flat, bony ass.
It’s completely unattractive. It would never work.
Plus Thomas? He has moles. Dark dots strewn about haphazardly all over his too-pale skin. He probably has them all the way down his back and that would be distracting. Way too distracting.
Sam had just been drunk. They both were. Drunk and stupid with hope cause Sam? Yeah, he doesn’t look anything like Rafael.
Sam is taller, for one. By a full inch atleast. And he is way more muscular, especially in the arms.
Yeah, they’re both tan, but Sam’s Australian—you can’t blame him for enjoying the outdoors. Their necks are comparably thick, but they’re Form 1 drivers, so it’s to be expected. And yeah, they both have dark curly hair, but Sam’s locks are definitely more luscious. Definitely fuller.
In fact, it looks like Rafael’s hair is thinning. In several years, everyone else will start to notice.
Sam can admit there are worse men to be compared to, but something about Thomas’s disappointment sets him on edge.
Most people want to look at Sam when he fucks them. It’skinda the whole point of sleeping with a famous person—to be able to say you saw their face when they came.
Sam has such a good coming face too, he’s checked.
