Chapter 12
***
@beccyrich Does he have a girlfriend by any chance? Asking for a friend.
@polerichtpole lol, he’s gay, girl.
@beccyrich Wait, really? Since when does Cam have gay friends? Not saying Cam is homophobic but…
@belle69 Yeah surprised me, too. Cam is your typical F1 dudebro, and this guy is the opposite of that! Maybe there’s hope for Cam yet.
***
“Is your WAG coming, Richter?”
Cam frowned and looked at Hunter. “My what?”
Smirking, Hunter waggled his eyebrows. “Your fancy pretty boy. Is he coming?”
Cam stared him down. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said tersely, though he had a very good idea. One he didn’t like very much.
“Oh, come on, mate,” Hunter said, his smirk growing more obnoxious and making Cam’s hand itch with the urge to plant his fist in his face. “The posh ponce who follows you around—”
“Leave him alone, you dickhead,” Bastien cut in, rolling his eyes. “God forbid one of you have a friend who knows how to dress.”
Predictably, Hunter’s attention shifted immediately to Bastien, his smirk turning into a sneer. “One of you? Good to see you aren’t even pretending anymore not to think you’re above us Neanderthals.”
Bastien examined his fingernails with a bored expression. “If the shoe fits,” he drawled. “I’m surprised you even know what a Neanderthal is.”
Hunter’s neck flushed. “Not all of us had a rich daddy who bought us a seat,” he snapped, glaring at Bastien’s golden-haired head. “Some of us had to work our asses off from early childhood to get here instead of attending fancy schools.”
“My dad didn’t buy me a seat,” Bastien said, his expression hardening. “If you’re going to repeat a pathetic narrative with no basis in reality, at least try to be original.”
Scoffing, Hunter fired back another insult, and Cam tuned them out. He’d heard some variation of this argument a hundred times before. Those two fought like cats and dogs.
Tugging at his bow tie, Cam looked around the enormous ballroom full of overdressed people and tried not to look as bored as he felt. Attending charity galas, smiling for photographs, and charming sponsors was part of the job. That didn’t make it any less mind-numbing.
Cam took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and raised it to his lips, trying not to feel like a third wheel.
Hunter and Bastien were the only drivers other than him who hadn’t brought a date along, but they made terrible company whenever they started bickering.
Their mutual dislike had a way of eclipsing everything else around them.
Maybe he should have brought someone too. It wasn’t as though he lacked beautiful models who would happily spend an evening hanging off his arm.
The thought made him grimace. The idea held absolutely no appeal.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
After glancing around to make sure Bianca was nowhere nearby—she had torn him a new one the last time she caught him looking at his phone instead of socializing with sponsors—Cam pulled it out.
It was a new message from Scott.
Scott: So, funny story. Remember how I told you I couldn’t go to the Dutch GP because my dad wanted me to attend some business meetings? The business meetings I missed thanks to you?
Frowning, Cam typed back a simple yes.
Scott: Apparently those meetings were about opening a new European branch of Palmer Corp. Dad wants me to supervise the whole thing.
Cam chewed on his lip. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine Scott in a corporate suit. It seemed too restrictive, too dull for someone like Scott.
Cam: Are you qualified for the job?
Scott: I’ll have you know I graduated from MIT Sloan. You’re the dumb one in this relationship, babe.
Cam’s lips twitched.
Cam: I never thought otherwise. So what’s the issue? Tell him no if you don’t want to do it.
The typing dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Scott: I don’t know.
Cam frowned before pressing call.
“You don’t know?” he asked, slipping onto the balcony in search of some peace and quiet. “What does that mean? I thought you didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at that sponsors’ gala?” Scott said.
“I am. Now quit avoiding the question and answer me before Bianca notices I’m missing and hunts me down.”
Scott laughed. “You’re just using me as an excuse to hide from the big, bad sponsors. Admit it.”
“Scotty.”
There was a brief pause.
When Scott spoke again, his voice was softer. More serious.
“I actually think I like the idea,” he said haltingly.
“It appeals to me a lot more than trying to live up to Dad’s expectations under his constant supervision.
Europe is far enough away that he won’t be around all the time, and a new branch means I can build things my way.
There won’t be generations of tradition and expectation hanging over my head.
