He was playing dirty, and you know what? I’d be damned if I didn’t throw it right back.
I shoved a finger into his chest, but he didn’t budge. Fuck him. “Say whatever you want, asshole. You’re a sore loser because you’re not used to losing to a woman. You played dirty.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed. “I haveneverhad a problem with the fact that you’re a woman. In fact, I think it’s hot as fuck that you challenge me the way you do.” He let that land for a moment, pursing his lips. “But you’re in the big leagues now, so act like it.”
Scoffing, I tilted my head to the side, vividly aware of the encroaching camera crew. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
He smiled and fuckingpurred, “I’m better than you, and I’ll still hold the door open after I destroy you.”
My brain short-circuited. I made a noise that couldn’t possibly be English—maybe not even French. Ishouldhave said something, but he just winked and turned to the sea of cameras before I could respond. Lenses clicked, microphones were shoved in our faces, and the tension between us snapped back into something performative.
“Great race,” Callum said smoothly, his public mask sliding into place as he turned toward the reporters.
“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Great race.”
Liar.
We both turned away, appearing so goddamn casual.
And then he opened his fucking mouth. “You know, when you call me an asshole and then moan after… it really fucks with my self-control.” A beat. Then, deadlier, “Kinda makes me wonder what you’d sound like with your legs over my shoulders.”
My soul left my body, my brain was static, and my knees were weak. I stopped walking, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. With a parting wink, he walked off to our respective changing areas while I stood there, still stunned, turned on, and burning.
I was going to murder him. Then maybe fuck him. Possibly in that order… later. After I got out of this goddamn fire suit and remembered how to function like a human being.
Once the stills were done,the content team set up for aTikToksegment. A phone mounted on a tripod was aimed at us, and the crew explained the concept.
“Alright, we're going to ask you some rapid-fire questions,” the coordinator said. “Answer quickly, and keep it fun. Let's show the fans your personalities.”
We both nodded, and the first question came.
Coordinator: “Favorite track on the calendar?”
Callum: “Spa. The elevation, the history—it's iconic.”
Aurélie: “Suzuka. It's brutal, but there's nothing like it.”
I caught the faintest flicker of approval inCallum'sexpression. It was rare for us to agree on anything. But there was something else in his eyes, a gleam like he carried a secret only he knew.
Coordinator: “Pre-race ritual?”
Aurélie: “Stretching, then sitting alone with my playlist. No distractions.”
Callum: “Caffeine. Lots of it. And a pep talk with my engineer.”
I arched a brow. “Pep talks, Fraser?How cute.”
He chuckled, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “You should try it sometime,Dubois. Might help with those nerves.”
I rolled my eyes, though the playful jab made my cheeks warm. “I have other ways to settle my nerves. You should try them sometime, Fraser,” I whispered with a wink, just to get under his skin.
His hand flexed against the table. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He didn't answer. Didn't have to—I knew what he was thinking.
And for once, I hoped he stayed there. I calmly turned back to the camera for the next question.
Coordinator: “Dream destination?”
Callum: “Scotland. Home is where the heart is. Or Greece. Never been, but would like to.”
