She’d never heard of airbags in clothing, but she was too self-conscious to ask for more information, even if Miguel seemed friendly. The airbag in Isaac’s leathers must be like the inflatable kind in a vehicle.
Several more bikes started nearby, and Miguel took a pair of earplugs from his pocket and rolled them before inserting them into his ears. “It’s about to get loud.”
He arched an eyebrow, and she took a set from her pocket, too. She’d been worried people wouldn’t like her wearing ear protection, but it looked to be standard practice. Even Isaac had stuck some in before putting on his helmet. Anna slipped hers in as bikes started all down the pit lane. Even with protection, the roar of the bikes filled her chest, but it was a bearable rumble instead of a piercing whine.
She bit her lip and turned away from the helpful mechanic. The idea that the riders rode so fast and crashed fairly often must add to the excitement, but to her, it just seemed dangerous. She’d watched a couple of horrific crashes online last night before stopping. It was too scary to think about watching real-time accidents. Every few years, a MotoGP racer died. Had any of them been Isaac’s friends?
She shook her head, not wanting to think about crashing as she watched the beginning of FP1. Within seconds, riders streamed past, nice and slow. Isaac and Yoshi joined them. Many of the racers swerved back and forth, weaving the bikesas they worked their way toward the main part of the track. She’d have to ask the reason for that later. She soon lost them from sight around the corner. The bike sounds faded but didn’t disappear as they returned in less than two minutes.
Turning to a TV screen in the box that showed the riders as they circled the track, she watched in fascination to see the riders in action. She got caught up in the racing and lap times more than expected. It was suspenseful and mesmerizing to watch the laps as the speed increased. She sucked in her breath several times as riders came close to each other or wobbled at high speed. Once Isaac came half out of his seat, and she found herself clutching her folder so tightly, she had indentations in her hand.
For the first lap or two, each rider rode at a moderate speed, somewhat less than full out. After that, they did what the commentators called flying laps, where they rode faster and had incredible lean angles as they flew around the track, pushing themselves and their bikes to the limit. Her hands grew damp as she waited for someone to crash, but the only rider to fall slid across the track as though in slow motion and walked away unscathed with only dusty, scuffed leathers.
There wasn’t much to differentiate most of the riders to her undiscerning eye, except for Vince who pulled her gaze on every lap, as did his young teammate. They had a similar riding style that seemed more off the bike than on, as they clung to the seat and handlebars by some miracle. From what she observed, Vince’s abilities were incredible. It was no wonder he was a twelve-time champion. Twice she watched with awe as he saved what should have been sure crashes that seemed to be taken in stride and barely affected his lap times. Those around her seemed unfazed by his near misses—they must be his normal.
With her heart in her mouth, Anna watched the riders in their bright colors whiz by, often too fast for her to follow whothey were. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the screen. The noise remained constant as the riders staggered themselves into position around the track. She’d have to learn the teams and their numbers to follow them better. She found herself getting into the racing spirit, even if Isaac wasn’t on the screen very often. Vince and Luka were on the screen about half the time, because watching them was such an exhilarating show.
She knew little about racing, but the men on bikes were incredible. Motorcycle racing wasn’t just daring; it was also athletic. No wonder the riders had to be fit. The idea of asking Isaac to go to the pool with her flashed through her mind. Since Catarina had suggested it, the possibility had stayed with Anna.
Each rider’s best lap time appeared on a ranked scoreboard. Vince stayed consistently in the top three, as was the brash Australian she’d met last night. Vince, Austin Spencer, and Luka Catala jockeyed for top position while Isaac hovered between eighth and tenth, sometimes higher briefly before being knocked back to tenth as everyone’s times improved lap by lap.
When he returned to the pit after twenty minutes, the crew sprang into action, removing his used tires and replacing them with new ones on his main bike while he sat on a chair and discussed tire selection and the curves with Angel. There were no flirty looks now. He was in a different zone—entirely focused on his job. She was prone to hyper-concentration herself. Perhaps this was what it looked like from the outside.
Everyone in the box let Isaac and Angel talk, keeping busy with their own duties. She had nothing specific to do yet, so she stayed out of the way but drifted closer to follow their discussion. This debrief was another facet she found fascinating.
