Chapter 5
Cam let himself into the hotel room after Free Practice and stopped, blinking at the unexpected sight.
It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten that he had a guest in his suite—Scott wasn’t exactly the kind of guest who was easy to forget—but Cam hadn’t really expected him to be here.
Why would he be holed up in a hotel room when he had a VIP paddock pass to strut around in front of cameras and celebrities?
“What are you doing?” he said, locking the door.
Scott turned his head slightly, but his gaze remained on the large TV opposite the couch he was sprawled on. “Educating myself,” he said, something like amusement in his voice. “Don’t want to be the ignorant American anymore when people discuss iconic Formula One races.”
Cam walked forward and squinted at the TV, taking in the car designs and driver names he could see on the screen. The track he recognized immediately, of course. “And you decided to watch Singapore 2008 for that?”
Scott grinned at him. “Why not? It’s an iconic race, isn’t it?”
Cam snorted. “Iconic is one way of putting it.”
Patting the spot on the couch beside him, Scott said, “Watch with me?”
Cam hesitated, but what the hell. Watching an old, scandalous race would do the job of taking his mind off qualifying tomorrow. He loved Silverstone as a track, but it being his home race didn’t help. The pressure was always bigger here.
“Why not,” he said, dropping himself onto the couch. There wasn’t much space between them, but the extended chaise of the L-shaped couch gave Cam just enough room to stretch his legs, even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with how close the other man was.
“Tired?” Scott asked when Cam sighed as he lay down.
“No more than usual,” Cam said.
Scott chuckled. “So tired.” He hit play on the remote and the race resumed.
“I don’t get how people didn’t guess that it was a deliberate crash to help his teammate win,” Scott said after a while, frowning at the TV screen, his long eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks.
They truly were absurd. There was no way the guy didn’t use mascara to make them that long and eye-catching.
“I mean, even I see it! Right?” He turned his head to Cam as he blinked. “Why are you staring at me?”
“What did you do to your eyelashes?” Cam said. “You do know it looks ridiculous on a man, right?”
Scott blinked once, twice, before laughing. “What the—I’m trying to discuss a race with you, but the World Champion wants to talk about my eyelashes?”
Cam scowled. “It just looks absurd. That’s all.”
“I didn’t do anything to my eyelashes, Cam,” Scott said slowly. “I was born with them.” He grinned. “But thanks, that’s actually very flattering.”
“You’re lying,” Cam said skeptically. Taking Scott’s chin in his hand, he tipped his face up toward the light and studied his eyes.
Grinning, Scott batted his lashes exaggeratedly. “You’re really stroking my ego, you know. And it didn’t really need stroking.”
Cam studied those absurd eyelashes again. There was just no way they were real. “My ex-girlfriend used mascara and her eyes still didn’t look like yours.”
“Not my fault I was born perfect,” Scott said with a smug smile, looking at him from under those lashes.
“You’re flirting with me,” Cam said flatly.
“What’s the harm, champ?” Scott said, cocking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little flirting?”
“I’m not afraid,” Cam said, very evenly. “I’m just not gay.”
“And you aren’t my type at all, so what? It’s harmless. I flirt with everyone, even women.” Scott’s smile slipped. He cocked his head to the side, studying him. “You are really bothered by this. By me. My sexuality.”
Sighing, Cam grimaced. He wanted to deny that, but what was the point? Scott wasn’t an idiot. Sooner or later, he’d figure it out. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to be.”
Scott’s expression was unusually serious as he regarded him for a few moments. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I know it’s hard to overcome the toxic heteronormativity you grew up surrounded by. As long as you genuinely want to do better...”
“I do,” Cam said roughly. “It bothers me. I want to be better. I don’t mean to offend you. I just—”
“Your brain is just wired to think a certain way,” Scott said.
Cam gave a clipped nod.
“Okay,” Scott said at last. “I see the issue now. We can fix it. Rewire your brain.”
Cam let out a short laugh. “How? I genuinely don’t want to be that person, but it’s...” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Too deeply ingrained.”
“I think I know what will help,” Scott said before suddenly closing the distance between them and pressing his body against Cam’s side.
Cam went rigid. “What are you doing?”
