She didn’t. Oh man…
“Pretty big? I think you mean big and pretty.”
A soft, almost soundless chuckle escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth with a hand to hide it. I notice her nails are plain white polish. For the last several races she’s had the Mirabella logo on her nails. The taming of her personal style because of judgmental assholes hiding behind keyboards continues, and I’m saddened by it. Bash always wore a crazy, colorful, and sometimes downright gaudy, pocket square in the navy blazer he used to wear every race day. No one ever slammed him on the internet for it. She glances around to make sure we’re still as private as possible before she responds. “The only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”
“I love how you only give backhanded compliments. Like you think I can’t see right through them.” I grin, step closer, and lower my voice. “You loved having your lips on my cock as much as I loved it.”
“Work, Billy,” she says, growing serious and moving the conversation back on track. “So you’re fine with the new sponsor?”
“Of course. But their patchisugly.” I can’t help but be honest and I can see the resignation in her eyes.
“It’s not ideal, but the eighty grand they’re giving us, per season, to wear it is.” Frankie sighs and folds her arms across her ample chest. “Antonio is also pissed off that we’ve decided to replace his engine this race, which means he takes a grid penalty. It was going to have to be done eventually, and he had a lot of trouble last race, and Rocco told me the sooner the better. I picked this race because, historically, he performs better than you here so he has a better chance at bouncing back.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks.” Frankie gives me another small smile. “His attitude is getting old.”
“I know.” I want to give her shoulder a squeeze, or her hand, but it wouldn’t be deemed appropriate, I don’t think. I don’t know why. I mean, I’ve hugged Bash and Dario a ton in front of the crew. But for some reason touching Frankie in public feels… off. “I’ve got to get ready. Try and focus.”
She gives me a little nod and turns back to the monitors, fixing an ear piece into her ear. I can’t deny Frankie’s logic, and I wonder why Antonio is. It makes sense that the engine get replaced on this track. I vow to talk to him after qualifying, but for now, I need to get myself ready. I find Clara in the corner of the garage, behind my car, holding two tennis balls. “Ready for some reflex tests?”
I stretch. “Let’s do this.”
An hour later, I’m slipping into the driver’s seat as engineers and mechanics and the rest of my team buzz around the car. I do my initial laps, and it goes well. Better than well. I finish round one of qualifying in second. Round two, I manage fourth.
“How you feeling?” Rocco says as he leans over the car as I’m adjusting my helmet, getting ready to head out for the final round of qualifying, fighting for that pole position with the nine others who made it this far.
“Good. All good. What happened with Antonio? New engine having problems?” I have to sound casual and chill because we have mics in our headsets, and we’re often recorded, and it’s used on TV. Antonio didn’t make it to round three, which he needed because of the pending engine penalty. Putting in a new engine means an automatic five place grid penalty, which isn’t so bad if you make it to round three of qualifying and finish in the top ten. But he didn’t make it to round three. So now he’ll start seventeenth tomorrow with the penalty.
“Not engine. Just bad luck.”
Rocco’s mossy eyes are narrowed, and there’s a crease between his eyebrows that says luck had nothing to do with it. Antonio fucked something up. I nod back and concentrate on my own final qualifying lap. I push all the emotional garbage out of my head and focus as I pull out of the pit lane. I fly through the course, which is tricky with a lot of banking turns and a chicane. But I do incredibly well and manage a second place finish. Not first but it still feels fucking great.
I go through the flurry of media, high-fiving every team member I can find with Clara nearby giving me water, holding my helmet, doing whatever I need as always. Then I strut back toward the Mirabella paddock, and that’s where Clara leaves my side. “She’s in the lounge?”
I nod.
“I’ll be in your dressing room. Or maybe the car. The car feels safer,” Clara muses, genuine concern on her face.
I hug her. “I am not letting you wait in the car like a Golden Retriever. Take the car and head back without me. I’ll text you when I’m back at the hotel.”
Clara is shocked. “But how will you get home?”
“Sherry. Or someone. I’ll figure it out.” I wink at her. “Even if I have to hitchhike.”
She laughs but her shoulders relax, and I know it’s because she has been given permission to escape her step-monster. I watch her go for a minute and then I head to the lounge. Mum is sitting on the balcony. She’s added a wide brim hat to her wardrobe to shield her from the sun, and she’s giggling at something Bash has said. She drops one of her manicured hands on top of his on the table. I don’t hate that she flirts a lot with almost any man that walks by her. But her habit of flirting withmarriedmen like Bash really annoys me. I pick up my pace as Bash subtly moves his hand away from my mom.
He sees me first and stands, extending his arms. “My boy! Great job today.”
“I am planning on taking over the lead by the third lap,” I assure him as I hug him back.
“Billy, baby, don’t get cocky,” Mom advises as she stands to also hug me, but sadly, hers isn’t as warm or heartfelt as Bash’s.
“Confident and cocky aren’t the same thing,” I reply, trying to sound less annoyed than I am. Then I see Frankie walk into the room, and my annoyance evaporates. She’s smiling and looks truly happy, and I know it’s because of me, my race results, and I realize in that moment that I love making her smile, even if the reason doesn’t involve nudity.
Her eyes scan the room and find mine. I grin at her, and her smile deepens, and she makes her way over. “Great job!”
She gives me a congratulatory punch on the arm. For real. Like, what the actual fuck? I almost laugh out loud. Bash actually does. “Frankie, you can hug your drivers. Especially the ones that are poised to bring you Constructors’ points. I always did.”
