I don’t see him again until qualifying as he’s busy with media and warm-ups and then suiting up again, but I left his treats on the table in his room, the usual spot– he can’t miss them.
The next day, the focused and fearless Johannes I remember from his pole position races appears in the cockpit. He actually cracks jokes over the radio. It’s deeply refreshing.
He evenlistenswhen I suggest we move to strategy B, a one-stop technique that means he has to really nurture the tyres after a poor first stop costs him a whole bunch of time, giving Harper the lead of the grand prix for almost fifteen laps.
He approaches the Eau Rouge– the Spa circuit’s most thrilling blind summit– with all the confidence of a man who laughs in the face of danger. When you come over the crest of the hill, you have no idea where you’ll come out, so it takes balls– serious balls– to attack it the way Johannes does. It’s even more satisfying when he crosses the line five whole seconds ahead of Harper. He’s on a real high when he climbs on top of the car and pumps both fists in the air.
I’m too far back in the throng of team members crowding him as they celebrate the win. The closest people get hugs, but we lock eyes for the briefest of seconds and I feel that look right down to my very core. He deserves it, I deserve it– our risks paid off today. It’s the first time I believe our new friendship might not be a disaster after all, and it feels amazing.
Mostly, I just love seeing him back on top, nothing but pure glee on his face as they hand him his trophy. My stomach flips. I can’t help but match his smile, mine filled with such pride that I get to be a small part of both this win and his life. We’ve found a good push and pull, that rhythm so important between a race engineer and his driver.
I’m not quite sure how, but he manages to soak me with champagne, even though he’s on the podium balcony and I’m down on the ground, but is it even a good race if you aren’t a little sticky afterwards?
Packing up the pit wall in wet clothes, damp curls sticking to my forehead, is less fun, but the glow of the win makes up for it.
I want to make light work of getting everything done because I still have two meetings before I can leave for the day, but before I can get properly started, Johannes joins me at the pit wall.
‘I know it’s you,’ he teases as he holds up the congratulatory triple-chocolate cookie and coffee I left out for him.
‘Know what’s me?’ I reply coyly.
‘Who’s trying to fatten me up.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I turn away from him, back to where the race footage is still playing on one of the screens as the software we use churns out stats for me to review later on with the team.
‘So, you’re telling me there’s just some kind of fairy going round who knows exactly how I like my coffee and when I need something chocolatey, and it all started right after we bumped into each other at that coffee shop? That’s not suspicious at all.’
Well, he’s got me there. Not that I’m going to give in and admit it.
‘If that’s what you think.’ I shrug my satchel onto my shoulder so I can fill it with all the last bits, but before my hands can get to work, Johannes is all up in my space, the smell of his shower gel filling my senses. His hand softly pushes the sticky curls off my forehead, then he places a light kiss to my cheek.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers, his gaze locked with mine. He probably should be checking that no one’s watching, but I don’t care. Maybe this is how he thanks all his friends.
For a couple of moments no one exists but us. It’s a beautifully perfect world.
Then he takes a step back and without another word turns on his heel and heads back to the garage. My fingertips immediately find the spot he just kissed and press against the tingling sensation.
Shit. I pull my hand away because I’m not some teenage boy who’s going to fantasise about this. I remind myself he’s already kissed me– on the lips. He’s already had my dick in his hand, already pressed it and rubbed it against his own. This is not something to get worked up over.
Yet my cheek burns from the slightest graze of his lips, and it’s enough to have me questioning my sanity.
What is he doing to me?
It’s a good thing we have a summer break coming up next. I think we could both use a bit of distance, and it’s come at the perfect time. Because to go out on a high like this sets us up for the second half of the season.
Four weeks apart will be good for us. Sure, there’ll be some days at the factory, but I’ll stay in a hotel and there won’t be any candlelit dinners or 6 a.m. runs.
I had agreed to go to Monaco with Johannes and Cole and Ash and the rest of their gang before– a trip we organised back before things got fucked up between us– but maybe I can cancel? My mom’s still bugging me about going home, so I could potentially use that as an excuse. I can catch up with my brothers and get some family time in. They’ll be too excited about the football season starting up again to ask about racing, so there’ll be no need to think or speak about Johannes. That sounds perfect right now.
I’m about finished packing up the pit wall when Harper approaches me from the garage beside ours.
‘Congrats,’ he says ruefully. ‘I thought you’d be with Johannes already?’ My hands freeze on my laptop where I’m about to tuck it into its case. Does he know? Did Johannes tell him? I know they’re best friends, but for fuck’s sake, he should have told me!
I eye Harper for a second, trying to work out how much he knows. ‘Because of his win,’ he adds, miming that he’s been stabbed in the heart. Of course that’s what he means.
‘Oh, yeah, I’ll be there shortly. I just like everything to be sorted first. Congrats to you too– and Elijah. You raced well today.’
He acknowledges my words but he’s obviously already thinking about what’s next.
