CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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Mia
The Barcelona test continued, the circuit air crisp and clear with the sharp, oily scent of hot rubber and fresh asphalt warming under the tires. It was milder than England, sure, but the February chill still lingered in the shade, and the wind carried a bite.
Mia spent most of her days in the media pen or hospitality suite, juggling live social posts, quick driver soundbites, and the endless stream of photographer requests.
By late afternoon on the third day, her throat was dry from talking, her breath fogging faintly when she stepped into the cooler patches of the paddock, and her feet ached from pacing the concrete in boots that never quite kept the cold at bay.
She slipped into the physio room for a quick water break—quiet, gently air-conditioned, a rare pocket of calm away from the wind.
Dana was there, taping Lucas’s left shoulder after a long stint in the car.
The physio’s strong hands moved with practiced efficiency, rolling out strips of kinesiology tape while Lucas sat shirtless on the treatment table, eyes closed, breathing steady.
Mia froze for half a heartbeat in the doorway.
His skin held a faint sheen from the cockpit effort, catching the low overhead lights in a way that made every ridge and valley of muscle stand out.
Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, the lean, hard lines of his torso shifting subtly as he exhaled.
Years of fighting G-forces had carved him—defined pecs, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing below the waistband of his fireproof bottoms, the subtle flex of his abs when Dana pressed a thumb into a tight spot.
A thin, pale scar curved along his left collarbone, old but stark against his skin, and her gaze snagged on it, then slid lower—unintentionally—before she wrenched it back up.
Heat flooded her face, sudden and traitorous, pooling low in her belly.
Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs. She clutched the water bottle like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Get it together, she told herself fiercely. It’s just a shoulder. He’s half-naked because he’s getting treatment.
Except nothing about this felt routine. Not when the sight of him made her mouth go dry and her skin feel too tight.
Dana glanced up first, catching the freeze in Mia’s stance.
Her eyes flicked between them—knowing, assessing—and a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She didn’t say anything, but the look she shot Mia was unmistakable: I see you.
And I see you seeing him. Then her gaze slid to Lucas, lingering just long enough to note the way his shoulders had tensed the second Mia stepped in.
“Almost done,” Dana said casually, smoothing the last strip of tape across his upper back. “You pushed hard today—don’t want that rotator cuff tightening again.”
Lucas grunted in agreement, eyes still closed. “Feels better already. You’re a miracle worker.”
Mia cleared her throat—soft, but it cracked the silence. She stepped fully into the room. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just grabbing water.”
Dana’s smirk deepened, though she kept her tone light. “Stay. You look like you could use five minutes off your feet. Sit.”
Mia managed a nod and perched on the stool near the wall, careful to keep her eyes on the bottle in her hands rather than the expanse of bare skin across the room.
But she could still feel him—his presence like the subtle warmth of the sun on the track after a cold morning.
The air felt thicker now, charged with something she couldn’t quite name. Or wouldn’t.
Lucas opened his eyes, meeting hers across the space. His gaze was steady, unhurried, and for a second she thought she saw something flicker in it—awareness maybe, or the same low burn she was trying to ignore.
“Long day?” he asked, voice low and easy.
“Always,” she replied, forcing her tone steady. A small, betraying flush still lingered on her cheeks, creeping down her neck. “You?”
“Car’s behaving. That’s half the battle.” He winced slightly as Dana gave one last press into a knot. “The other half is not crashing into the barriers when the rear steps out.”
Mia smiled despite herself. “I saw the onboard. Looked dramatic from the outside. Fans are already clipping it for edits—‘LUCAS VS. THE BEAST ROUND 2’.”
He laughed, a low, genuine sound that vibrated through the small room. “You’re keeping tabs?”
“Part of the job.” She paused, then added softer, “Plus… it’s impressive. You make it look easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted, quieter now. “Some laps today, everything clicked. Felt like the car was an extension of me. Then others… just fighting it. Reminds me why I do this.”
Dana patted his shoulder once. “All set. Ice it tonight, no heroics.” She turned to Mia with a pointed look—half teasing, half protective. “You too—drink that water. Dehydration’s the silent killer even in this chill. And maybe take a breath while you’re at it.”
The subtext was clear: I know exactly what’s happening here, and I’m watching both of you.
As Dana stepped out to grab fresh ice packs from the cooler down the hall, the room quieted.
Lucas slid off the table slowly, reaching for his team polo but not putting it on immediately.
He held it loosely in one hand, leaning back against the treatment table, arms crossed over his bare chest in a way that did nothing to hide the lines she’d just tried so hard not to stare at.
