Dana poured generously, then flopped onto the couch beside her with a grunt. “You look less like death warmed up. Barcelona air doing wonders, or has that idiot finally stopped being such a prat?”
Mia rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Just work. Lucas and I are… getting along better. Today was actually nice. We talked cars, not drama. Felt normal.”
Dana snorted, raising her glass. “Bloody miracle. About time he grew a pair and treated you like a person.” Her eyes narrowed, playful but with real relief underneath. “I’m glad you two are sorting it. Even if I still want to knee him in the groin for the Sienna stunt. Complete twat.”
Mia laughed—soft, genuine. “He’s trying. I think. Or at least he’s not running from the work anymore.”
Dana clinked her glass against Mia’s, hard enough to slosh a little wine. “Progress, I suppose. Fuck knows we needed some. To no more bullshit and actual decent days ahead.”
They toasted, laughter echoing off the walls as the movie played on. Outside, the night air drifted in cool and clean, carrying the faint hum of the city below.
* * *
Lucas
Across the hall, in his own room, Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through Sienna’s latest messages—photos from her day, emojis, plans for when he got back. He stared at them for a long moment, then opened his chat with Mia instead.
His thumbs hovered. Then he typed, simple and honest:
Thanks for today. The tech talk was the best part. See you tomorrow?
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Her reply came quick—quicker than he expected.
Can’t wait.
He exhaled, a small, relieved smile breaking across his face. It wasn’t much. But in the quiet of the hotel room, with the distant hum of the circuit still in his ears, it felt like enough.
For now.
???
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mia
The Barcelona test continued, the circuit air crisp and clear with the sharp, oily scent of hot rubber and fresh asphalt warming under the tires. It was milder than England, sure, but the February chill still lingered in the shade, and the wind carried a bite.
Mia spent most of her days in the media pen or hospitality suite, juggling live social posts, quick driver soundbites, and the endless stream of photographer requests. By late afternoon on the third day, her throat was dry from talking, her breath fogging faintly when she stepped into the cooler patches of the paddock, and her feet ached from pacing the concrete in boots that never quite kept the cold at bay.
She slipped into the physio room for a quick water break—quiet, gently air-conditioned, a rare pocket of calm away from the wind. Dana was there, taping Lucas’s left shoulder after a long stint in the car. The physio’s strong hands moved with practiced efficiency, rolling out strips of kinesiology tape while Lucas sat shirtless on the treatment table, eyes closed, breathing steady.
Mia froze for half a heartbeat in the doorway. His skin held a faint sheen from the cockpit effort, catching the low overhead lights in a way that made every ridge and valley of muscle stand out. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, the lean, hard lines of his torso shifting subtly as he exhaled. Years of fighting G-forces had carved him—defined pecs, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing below the waistband of his fireproof bottoms, the subtle flex of his abs when Dana pressed a thumbinto a tight spot. A thin, pale scar curved along his left collarbone, old but stark against his skin, and her gaze snagged on it, then slid lower—unintentionally—before she wrenched it back up. Heat flooded her face, sudden and traitorous, pooling low in her belly. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs. She clutched the water bottle like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Get it together, she told herself fiercely. It’s just a shoulder. He’s half-naked because he’s getting treatment.
Except nothing about this felt routine. Not when the sight of him made her mouth go dry and her skin feel too tight.
Dana glanced up first, catching the freeze in Mia’s stance. Her eyes flicked between them—knowing, assessing—and a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t say anything, but the look she shot Mia was unmistakable: I see you. And I see you seeing him. Then her gaze slid to Lucas, lingering just long enough to note the way his shoulders had tensed the second Mia stepped in.
“Almost done,” Dana said casually, smoothing the last strip of tape across his upper back. “You pushed hard today—don’t want that rotator cuff tightening again.”
Lucas grunted in agreement, eyes still closed. “Feels better already. You’re a miracle worker.”
Mia cleared her throat—soft, but it cracked the silence. She stepped fully into the room. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just grabbing water.”
Dana’s smirk deepened, though she kept her tone light. “Stay. You look like you could use five minutes off your feet. Sit.”
