“You’re seriously happy wearing that t-shirt?” I whispered to Sebastian as we watched Brooke put the moves on the poor reporter, who was indeed very pretty.
“I look great, and from the way you look at me, I think you know it too,” said Sebastian.
My blush betrayed me once again, I could feel it creeping up my face even as he spoke. “No comment,” I replied when my brain started to work again. “Are you confident for this week’s race?”
Sebastian held up a hand and wiggled it side to side. “So-so. That’s the problem with Monaco, the race is all but decided in qualifying.”
“Better have a good qualifying session then,” I said. I could see reporters heading towards us, so turned to leave. No way I was talking to reporters if we weren’t on the clock.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” said Sebastian, snagging my arm and pulling me close. I shivered, imagining for a second that he wanted to kiss me goodbye. His wicked grin implied it was on the cards.
But he leaned in close to my ear to whisper to me. “This week, whoever loses the race jumps into the marina…” he hesitated, still holding me where I was for dramatic effect, before dropping the final little bomb.
“…naked.”
Sebastian
I’d had a very good first two qualifying sessions at Monaco and ended up in the top ten for the third and final session, but still the threat of my previous performances hung over my head. My agent was ‘quietly confident’ that I had a good chance of renewing a seven-figure contract with Remini, but industry papers were reporting that the team was looking elsewhere. Which was even more infuriating given Frankie, my teammate, had crashed out of qualifying in the second session and would be starting in fifteenth.
Frankie, who was now taking up way too much of my mental space in the garage now that he was at a loose end. I was sat in the car as the mechanics tinkered around me - my front wing had clipped a corner in the last lap, but that could be replaced easily, like slotting a new piece of Lego in to a set. Frankie’s car was in the next garage over having the suspension, brakes, and chassis looked over after he’d hit a wall coming out of a particularly narrow turn.
“Did you see the way Schester cut across me? That idiot could have taken us both out!” Frankie said, seeming to think that waving his hands around like an idiot would make his point any more clear. I just rolled my eyes. Schester was an experienced driver, and it was Frankie’s disastrous overtake attempt that the stewards were reviewing. It was a shame he was so pretty when his personality and drive were so clearly lacking. He had the makings of a superstar if he could learn from his own idiotic mistakes.
“Calm down, review the footage, and decide the best course of action from there,” I said to him as calmly as I could. “Maybe you’ll learn some new evasive manoeuvres.”
“I know how to race, old man,” said Frankie. “I don’t need a lecture.”
This time, I let the mask drop. “Unless you want a very short and notorious race career, learn to listen to the people who came before you. You don’t want to be known as the little boy whose father promoted him for lack of talent.”
Frankie rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll learn more from the elderly when they clinch the Max contract for this team.”
He strutted out of the garage, leaving me seething.Max?Max Robertson, racing for Remini? At forty-one years old, some rumours pointed to him retiring at the end of the season. Could he instead be jumping from British Racing to Remini? Replacing me? My agent was deep into contract negotiations for me to continue onto the American Tour, and all the news I’d been hearing was positive.
“Damien, have I got time for a walk to clear my head?” I asked the chief mechanic. He was toying with one of the front tyres, never afraid to get his hands dirty with the underlings.
“You’ve got ten minutes,” said Damien. “I expect you back here sharp for Qualifying 3.”
I knew that normally I’d not be allowed, but Frankie was getting on all of our nerves. It was difficult for a team to be beholden to the son of a CEO, especially when he didn’t really have the drive to back up the money and effort that had been put into him.
I extracted myself from the narrow car and left the garage. It was a beautiful day in Monaco, with people hanging out of their balconies to watch the race. I waved up at the balconies to general cheering. I’d always been popular in Monaco, and Theo’s stunt with the t-shirt had made me even more popular with the young fans on TikTok.
“There’s everyone favourite celebrity!” Theo shouted from his car, getting out despite his team’s protests. He slung an arm around me and I realised with a little jolt that to was the first time he had ever been the one to initiate contact. Normally it was my job to get all up in his space. So I pushed my luck a little.
I ran one hand through his damp hair, messing it up even further. “How are you,Teodoro?”
“All the better for seeing you,Sebastiano,” said Theo in a very rough approximation of my Spanish accent.
“It doesn’t work when my name is already Spanish,” I said. “I could call youTeoitoand you could call meSebasteoteif you like.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
I laughed. “Ito is for little things, ote is for big.”
“I’m not that little. It’s not my fault you’re ridiculously tall for a Moto 1 driver.” Theo moved away from me and I immediately missed the contact.
“Sure thing, little Theo,” I said. “Are you ready to lose?”
“I’ve been half a second faster than you in qualifying so far,” said Theo. “I won’t be losing to you that easily.”
