I locked up the door to my beach and swung a towel over my shoulder. I was wearing my own brand of sunglasses, and a Rolex, as I was contractually obligated to do out in public, even off-season. They’d even printed an image of the watch on my driving gloves.Bloody ridiculous.
I walked the short distance from my apartment to the beach, catching the odd phrase in Spanish as I passed. I had been trying to learn, but often it felt like racing was the only thing that had ever stuck in my brain. I’d chosen my apartment in Torre Del Mar because it was a popular tourist destination for Spanish people, to immerse myself in the culture. And to avoid every other British person on the planet.
I laid my towel out on my usual lounger. A generous and regular tip to the man who owned the sun beds ensured that my favourite was always available, and that there was a clear circle around it so that I couldn’t be so easily shaded or bothered. Though my pasty-white Scandinavian ancestry meant that tanning was a careful and arduous process. I slathered on the Factor Fifty suncream and laid out under the morning sun with my Kindle in hand.
Despite never intending on getting one for myself, I quite liked the tattoo I’d chosen to cover up my forfeit in the bet I had with Sebastian García. Feathers extended across my chest, closer and smaller as they approached the centre until they were almost one black mass.
I spent so long reading that the day passed me by, topped up by the occasional mocktail and snacks from the beach hut. Despite technically being off the clock, I knew I had to maintain my fitness and stay sober. There would be time for champagne and celebration once I won a race.
I put down my book with a sigh. Every time I thought back to my disastrous last season I felt ill. It was like Sebastian García had cursed me when we collided at the start of the season, and neither of us had recovered in the months of racing afterward. I hadn’t managed one podium, and neither had he. There had even been rumours down the grapevine that Remini were considering replacing him for the upcoming race season, but that hadn’t come to pass.
Shame. I allowed myself the mean-spirited thought for a second, though my therapist had tried to warn me off against letting thoughts of revenge into my head. Our rivalry had made great ratings, great tabloid fodder and even better social media crap. But it hadn’t done us any good. I needed to get out of my own head. I needed to stop focusing on Sebastian García and focus on my own racing.
Especially because as I looked out to the ocean, I realised I was hallucinating my racing rival. And in my imagination, Sebastian García was having his full Daniel Craig James Bond moment. He was walking from chest deep water toward the shoreline, slowly exposing inch after inch of glistening, tanned skin. He reached up one hand to slick back his dark hair, which had hung over his forehead, and then ran one hand down his tattooed chest.
The Sebastian García of my imagination was wearing shorts so tight that they left nothing to the imagination. His body was covered in a trimmed layer of dark hair from chest to navel, and his legs were thick with muscle and similarly hairy. He emerged completely from the sea, dripping water down onto white sand…
I screwed my eyes tight shut and opened them again to dispel the illusion. Sebastian García may have featured in some of my dreams, but it was totally unfair that he got to feature in my waking moments too. But no matter how hard I blinked, I couldn’t dispel the fantasy that stood before me.Fuck.
And then Sebastian García caught my eye, and the way his expression soured was so unlike how he looked at me in my dreams that I realised the Sebastian stood in front of me might just be the real thing.
He marched across the sand toward me, and for the first time I caught sight of the tattoo under his chest hair. Constellations covered his chest, dark galaxies and swirling nebulae. All to cover up the tattoo I’d so cruelly imposed on him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone full of accusation.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied. I was feeling vindictive toward the man I’d not even spoken to in almost a year. “You’re standing in my sun, so if you could shuffle out of the way…”
“You’re burning, I am doing you a favour,” said Sebastian.
I risked a glance down at my chest, and saw to my own frustration that he was right. But I couldn’t start slathering the factor fifty on when I was trying to be intimidating. “Maybe I like burning.”
“Don’t be so…” Sebastian seemed to be searching for a word.
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘obtuse’,” I said.
He grinned. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
Bastard.
Sebastian nudged my legs aside and sat down on the sun bed, seemingly not caring that he was dripping on my dry towel. Without asking, he went fishing in my bag with one hand and pulled out the suncream, squirting a generous dollop on one hand. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
“You didn’t answer mine,” I replied.
“I asked first.”
“Fine. I own an apartment here, just down the road. I prefer being in Spain in the off-season. It feels like…aah!”
Sebastian had cut me off with a surprise attack, slathering the suncream in his hand down my chest and onto my stomach. “Carry on,” he said as he rubbed it in, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying not to let my voice reach a high pitched shriek.
“You are burning,Teodoro.If you won’t take care of yourself then someone has to.”
I tried to focus as rough hands made gentle work of the suncream over my skin. But the reality was, I’d had a whole lot of fantasies about Sebastian García just like this one. His hands on me…on my chest…my stomach…dipping below the belt line of my shorts…
I slapped his hand away. “Hey, there’s such thing as too familiar.” I could feel myself hardening in my shorts and I was not about to let Sebastian have that one up on me.
“Turn over,” was Sebastian’s only response.
