But when I came, my whole body shuddering with the force of it, she wasn't gone.
She was still there. Still everywhere. I exhaled sharply, frustration slicing through me. This wasnotgood.
I turned the water to freezing, but it didn't do shit to douse the slow, simmering hunger in my chest.
By the time I was dry, dressed, and back on the couch, I felt no fucking better. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, rubbing the towel over my damp hair, but the tension was still there. I grabbed my phone off the table, unlocking it before I could think better of it. Big mistake, because once again there she was.
Her face. Her car. That moment she stepped out of the cockpit like she owned the whole fucking world.
I whimpered, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. I should turn it off, spare myself this torture. Should definitely close the app and consider throwing my phone across the room.
But I didn't.
Because I wasn't just watching.
I was studying.
I was memorizing every single frame like I had any fucking right to.
And the worst part was that I'd seen this coming. Long before she ever set foot in this paddock. Before she even knew I existed.
Shanghai was going to be different. It had to be. Because if I let her get in my head like this again? I wasn't sure I'd survive it.
That's what got me on my feet. Out the door. Anywhere but chasing her down and ruining everything.
The paddock had shiftedinto celebration mode, drivers filtering out to wherever their teams had set up post-race festivities. Shanghai was next, and soon enough, everyone would be hopping on flights to different corners of the world, milking the one weekend off before the next race.
I should have been in a good mood. I won. My season had started exactly the way it needed to—dominant.
And yet, she wasn't here. I wasn't looking for her. Not really. I was just… aware that she wasn't around.
My fingers twitched restlessly around my whiskey glass as I leaned back against the bar at the private event Red Bull had set up for their usual post-race celebrations. Yet the buzz I typically chased was nowhere to be found.
Marco was beside me, going on about some commentator's shit take on strategy calls, but my focus wasn't there.
“Fraser, you good?” Marco's voice broke into my thoughts.
I exhaled through my nose. “Fine.”
Kimiwalked up, fresh beer in hand. He nodded at both of us. “Hell of a race.”
Marco clinked bottles with him. “Not bad for a midfield car, huh?”
Kimismirked. “Not bad atall.”
The music pulsed through the suite, low and bass-heavy, the kind of beat that usually helped me shut my brain off. Theafter-partywas in full swing, packed with team members, drivers, VIPs, a handful ofF1-adjacentsocialites, and some pit chasers.
But none of it worked, because she wasn't here.
I didn't know why the fuck that mattered. It shouldn't matter. And yet, I’d started looking the second I stepped into the room.
“What's with the face?” Marco asked, giving me a once-over as I slumped against the counter.
“I don't have a face,” I muttered, flagging the bartender down.
“You definitely have a face,”Kimicut in, smirking behind the rim of his glass. “One that looks like it's missing someone.”
I narrowed my eyes. “The fuck does that mean?”
