“Like you need help winning,” I tease. “Congrats on P1.”
“And on beating me for a change.”
Jasper, who finished second, gives his boyfriend an affectionate squeeze, and I’m flooded with irrational jealously. Not of Jasper. Or Cristian. But of both of them. Of their tender touches and sickly-sweet looks and inside jokes.
I want that. All of it. And I want it with Ben.
The realization should freak me the fuck out, but instead of filling me with fear, I’m almost giddy with excitement. I always imagined myself in a relationship like Cristian and Jasper’s someday. But that someday was a long way away. After I was done racing. When my father’s opinion of me didn’t matter so much.
But what if we didn’t have to wait? What if we could have everything Cristian and Jasper have right now? Sure, they’ve gotten some blowback from fans, but that’s been overshadowed by the overwhelming amount of support. There’s no reason to believe it would be any different for me and Ben.
And as for my father—well, maybe coming out could be the first step on my journey of not giving a fuck about what he thinks of me. More like a big, Neil Armstrong-sized leap, but a guy’s gotta start somewhere, right?
The only sticking point is that I have no idea if Ben wants what I do. For all I know, he’s perfectly happy with our coworkers-with-benefits arrangement. I guess that’s another conversation we’ll have to have—after he’s done reading me the riot act for disobeying him on the track, of course.
“As if.” Cristian gives Jasper a playful push. “I have more podiums than you do this season.”
“I have more points.”
“For now. And I’m the reigning champion.”
“That and five dollars will get you an iced matcha tea latte at Starbucks.”
“Not if I want a venti.”
“Boys, boys.” Gabe steps between them, putting a hand on each of their chests. “You’re both pretty. Now let’s go get weighed in so we can get this party started.”
We go en masse to the scale. Then, once we’re weighed, Cristian, Jasper, and I take turns being interviewed by Leah before we’re shepherded to the podium to receive our trophies.
They call us on stage in reverse order, meaning I’m the first one out there. Someone hands me a LaRue ball cap as I jog up the stairs to the platform, and I jam it on top of my sweaty hair and step out into the brilliant late afternoon sunshine. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way—the fans whistling and cheering, my face ten times its usual size on the enormous video display that serves as a backdrop.
I wave to the masses and search the crowd for the only person who matters, and there he is, at the front of the throng with Jacques and Elodie, his arms resting on the barrier separating the fans from the stage. Our eyes meet, and he touches two fingers to his temple in a brief salute. I nod in acknowledgement, my throat tight and heart full as I take my place on the farthest of the three podiums.
Jasper and Cristian are announced next, and I remove my ball cap for the national anthem of Spain, Cristian’s home country. Then a local dignitary whose name I barely register hands us our trophies and medals, which we quickly exchange for the bottles of champagne at our feet, spraying each other and grinning like idiots as confetti rains down on us.
When the ceremony is over, I make my way back through the paddock to Recharge Garage, sweaty and sticky, hoping I’ll find Ben there. He’s nowhere to be seen, but when I get to my driver’s room, there’s a text on my cell saying he went back to the hotel and asking me to let him know when I get there.
Unfortunately, I’ve got a shower to take and a press conference to do before I can get out of here, so it’s over an hour before I’m crossing the threshold of the Pálacio Tangará, the five-star hotel where most of the team is staying. My plan is to go to my room, grab a snack from the minibar, and text Ben, but instead I find my finger pressing the button for the fourth floor, where his room is located.
He opens the door almost immediately after I knock, his shirt unbuttoned and damp hair clinging to his forehead. Damn, he looks good. It’s all I can do not to pounce on him and devour him.
Sadly, I don’t have the same effect on him because the second he sees me the color drains from his face and he grabs my arm and jerks me inside, slamming the door shut behind me.
“What happened to letting me know when you get to the hotel?” he asks.
“Sorry.” I shrug. “I guess following instructions isn’t my strong suit today.”
“Or any day,” he says, sitting on the couch and buttoning up his shirt. “Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” he echoes. “You took an awfully big risk coming here. It’s a lot easier for me to roam around the hotel unnoticed than it is for you. But then you like living dangerously, don’t you?”
I flop down next to him, dying to touch him but leaving a few inches between us to be safe because I’m pretty sure he’s not in a touching mood right now. “I wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t.”
“There’s dangerous and then there’s unnecessarily dangerous. And what you did today—”
“But I did it, didn’t I?” I can’t help grinning. “I mean, you’ve got to admit, that move was sweet. René never had a chance.”
