Chapter 10 Theo
Theo
Spain...somewhere
It had been at least ten minutes since I had seen any buildings when the sat-nav indicated that we were close.
Ahead, at the crest of the hill, was a beautiful cortijo farmhouse, standing proud amongst the olive trees.
The house was mostly traditionally constructed.
Its walls were bumpy, whitewashed plaster with little shuttered windows to keep the heat at bay in the punishing South Spanish summer.
The roof was made of terracotta tiles, and flowers climbed across a whole wall from ground to the roof.
As I approached, I could see Sebastian's more modern additions, still sensitive to the house's traditional style.
A new stonework terrace stretched out over the hillside, and underneath were a couple of garage doors painted the same wood-brown as the window shutters.
Opening onto the terrace were double doors, thrown open to catch the little breeze that there was.
The car grumbled appreciatively as I eased it off the dirt road and onto the smooth tarmac of Sebastian's driveway. Above, on the terrace, an angel stepped through the double doors and out into the sunlight.
I'd always thought that Sebastian was one of the people most at home on the Moto 1 grid.
Where the rest of us felt completely uncomfortable in our jumpsuits and heavy, sweat-inducing helmets, he had always seemed at ease.
But Sebastian now? Looking over the Spanish countryside in a simple, loose-fitting linen shirt and shorts?
He looked completely at home, and utterly beautiful.
The loose, light linen contrasted with his tan skin and serious expression, but his face broke into a smile as he looked down at me.
It was a moment before I realised I'd been goggling at him, engine on and without moving as he descended the steps toward me. I hastily switched off the engine and stumbled out of the car. Sebastian raised his sunglasses and gave me a wide smile.
"Teodoro!" he called. “No Lamborghini today?"
"I didn't want to be too ostentatious, and that was a rental,” I replied. "Though in hindsight, I should have brought the Land Rover.”
“Land Rover, psh," said Sebastian. "You want a continental brand, not that British trash. Let me show you my all-terrain car.”
Sebastian pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. Behind him, the garage doors started to rise with a dull whine.
"Oh, nice!" I ducked under the door as soon as it had lifted high enough for me.
Inside was a sleek room at odds with the exterior of the house.
Two beautiful and very different cars sat bathed in light from above.
A glass-bottomed swimming pool was set into the ceiling and the sunlight was filtering through the water and bathing the cars inside the garage with undulating lights.
A large black Mercedes G-Class suited for rough terrain, and a sleek, low new Ferrari in the famous red colour.
Between then, a gap large enough for another car.
"Car in for maintenance?" I asked. Sebastian had walked into the garage behind me, and was now rubbing the back of his head self-consciously.
"I made space for you," he explained. "I did not think you would be the kind of man to leave an expensive car lying around in the sun."
"Thanks, Seb,” I said.
"Seb," Sebastian chuckled." Why is it that the British insist on shortening names so much, while us Spanish lengthen them to show affection?"
"Because you're cultural freaks," I joked, passing him as I left the garage. Sebastian stood aside to let me carefully park the Porsche between his two cars.
"A rose between two thorns," I commented as I got out.
Sebastian ran one finger over the yellow hood of the car. "I'll allow you to insult my cars like that, but only because yours is Italian and beautiful."
"Do you like Italian beauties?" I asked. "Because I'm sure my grandfather was like one sixty-fourth Italian."
"You are the one British-made thing I can tolerate," said Sebastian with a smile. "Well, you and Worcestershire sauce."
I grinned as his accent stumbled over so many consonants in a row.
"You know it’s just pronounced 'Wooster', right? You don't need to try and pronounce every single letter."
"Patate, tomate,” grinned Sebastian, and I knew he was messing with me.
Without asking, he lifted the bonnet of the car and retrieved my suitcase. “Are you coming, Teodoro?” he teased as he led the way to a door at the back of the garage. Before he could lead me through though, I spotted something in the corner of the room.
“You go quad-biking?” I asked. There were two sleek black four-wheelers tucked into the corner, behind the Ferrari.
“Don’t tell my racing team. The insurance would never cover it. I thought it might be nice for us to go out while you are here, amongst the olive groves.”
“And we won’t piss off any olive farmers?” I asked.
Sebastian chuckled. “Teodoro, when did you last see another building?”
“About five miles back?” I guessed.
“Exactly. I own a lot of land around this house, and a couple of local farmers sometimes come and pick the olives on the land. And I employ people to work on the grapevines.”
“You make wine?” I asked, trying to pick my chin up off the floor.
“I will continue to surprise you,” grinned Sebastian, as we emerged at the top of the stairs into the interior of Sebastian’s house.