“Listen,” he said, voice dropping lower, more private. “I didn’t want things to feel… weird. After Abu Dhabi.”
Mia’s grip tightened on the bottle until the plastic crinkled. “It doesn’t have to be weird. We’re colleagues. Friends, even.”
“Friends,” he echoed, testing the word like it fit but not perfectly. His eyes held hers—steady, searching. “I like that.”
She met his gaze, the flush still warm under her skin. “Me too.”
The door creaked open again as Dana returned with the ice packs, breaking whatever thread had been pulling taut between them.
She handed one to Lucas with an exaggerated eye-roll.
“Put this on before you two start reciting poetry. And Mia—don’t let him talk you into staying for debrief. You’ve earned an early finish.”
Mia laughed—shaky, grateful for the interruption—and stood. “Thanks, Dana. I’ll… see you both tomorrow.”
She slipped out, the cool corridor air hitting her flushed face like a mercy. Behind her, she heard Dana mutter something low to Lucas—probably a warning—and his quiet reply, too soft to catch.
But the image of him—shirtless, taped, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time in months—stayed with her long after she left the room.
* * *
Lucas
The physio room door clicked shut behind Mia, and the space suddenly felt colder, emptier. Lucas pressed the ice pack to his shoulder without really feeling it, his eyes still on the spot where she’d been standing. The faint trace of her scent lingered.
He had felt her freeze in the doorway the second she walked in.
Hadn’t needed to open his eyes to know it was her—something about the way the air shifted, the quiet hitch in her breath.
When he finally looked, he’d caught the flush climbing her cheeks, the way her gaze snagged on his scar, then slid lower before snapping back up like she’d been burned.
Fuck. That look had gone straight to his groin—quick, hot, impossible to ignore.
He’d had to force himself to keep breathing evenly while Dana finished the tape, pretending he hadn’t noticed how her eyes kept darting back to him.
Now she was gone, and the room felt too quiet. Dana was watching him with that knowing smirk she wore when she’d clocked something he didn’t want to admit.
“You’re staring at the door like it owes you money,” she said, tossing him a fresh towel. “Care to explain why your heart rate just jumped twenty beats when our girl walked in?”
Lucas exhaled through his nose, pressing the ice harder against his skin. “Don’t start.”
“Too fucking late.” Dana leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I saw her face. I saw yours. And I saw the way you didn’t put your shirt back on. Subtle, Moreau. Real subtle.”
He shot her a look—half warning, half resignation. “It’s not like that.”
“Bullshit.” Dana’s tone was light but pointed. “You’ve been different around her since pre-season. Less guarded. More… human. And today? The way you were looking at her.”
Lucas didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. Because she was right. The physical pull had always been there—sharp, inconvenient, impossible to shake. But today it wasn’t just that. It was the way Mia had looked at him. Curious. Like she was seeing him, really seeing him.
He’d caught the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers had tightened on the water bottle like she needed something to hold onto.
The way her eyes had lingered on his scar—and then flicked lower before she yanked them away.
That split-second glance had hit him harder than any G-force.
Made his blood run hot and slow, made him want to close the distance, pin her against the wall, find out what that flush tasted like.
Dana sighed, softening. “Look, I’m not your mum.
But Mia’s one of the good ones—smart as fuck, kind without being soft, and she’s got this quiet steel that keeps the whole media circus from eating you alive.
She’s brilliant at what she does, and she’s loyal to a fault.
So if you’re going to keep looking at her like that, either do something about it properly or back the fuck off before you hurt her.
Because I like you, Lucas—I’ve known you since we were kids, but if you fuck with her head, I’ll make your next physio session feel like medieval torture. And I’ll enjoy it.”
Lucas rubbed a hand over his face. “I know.”
“Then act like it.” Dana pushed off the counter. “Ice that shoulder. And maybe think about what you actually want before you text her something stupid tonight.”
She left him alone with the hum of the fan and the cold press of the ice pack. Lucas stared at the door again.
He reached for his phone anyway. Thumbed open their chat. Stared at the last message she’d sent.
He typed, deleted, typed again. Kept it simple.
Good work today. Thanks for checking in on the social side. You looked tired. You okay?
He hit send before he could second-guess it.
The reply came after a minute—quick, but not instant.
Yeah. Just tired. You? Shoulder holding up?
He exhaled, a small, relieved smile tugging at his mouth.
Better now. See you tomorrow.
He set the phone down on the treatment table and leaned back, the ice pack still pressed to his shoulder.
Tomorrow. Another day on track.