When the camera cuts to Julien during the race, he’s in the middle of picking a corn kernel out of his teeth. It looks like he’s scheming, grinning about Rafael’s demise.
He just wants to help.
After everything, it’s a bit of a surprise to see Rafael’s name in Julien’s notifications. The Frenchman drops his bag just inside his hotel room before opening his messages.
Hey
You at the hotel?
It’s silly how one little text can make his entire day. Julien’s chest tightens as he types out a response.
They’re talking. Actually talking. And Rafael is the one who reached out first.
Just got in
What’s up?
Not much
Miss u
Jesus, Julien must be down bad. Just reading that made his stomach drop out his ass.
Yeah, miss you too
Room 1845
Of course he’s at the top of the fucking building.
Julien pops into the bathroom and checks to make sure he still has hair on his head. He won’t make the other man wait long enough for a full shower, but he still spritzes a little cologne on his neck.
It’s talking. They’re just talking.
Then again, what if Rafael finally admits to being an absolute knobhead and they’re overcome by the throes of passion? What if Julien can finally dig his fingers in that luscious hair and pullthe man close enough to lick into his mouth and squeeze any part of his hard body he can grasp?
Cologne will just have to be enough. They can save anal for the next race.
When Julien finally finds the room, he knocks quickly. It’s not on purpose—his nerves vibrate him from his wrist through to the balls of his feet.
The door opens and Rafael greets him with the biggest smile Julien has seen since Imola. “Come in, come in.” He holds the door open and Julien flushes as he steps inside. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got whisky, wine, vodka…”
“Water?” Though alcohol sounds great, Julien’s throat is a little dry.
Rafael saunters over to the fridge and tosses him a cold bottle. “I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.” Though Julien hasn’t exactly been hiding. Honestly, it seemed like Rafael was the one avoiding him. Julien cracks the lid of the bottle and takes a swig.
“I don’t even know why we drifted apart.” Rafael takes a mini shot from the fridge and wanders over to the couch.
Julien’s foot stutters before he cautiously follows the man further into the room. Alarm bells ring out, telling him to turn back around, but he ignores them to ask, “You don’t understand why we don’t talk anymore?”
Rafael tilts his head to the side, considering. “Talk and, well,otherthings.”
Yeah, Julien misunderstood this situation. He huffs a laugh of disbelief and turns towards the door. This isn’t an apology—it’s a booty call.
That’s what happens when he thinks the best of people.
“What?” Rafael asks, shooting upright and stumbling after him. “Where are you going?”