Inside, much like outside, harkened back to a cosier, more traditional way of living.
The walls were roughly plastered, and the kitchen was an old cottage style with a cast-iron oven.
But some walls had been knocked out to make the whole place open plan and to take advantage of the view.
From the back of the house, I could see glimpses of the rolling olive groves beyond.
“I’ll take this to your room,” said Sebastian. “Make yourself comfortable on the terrace, I’ll get us some drinks.”
“Thank you,” I said. Sebastian disappeared up another set of stairs and I made my way through the living space and out onto the terrace.
The pool I’d seen earlier sat proud in the centre of the stone terrace, and around it sat a couple of sunbeds and chairs.
I took off my shoes and paddled through the shallow end of the pool and then stepped out to lean over the low stone wall at the edge of the terrace.
I’d bought my little tourist apartment because Andalucia was my happy place, but here, out in the country, I felt really content.
The wind was warm and dry, and it tickled at my face.
With the need to feel the sun on my skin, I pulled off my t-shirt and dropped it to the floor beside me, and let the feeling of warmth diffuse through me.
I knew I’d be spending as much of the week as I could outdoors.
“Here.” Sebastian’s voice made me jump, I’d been so lost in my own thoughts. He was holding out a glass of pale liquid. “Ginger beer.”
“Thanks.” I took the drink from him and had a sip. “This place really is beautiful,” I said.
“I know. In the winter, the off-season a few years back, I was driving from Madrid down to the coast when I passed the house. There was no terrace or garage then, and the electricity was faulty. But I made it my mission to find out who owned the place, and made them an offer they could not refuse.”
“Look at you, quoting the Godfather,” I joked.
Sebastian leaned against the wall with me, and I found myself sneaking a glance at him, as though I wasn’t allowed to look.
The wind was ruffling through his dark hair, and he had unbuttoned his shirt a little.
I could see the expanse of dark chest hair but also a peek at his cover-up tattoo, a remnant of our most stupid bet.
Sebastian reached toward me and ran a finger down the centre of my chest. I breathed deep, and tried not to show how much it affected me.
He was so casual with his touches, like he didn’t know the effect he had on me.
He probably didn’t. I was nursing a schoolboy crush for a man who touched and hugged as easily as he breathed.
“This is a good cover of the old tattoo,” said Sebastian. “I like yours.”
“I can’t even see yours,” I whispered, feeling bold as I reached forwards to unbutton his shirt clumsily with one hand.
He shrugged the shirt to the floor when I was done, and we stood facing each other. I reached forwards and touched his tattoo, still visible under the chest hair that had grown over it. “I like yours,” I said. “It suits you.”
Sebastian’s hand moved from my chest to my hand and for a second it was like he was holding it. But then he changed the position of his fingers and forced me into a handshake. “Perhaps we should make a deal. No more permanent bets. Nothing that will leave a trace.”
“You’re no fun,” I chuckled, still struggling to keep my eyes from wandering his whole body But with his face looking so beautiful in the sunlight, it wasn’t a great pain to drag my gaze upward. “What if I want you to get a piercing?”
“Then I will make your forfeit even worse, Teodoro. You would end up with a Prince Albert hanging from your cock.”
“And how do you know I don’t already have one?” I challenged, trying to hold his gaze without laughing.”
“You are far too vanilla for a Prince Albert,” said Sebastian. “And I would have seen it in your Calvin Klein campaign.”
I almost spat out my ginger beer. “You saw my Calvin Klein campaign?”
“Who didn’t? You were everywhere, and when we were racing in Monaco two years ago there was a billboard directly opposite my hotel room, and I was directly level with where a Prince Albert would be.”
I dropped my head so that he couldn’t see the intense blush I could feel rising up through my neck and into my cheeks.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Sebastian said, tilting my head up under the chin with one finger. “You looked very handsome. You look very handsome.”
The blush had breached containment, and my whole head felt hot under his gaze.
“Come on, Teodoro, let’s sit by the pool and you can tell me your strategy for the next three races so that I can beat you.”
“Hush, you,” I grinned, but he’d taken most of the awkwardness out of the air, so I followed him over to the poolside table and chairs.
“You don’t have many sunbeds here,” I said. “Do you not host many parties?”
Sebastian laughed softly. “Dear Teo, I have never hosted anyone here, except my own family. This is my private retreat.”
“Oh…wow. I feel honoured,” was all I could think to say.
“Please don’t mock me,” replied Sebastian. “I usually stay here alone in the off-weeks.”
“I really do appreciate it,” I said, holding up my glass. “To friendship?” I asked.
Sebastian hesitated for a second before clinking his glass with mine. “To friendship,” he affirmed.