She was now standing in a loose circle of drivers, most of whom were engaged in easy banter, but a couple of them—MaxSchreiberand TomasKowalski—stood stiffly, their faces sharp and unfriendly as they glanced her way. The tension in their posture was unmistakable, and when they leaned toward each other to exchange words, their expressions morphed into scowls.
It wasn't the first time I'd seen that look—the one that said she didn't belong. It pissed me off more than it should have.
Without thinking, I made my way over.
“Dubois,” I greeted casually, stepping into the circle and nodding at the other drivers. Aurélie's head turned, gaze catching mine for just a second too long.
“Fraser,” she replied, her tone polite but distant, but I caught the way her fingers curled subtly against her bicep.
Oh, how I wanted to force her to look at me. Then I could see the eyes I'd been imagining in truly sinful ways since I first saw her step foot on the grid.
“Settling in?” I asked, keeping my voice light as I slid my hands into my pockets. I didn't trust them, or myself. I was used to getting what I wanted: women, podiums, championships, you name it. But she was one thing I couldn't have, and it bothered me.
She nodded. “It's been… an adjustment.”
This wasn't like her. TheAurélieI'd met in Bahrain had been sharp, confident,unapologeticallydirect, and a little flirtatious. This version of her was guarded, almost nervous.
“You'll get used to it,” I told her, leaning in with my voice low enough so only she could hear. “They'll come around. They always do.”
She exhaled through her nose, barely perceptible, but I saw it. The slightest tension in her shoulders, the way her lips parted like she was about to say something then changed her mind.
Her fingers flexed, the same way mine did when I was trying not to react to something that got under my skin. For a moment, I thought she might brush me off entirely. But then the group began to break apart, the drivers heading toward their respective obligations, leaving the two of us standing alone.
An awkward silence settled between us, the air charged with something I couldn't quite name but could feel crawling over my skin.
“You didn't have to do that,” she said finally.
“Do what?” I asked, leaning casually against the nearest barrier.
“Step in,” she said, waving a hand at the backs of the other drivers. “I can handle it. Them.”
“I know you can. But that doesn't mean you should have to.”
Auréliehummed disapprovingly, then scoffed. “Why do you care?”
The question caught me off guard. Why did I care? She wasn't my responsibility. Fucking hell, we barely knew each other. But the idea of her standing there, surrounded by assholes, didn't sit right with me.
“Because I've been where you are,” I admitted. “New to the grid, trying to prove myself. It's not easy, and it's harder when people expect you to fail. I have thick skin now, but I didn't always.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. “I appreciate the sentiment, Fraser,”Auréliesaid, her tone softer now, less guarded. “But you don't need to worry about me.”
I chuckled. “Worrying isn't really my style,Dubois. More like looking out for my competition.”
She bit her lip, covering a small smile as she shook her head. Christ, I shouldnotbe looking at her mouth right now.Look away, Fraser.
“Is that what this is? A truce in the name of fair play?”
“Something like that.” I grinned. “Can't have you losing your edge because a couple of blokes can't handle a woman on the grid.”
She let out a genuine laugh at that, and I felt a surge of pride at having caused it. We stood there, sharing a brief moment of camaraderieamidstthe chaos of the paddock.
“Well, then, thank you,” she responded.
“Don't mention it,” I said, straightening. “But for the record, they'll stop glaring once you beat them enough times.”
She tilted her head. “Is that what worked for you?”
“Like a fucking charm.”
