My dad is whispering now, his eyes darting around the cafeteria. No one is paying attention to us. A perk of being the driver no one takes seriously. I can’t help but notice the crowded table where Sterling sits. The happy smiles on everyone’s face who gets to share space with him.
“Yeah Dad, he’s cool. I’m cool,” I assure him, scooping up the last of my breakfast parfait. “Except I canceled an appointment with Dr. Jang last minute and I’m worried she won’t rebook me.”
“How last minute?”
“She knocked on my hotel room door,” I say. Dad frowns. “I know. I honestly didn’t think the meal with Axel would run so late.”
Or that I would be sucking him off after dessert.
“I’ll talk to her,” Dad sighs. “You know she’s the best damn acupuncturist in the United States. The fact that she agreed to fly out here to treat you at fucking midnight, is a big deal. Every rich person on the planet is lined up to see her.”
“I will fit her into my schedule whenever today, I swear.”
Dad stands, picking up his phone and typing. “This is going to cost more, I can feel it.”
He walks around the table and lightly ruffles my hair. He’s been doing that since I was a toddler and I love it. It brings me a sense of peace. “You just concentrate on saying the right things at the group presser this morning. I’ll handle everything else.”
“No one asks me questions at the pressers,” I remind him, shoving away my empty parfait bowl and reaching for my latte, which is Luke warm now just like I like it.
“That’s gonna change today, Gabe. Just you watch,” Damien says.
“It’s Gabriel,” I remind him, but he’s already lumbering off after my dad so he probably doesn’t hear me. I lean back in my chair and watch them go, sipping my latte.
An hour later, I walk into the group press conference, which is done in packs with five or six drivers at a time. They mix it up, but generally, they try to keep the teammates in different groups. You never know what drivers will be in your group. I realize before we even begin, that Damien was very, very right about this presser being different. The public relations manager for F1 grabs my arm as I make my way to the end of the couch because I'm always on the end. No one wants me front-and-center and I give zero shits. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
“Not today,” Holly says quietly. “You’re sitting next to Cristian today.”
“But… okay,” I say like an idiot.
Cristian is in the middle of the long, curved couch. He smiles at me as soon as I sit down. Cristian’s smile makes him look like he’s got an inside joke you should know about, but don’t. Our eyes lock and he says, “Welcome to the club.”
“Club?” I blink.
"Ignore him. There is no club," Jasper Nord says, leaning over from his spot on the other side of Cristian. Jasper is always front and center too. He's not only Finnish royalty but also a driver who looks like a Ralph Lauren model and he wins. A lot.
Cristian laughs. “But if there was a club, we could have a secret handshake or something cool like that.”
Jasper rolls his eyes and sighs like Cristian’s on his last nerve. But his eyes are smiling as he watches Rivera laugh. Right. These two are gay. That’s the club. And I’m in it now because of the kiss. Or more specifically, the media coverage of the kiss.
I just nod and smile and listen to Jasper and Cristian make small talk. It's more like bickering, honestly, but somehow I also feel like it might be foreplay. Finally, the reporters file in and sit down and Holly starts the conference.
They start with a guy from Sky Sports. He clears his throat. "My question is for Gabriel. I was wondering if you feel like you can hold the ground you claimed in qualifying last time, and maybe even do better here in Vegas? Also, you seem much more grounded now than at the beginning of the season, has anything changed, personally?"
I smile. Jesus, I guess no one is even going to try and be subtle about this. I rub my palm on my knee and pretend to give the question serious consideration. "Well, I mean, I think Mayflower's engineering team has really worked out the bugs I was having with the engine. It felt so much smoother in Montreal and Miami. I expect the same here. As for the second part of your question, I feel I have enough races under my belt that I'm starting to get the hang of things at this level of driving. I'm in a much better mindset since I've settled down, personally."
“That picture—”
“Are you referring to the guy—”
“Is he your—”
"Okay kids, simmer down," Grady Lewis says into the second mic, which he's plucked from Holly. "You're acting like this is TMZ, not Formula One."
The room chuckles, albeit sheepishly. I look down the row at Grady, give him a smile and then hold up my microphone again. "I'm dating someone. His name is Axel. That's all you need to know. I've always been bi, this is not scandalous or news, sorry if you missed that sentence on my Wikipedia bio."
More chuckles so I smile and then I say, "Anyone else think this race is a bit of a lottery for everyone since it's a new track? I mean, anyone can win, right?"
That shifts the conversation and all the other drivers in my group—Christian, Jasper, Grady, and Spencer—all start bickering good-naturedly about who has an advantage. Holly manages to rein them all in again and the reporters get back to asking more questions.
