Cam snorted. “Iconic is one way of putting it.”
Patting the spot on the couch beside him, Scott said, “Watch with me?”
Cam hesitated, but what the hell. Watching an old, scandalous race would do the job of taking his mind offqualifying tomorrow. He loved Silverstone as a track, but it being his home race didn’t help. The pressure was always bigger here.
“Why not,” he said, dropping himself onto the couch. There wasn’t much space between them, but the extended chaise of the L-shaped couch gave Cam just enough room to stretch his legs, even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with how close the other man was.
“Tired?” Scott asked when Cam sighed as he lay down.
“No more than usual,” Cam said.
Scott chuckled. “So tired.” He hit play on the remote and the race resumed.
“I don’t get how people didn’t guess that it was a deliberate crash to help his teammate win,” Scott said after a while, frowning at the TV screen, his long eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. They truly were absurd. There was no way the guy didn’t use mascara to make them that long and eye-catching. “I mean, even I see it! Right?” He turned his head to Cam as he blinked. “Why are you staring at me?”
“What did you do to your eyelashes?” Cam said. “You do know it looks ridiculous on a man, right?”
Scott blinked once, twice, before laughing. “What the—I’m trying to discuss a race with you, but the World Champion wants to talk about my eyelashes?”
Cam scowled. “It just looks absurd. That’s all.”
“I didn’t do anything to my eyelashes, Cam,” Scott said slowly. “I was born with them.” He grinned. “But thanks, that’s actually very flattering.”
“You’re lying,” Cam said skeptically. Taking Scott’s chin in his hand, he tipped his face up toward the light and studied his eyes.
Grinning, Scott batted his lashes exaggeratedly. “You’re really stroking my ego, you know. And it didn’t really need stroking.”
Cam studied those absurd eyelashes again. There was just no way they were real. “My ex-girlfriend used mascara and her eyes still didn’t look like yours.”
“Not my fault I was born perfect,” Scott said with a smug smile, looking at him from under those lashes.
“You’re flirting with me,” Cam said flatly.
“What’s the harm, champ?” Scott said, cocking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little flirting?”
“I’m not afraid,” Cam said, very evenly. “I’m just not gay.”
“And you aren’t my type at all, so what? It’s harmless. I flirt with everyone, even women.” Scott’s smile slipped. He cocked his head to the side, studying him. “You are really bothered by this. By me. My sexuality.”
Sighing, Cam grimaced. He wanted to deny that, but what was the point? Scott wasn’t an idiot. Sooner or later, he’d figure it out. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to be.”
Scott’s expression was unusually serious as he regarded him for a few moments. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I know it’s hard to overcome the toxic heteronormativity you grew up surrounded by. As long as you genuinely want to do better...”
“I do,” Cam said roughly. “It bothers me. I want to be better. I don’t mean to offend you. I just—”
“Your brain is just wired to think a certain way,” Scott said.
Cam gave a clipped nod.
“Okay,” Scott said at last. “I see the issue now. We can fix it. Rewire your brain.”
Cam let out a short laugh. “How? I genuinely don’t want to be that person, but it’s...” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Too deeply ingrained.”
“I think I know what will help,” Scott said before suddenly closing the distance between them and pressing his body against Cam’s side.
Cam went rigid. “What are you doing?”
“Exposure therapy,” Scott said, slinging an arm around Cam’s waist and snuggling up against him. “A lot of exposure to my gay self should do the trick. It’ll normalize being around gay people for you.” He grinned. “Now explain to me why the FIA didn’t annul the results of Singapore 2008 after they discovered it was a fraud.”