Isaac stayed in the box for only a couple of minutes before he remounted his bike, once more swerving his way up pit lane and zooming onto the track. Several other riders had come in and gone back out, too. It seemed to be part of the process. Ride.Debrief. Ride more as the countdown from forty-five minutes ticked toward zero.
Next door, another rider arrived, revving his engine much louder than the others. He stopped his bike with a shout and threw something, perhaps a glove, across his box, where it smacked against the thin partition that divided their garages.
Anna’s eyes opened wider at the stream of fluid Spanish cursing that erupted from the emotional rider. Translating the gist of his tirade, she learned his bike was crap, the track was dirty, the engine was too slow, his tires were wrong, and he didn’t like the brake settings. That was quite the list of problems. She wouldn’t have understood, except that he repeated his opinions several times at full volume. It had started in front of his bike and included expansive hand gestures as his rant continued deeper into his box.
His crew remained quiet, perhaps shocked or offended, as they listened. Maybe it was a regular occurrence, though it seemed peculiar behavior. She wanted to peek and get a better look at who was acting this way so she could steer clear.
The boxes on the other side had been quieter. She couldn’t hear Yoshi, with whom they shared a garage, or Luka and Vince. She glanced around Isaac’s team. Isaac hadn’t acted like that when he’d returned, even if he’d suggested adjustments to the bike. Which was normal?
Miguel, the young man with the ponytail, caught her eye and mouthed the name, “Xavi Martinez.”
She crossed to crouch beside the mechanic and whispered, “Does he yell like that a lot?” It bothered her that this Xavi would be so abusive to his team. Even hearing that level of frustration made her bite her lip and her breathing raspy. Directed her way, she’d have been triggered. She couldn’t imagine Isaac reacting that way if he was unhappy. If so, she didn’t want to deal with it.
The young man threw back his head and laughed. “Pretty much always. His team lets him get the emotion all out before they talk to him about their suggestions. It lasts about five minutes, then he calms down. You watch, on race day he’ll be totally different. Cool as a cucumber and all business.”
Given the volume and length of the outburst, Anna was skeptical. She’d have to see it to believe it.
After an intense forty-five minutes, FP1 ended, and she found herself wound tight from the tension of the practice. Her shoulders ached, so she stretched and unclenched her fists. If she was this swept up from practice, she’d be a wreck on race day. Vince finished second and Isaac tenth. He congratulated the team when he returned to the box to debrief once more with his crew chief, seeming pleased, if she read him right. Isaac seemed easier to read than most people, perhaps because she paid better attention, or maybe he just didn’t mask his emotions. From his hand gestures, he and Angel discussed his approach into several of the corners, which he knew by both name and number.
“Anna, can I get your help?” Isaac said once he’d finished. She hopped up from the chair where she’d been sitting, her folder under her arm. He gave her his helmet, and she placed it on a shelf near the TV beside a second one. He handed her his gloves and a tall plastic water bottle, and she followed him out the back through a short maze of winding turns that opened up outside.
“How can I help you? You didn’t need me to carry these,” she said when they stood behind pit lane in front of a long row of trailers painted with various team colors. She shuffled her feet, not looking at Isaac. Was she supposed to go back inside now? The expectations were unclear, and she didn’t want to do something wrong. Plus, without the distraction of the others around, she was very aware of how her body reacted to Isaac’sproximity. She felt an insistent attraction being so close, and she didn’t want to do something embarrassing.
“I thought you might want a break from the noise,” he said, removing his earplugs with a heart-stopping smile. “Or something to eat. Since you ate little at breakfast.”
He’d noticed her rush at breakfast? She took out her earplugs and looked around.
She hadn’t paid attention until he mentioned it, but it was much quieter here. The first free practice had finished, and another was about to start. Her schedule said the Moto2 bikes would soon have the track.
“This one’s mine,” said Isaac, indicating a white, blue, and green trailer with a set of steep stairs with a white handrail leading up to a metal door. Now that she was paying attention, his team colors and logo marked the trailer. “You can come here anytime, whether or not I’m here. Even just for a break from the noise.” He hesitated and looked down, his boot scuffing the sand from the asphalt. “Want to come in? Do you want a Coke or some water while I get changed? Maybe lunch?”
She nodded, and he turned and climbed the stairs.