” He hesitated. “And if I accept, I’ll be based in Europe, which… ”
Cam licked his lips. “That’s good.” The words came out too quickly. He cleared his throat. “You’d be around more.”
Scott’s chuckle was warm. “I mean, yes. It would definitely make attending races easier. I feel like I’ve been put through the wringer after every transatlantic flight.”
“Do you?” Cam said, frowning. “I’ve never noticed. You complain about jet lag for a few hours and then you’re fine.”
“That’s because it’s worse on the flight back,” Scott said. “I feel displaced and off for days, seriously.”
“Maybe you just miss me.”
The silence that followed was immediate, long enough for something uncomfortable to settle in Cam’s stomach.
It was a joke. Obviously. Of course it was. Of course he didn’t expect or want Scott to miss him.
“Oh, wow,” Scott finally said, his smile audible. “I didn’t realize how much progress you’ve made. If you can make jokes like that, you’re well on your way to being cured of your homophobia.”
Cam rolled his eyes. “All thanks to you.” Unfortunately, his traitorous brain immediately supplied a memory of their last encounter, and Cam shoved it away with irritation.
He was normally very good at compartmentalizing.
That was one of the reasons he had become a champion.
He knew how to separate emotions from performance, how to put frustration and personal problems into neat little boxes and lock them away until they could no longer interfere with what actually mattered.
He had done it after breakups, after family arguments, after disastrous races and public criticism. He had done it his entire life.
For some reason, he wasn’t able to do it where Scott was concerned.
Scott had a deeply irritating habit of forcing his way into Cam’s thoughts at the worst possible moments.
During engineering meetings, when he was supposed to be analyzing telemetry.
During sponsor dinners, when he was supposed to be pretending to enjoy conversations about watches and luxury cars.
During media interviews, when he was supposed to be giving polished, boring answers.
Even when he was preparing for a race, when his entire world was usually reduced to braking points, tire degradation, and finding those last impossible hundredths of a second.
His mind would wander—to a joke Scott had made, a ridiculous outfit Scott had worn, the way he laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back, the way his eyes softened when he looked at Cam.
And yes, memories of their private moments together had a particularly annoying tendency to flash to the forefront of his mind.
He found himself thinking about Scott—and what Scott had allowed him to do to him—randomly, at the most inappropriate times, when he was supposed to be focusing on something else entirely.
It was irritating. And more than a little concerning.
The most frustrating part was, Cam didn’t really regret anything.
He should have regretted it. By every logical standard, he should have looked back on everything that had happened between them as a mistake—a moment of weakness, an indulgence that had complicated his life and might threaten his career if people found out about their… friendship with benefits.
But every time he thought about it, the overwhelming feeling wasn’t regret.
He wanted to do it again. To use him again.
Cam pinched the bridge of his nose. The way he’d been thinking about Scott lately felt distinctly creepy.
“And don’t you forget it,” Scott said with a laugh, snapping him out of his thoughts. His voice softened. “So, do you think I should accept?”
“Don’t you have friends more qualified to advise you?” Cam said wryly. “Friends who actually finished secondary school?”
“I have lots of them,” Scott replied. “But I don’t want their opinions. I want yours. I’m not asking for professional advice.”
Something warm tightened in Cam’s chest. Another feeling followed close behind—something darker and possessive. He bit the inside of his cheek, more than a little creeped out. “Any advice I give you would be unqualified and largely selfish,” he said roughly.
Silence fell over the line.
Cam yanked at his bow tie. The thing was fucking choking him.
“So you admit you’d like me to be around more,” Scott teased. “Aww. I’m touched, babe.”
Cam rubbed the back of his neck. “Just do what you want,” he said gruffly. “Whatever makes you happy.”
There was a pause.
“I will,” Scott said quietly, before adding in a more cheerful tone, “Thanks, babe. Love you.” He blew a kiss and hung up.
Cam remained standing on the balcony for a long time, staring out into the night.
He felt too warm. Wrong-footed.
Obviously those words meant nothing. Scott was the type of person who loved everyone and said it easily to his friends. Scott’s definition of love was loose. Casual. He fell “in love” every other week. Love you from him was probably the equivalent of see you later from anyone else.
It wasn’t worth thinking about.