‘Hey man, mind if we crash?’ Tiago says, laying his food opposite.
Tom’s quick to smile, though I could swear it widens when he sees me.
The only saving grace in this seemingly random scenario is that Tom saw us together in Melbourne, where Tiago introduced me as his friend. It’s not such a leap for us to be having a platonic lunch together. Even though I could’ve killed Tiago at the time, it’s worked out pretty neatly.
‘Nice to see you again, Jules,’ Tom says.
‘And you.’ I sit next to Tiago and unpack my cutlery.
‘How do you guys know each other?’ Tom asks.
I nearly drop my knife. We haven’t discussed this. We don’t have an agreed story. I need to get in there first before he says we’re exes. ‘We?—’
‘—Met at the Miami Open, what, four years ago? Been friends ever since.’ Tiago leads with such smooth confidence I close my mouth. ‘I knew jack shit about tennis and her dad’s a coach so she spent the whole first set talking me through it.’ How does he know my dad’s a coach? Has he beenengaging with my content? ‘I’m not sure the folks beside us appreciated it too much.’ His chuckle’s cheeky as he gives me a playful nudge.
As much as it pains me to admit it, that was good. Dare I say his smoothness is even… sexy. Nope. Too far. Shut up.
Tom’s eyebrows rise slightly at me as he forks some salad. ‘You’re a big fan of tennis?’
‘It’s in my blood,’ I say simply. ‘Are you?’
‘Sure. Madrid final’s starting pretty soon. Do you think Reisner will win it?’
I avert my gaze to my plate. ‘I expect so. Damian’s very good at controlling momentum. He has a fixed view of what he wants, and he won’t let anything stand in his way.’
‘Wimbledon quarter-final ’21,amirite?’ Tiago adds, giving me ahe doesn’t need to hear your sob storylook when Tom glances down to cut his chicken.
Damian was out with an injury for most of the 2021 season, but I get the point. I’m grateful Tom doesn’t seem to sharemy encyclopaedic memory of Damian’s career, buying Tiago’s comment with a curious dip of his head.
‘More importantly, who’ll win the Miami Grand Prix? Might it be you, Mr Pole-Sitter?’ I ask enquiringly, not admiringly, like Minnie does on her grid walk.
The corners of Tom’s lips tilt down. ‘Maybe. Car’s feeling strong.’ He sits back and shrugs. Case closed. This damn man givesnothingaway. ‘Hey, how are things over at Leone? I’m sorry about quali, man. It was hard to watch.’
Tiago spears an asparagus. ‘You know how racing goes. Sometimes you win, and sometimes… your brakes fail and the future looks dicey.’
He says it lightly, and follows it with a laugh, but I caught a glimpse earlier of what that qualifying session meant to him. He acts like he doesn’t care but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Always Mr Funny, Mr Charming, Mr Self-Effacing, Mr I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit-About-Anything-I-Just-Want-To-Have-A-Good-Time. It’s categorically untrue.
‘Well, you showed terrific racecraft. It was remarkable,’ Tom remarks.
They’re not besties, that much is true, but I don’t care. Tiago has organised the longest I’ve ever talked to Tom, in a setting where I can actually get to know him. Or at least try to.
Tiago waves his hand in anaw-shucksway. ‘Enough about us dumb drivers. J here’s working with F1 Academy this weekend.’
Tom’s mouth tilts, interested. ‘You never did tell me what you do, Jules. Do you drive for them?’
Tiago scoffs theatrically. ‘You’ve clearlyneverseen her drive!’
I know he’s putting on a show, but I can’t help but whip round to glare at him. ‘I’m a good driver!’
‘Sure you are.’ Tiago’s grin makes my anger climb higher. ‘All good drivers are that defensive.’
Drop it, Jules.Drop it.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m a Creative Director and entrepreneur.’
Tom nods slowly. ‘Very ni?—’
Tiago snorts. ‘That’s the fanciest way of saying influencer I’ve ever heard.’
