Face flaming, Julien snaps, “Why would you say that?!”
And in front of the man sizing him up?! What a fucking cockblock.
“Do not be embarrassed. Rafael has younger siblings. I am sure he has changed a few poopy diapers.”
“Out!” With a good shoulder check, Julien manages to shove Thomas back into the hallway. Before he shuts the door, he turns back to Rafael. “Thanks for the talk. It helped.”
“No problem.” Rafael grins, probably imagining his teammate covered in baby shit. “I’ll let you know.”
“About what?”
“My left hand.” Rafael makes a circle with his fingers and flicks his wrist.
Oh.
Julien stares, transfixed. There’s at least an inch of space between the tips of his fingers and his thumb. An inch of space to accommodate a notable girth.
And Rafael has long fingers.
“Right.” Not that Julien would notice something like that about a coworker. “Right, right, right, right.” He nods like an idiot, but he can’t stop. “Yeah. Yes. You should—you can text me?” But Rafael already has too many texts. “Or I—yeah.”
Julien shuts the door before he can embarrass himself any further.
Rafael doesn’t have his number.
Damn it.
Julien turns, surprised Thomas is still there, watching him. “I see you have met Rafael.”
“We’ve met before.”
In passing. During team events. In ceremonies where Julien dutifully stands alongside the other Ferraro reserve drivers while Rafael and Thomas take their place in the spotlight.
Conversation is new, though. For how many years Julien has watched him, imagining Rafael as some standoffish, self-centered, broody Adonis, he’s actually a pretty okay guy.
Girthy.
No—a goodconversationalist. Someone who is surprisingly easy to talk to. Kinda funny.
Long fingers.
Julien smacks his own cheeks and stalks towards the garage. Marketing is practically free-range during race weekends, so hopefully he’s heading in the right direction.
“Be careful.” Thomas grabs Julien’s arm and drags him towards the long hallway out to the paddock. “Rafael is very good at making people feel special without actually caring about them.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Thomas pinches his mouth tighter. “Keep your head down and focus on racing. That is what you are here for. Show the other teams you deserve a full-time seat.”
That’ll be difficult to do from under Thomas’s shadow. Their relationship automatically forces Julien under a microscope no other reserve driver would be scrutinized by.
The world will compare the brothers but conveniently forget how Thomas has far more experience in the car. How he’s foughtthe other drivers on track over and over—learning how everyone races and adapting with each lap—while most of the drivers are new competitors to Julien.
He’s already at a disadvantage, but no one will mention it because it’ll ruin their narrative.
The story will be about how Julien can’t live up to his prolific brother. How he isn’t cut out for racing. How he’s washed up.
Julien stands straighter, yanking his arm out of Thomas’s grip as they cross the threshold into the paddock. A horde of photographers is at the ready, snapping away, and Julien lifts his chin.
