The words landed softly. Team Jax. He glanced up again—she was still there, scrolling on her phone now, probably reading whatever Mia had just explained. He felt a quiet tug in his chest. Fake or not, having her here felt… good. Real good.
???
Race day.The grid thrummed with tension. Aria found him in the garage before he headed to the car. She wore an Ashworth cap someone had slipped her, ponytail pulled through the back, looking small and determined in the middle of the controlled frenzy.
She stepped close—close enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume cutting through the sharp bite of fuel and rubber. Something clean, a little sweet. It made him pause.
“Good luck,” she said, voice soft but steady. Then she rose on her toes and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek. Her lips lingered for two heartbeats—soft, deliberate, electric.
His pulse slammed hard. Not just from the race nerves. From her. From the way she’d chosen to do that, right here, in front of everyone. Fake PDA, sure. But the warmth of her mouth on his skin felt anything but fake.
She pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “Go be fast.”
He stared at her for a second, then grinned—wide, real, reckless, eyes twinkling with sudden, unguarded joy. “Yes, ma’am.”
The race was a war. Hot track, brutal degradation, cars sliding on every exit. Lucas led from lights out—untouchable, clinical, crossing the line for the win. Jax fought like a man possessed: defended hard against a Ferrari into Turn 1, stuck a perfect overtake on a Mercedes with DRS open, nailed the two-stop strategy. When the chequered flag waved, he took P3.
First podium of the season.
He pulled into parc fermé, killed the engine, and sat there for a second—chest heaving, hands shaking on the wheel. Then he climbed out, ripped off the helmet, and let the roar wash over him.
He jogged to the barriers. Lucas was already there, helmet off, grinning widely. Mia near him in Ascari colours, cheering both drivers.
Jax scanned the crowd behind them.
Aria stood a step back, hands clasped tight, eyes glassy with emotion.
He didn’t hesitate. Reached over the barrier, hooked an arm around her waist, and pulled her in hard. She gasped—surprised laugh muffled against his shoulder—as he hugged her tight, sweaty race suit and all, her small frame pressed to his chest for a long heartbeat.
“Thank you,” he rasped against her hair. “For being here.”
She squeezed back, fingers curling into the fabric over his back. “You were incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit deeper than the podium. He held on a second longer than he should have, breathing her in—perfume, sunshine, something uniquely her—before letting go.
???
Aria
From the garage monitors she had watched Jax cross the line in third. The crowd’s roar vibrated through her bones. Her throat tightened, eyes stung. She knew what this meant—the months of doubt, the debriefs that left him quiet and tense, the way he’d admitted earlier this week that he was scared of losing his seat. This podium wasn’t just silverware. It was breathing room. It was proof he still had the fire.
She was surprised by how proud she felt—deeply, unexpectedly proud. They’d only known each other a short time, really—a rooftop conversation in Singapore, a calculated dinner in Mexico City, a few texts and this weekend. Yet watching him fight for every tenth, then cross that line… it hit her somewhere soft and unguarded. Like she’d been rooting for him all along, not because of the optics or the strategy, but because she simply liked seeing him win.
At the podium she stood with Mia and a handful of Ashworth and Ascari crew in the viewing area below. Lucas sprayed champagne first, laughing as it drenched the front row. Jax stood on the third step, trophy raised high, looking wrecked and radiant. Once, his gaze found her in the crowd. He lifted the trophy a fraction higher—like a quiet thank-you meant only for her.
Her heart gave a small, unsteady thump. She smiled back, subtle and private.
As she watched him up there—sweat-streaked, exhausted, triumphant—her mind drifted back to the barriers. The way he’dreached over without hesitation, hooked an arm around her waist, and pulled her in hard against his chest. She’d been taken aback at first—surprised by the sudden strength of it, the heat of his race suit, the way his arms had wrapped around her like she belonged there. But then… it had felt nice. Really nice. Warm, solid, almost genuine in a way that caught her off guard. For those few heartbeats, with her face pressed to his shoulder and his breath against her hair, it hadn’t felt like part of the plan at all. It had just felt… right.
She blinked the memory away, cheeks warming slightly. Fake arrangement, she reminded herself. Optics. Narrative. But the echo of that hug lingered, quiet and pleasant, making the podium celebration feel a little more personal than it should have.
The after-party was on a sprawling rooftop—string lights, low bass, drivers and sponsors laughing under the stars. Jax kept her close: arm loose around her waist when they walked, hand brushing her lower back when they paused to talk. Every time a camera flashed, he leaned in, murmured something teasing in her ear that made her laugh for real.
Her phone wouldn’t stop.
Socials:Aria Moon in Jax Callaghan’s garage! That after race hug—my heart! They’re official, right?
Min-Jae’s texts were sharper, angrier.