“Exposure therapy,” Scott said, slinging an arm around Cam’s waist and snuggling up against him.
“A lot of exposure to my gay self should do the trick. It’ll normalize being around gay people for you.
” He grinned. “Now explain to me why the FIA didn’t annul the results of Singapore 2008 after they discovered it was a fraud. ”
It was a struggle to gather his thoughts when his heart was beating against his ribs so hard he could actually feel it.
Cam took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Just a guy. It was just a guy. Even if the guy was gay and prettier than most women.
“That would have opened a whole can of worms,” he said, shifting his gaze to the TV screen. “If the FIA had properly investigated and voided the Singapore GP altogether, the champion would have been different…”
He explained why it would have been a shitshow, and Scott listened and asked questions, and little by little, Cam found himself relaxing.
It wasn’t that weird. Unusual, sure, but not weird.
The warmth of the body tucked against his side was…
How long had it been since anyone had touched him like this? Three months, at least. Back before everything with his ex-girlfriend had started falling apart, before every embrace had become awkward, obligatory, and eventually nonexistent.
His entire left side was tingling where they were pressed together.
Scott radiated heat, solid and reassuring, every slow breath a subtle reminder that someone was there.
It should have felt intrusive. But it was oddly grounding, the steady weight against him quieting the restless energy that had been buzzing beneath his skin all afternoon.
He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until now.
“Still freaking out?” Scott murmured after a while, his voice soft enough that it blended with the low chatter coming from the television.
“No,” Cam admitted. “I think it’s working.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Scott said with a grin. “I’m pretty smart for a useless nepo baby.”
A reluctant snort escaped him.
Cam turned his attention back to the TV, though he wasn’t really watching anymore.
The knot that had lodged itself between his shoulder blades after the mediocre Free Practice session had simply...
dissolved. His breathing had evened out without him noticing, and the constant hum of irritation that usually lived at the back of his mind had faded into comfortable silence.
Weird.
Even weirder was the absurd urge creeping into his chest—the desire to slide an arm around Scott’s waist and tug him a little closer, erase the sliver of space that still separated them.
He resisted the urge. That would be ridiculous.
He was simply touch-starved. He’d forgotten that something as simple and uncomplicated as holding another person could feel like this—warm, easy, and oddly comforting.
Maybe he should look into getting a new girlfriend when he had the time.
***
Cam had thought it was just a one-off.
But he hadn’t known yet that Scott Palmer was the kind of person who would take a mile if he was given an inch.
It became a thing.
Cam wasn’t sure when the touching became something they just did.
Maybe it was on Saturday morning, when Scott had wordlessly leaned into his side and propped his chin on Cam’s bicep as they watched Cam’s onboard from Free Practice.
Scott asked questions about his car’s oversteering problems, and Cam answered them, deciding to ignore the way Scott was all over his personal space. It was fine. It meant nothing.
Later that evening, Cam was seated on the motorhome couch, his tablet balanced on his thigh as he studied the telemetry from qualifying.
At some point Scott strolled in. Cam had no idea why no one in the team had stopped him—the McLaren VIP pass probably helped, but it didn’t grant him unlimited access to the team’s hospitality unit.
“What are you doing here?” Cam said, glancing up from the tablet. “Who let you in?”
Scott grinned disarmingly. “Who wouldn’t let me in?”
When Cam rolled his eyes, Scott plopped down on the couch and stretched out on it. Then Scott’s socked feet tucked under Cam’s thigh.
Cam froze mid-scroll. He stared at the lap time glowing on the screen without really seeing it. Should he be allowing this? This was pretty weird, right?
But before he could open his mouth to tell the other man to cut it out, Scott murmured, “You were incredible there at the end. Didn’t expect you to snatch P3 after the horror show in Q1 and Q2.”
“It’s just P3,” Cam said dismissively, flicking a look at him.
Scott was lying with his eyes half-lidded, looking completely relaxed and comfortable.
His feet were still tucked beneath Cam’s thigh.
Cam returned his gaze to the telemetry, deciding not to comment on it. It would only make it weirder.
He had more important things to focus on anyway.
***
Cam strode toward his suite on Sunday evening, post-race adrenaline still fizzing faintly in his body.