Chapter 7
QUEER QUORUM
Monterey forced Reese to slow down in ways she hadn’t expected.
The coastal air, the steady rhythm of the circuit, the way every corner asked for restraint instead of her usual bravado, which maybe after all this time had been bullshit.
It all demanded a kind of focus she’d been working toward, but thus far, hadn’t mastered.
She came into the weekend not trying to dominate the race, but to understand it.
So far, so good.
Her laps had come together with a steady precision that felt new, her times dropping one after the other as her confidence grew.
She was able to settle in and focus. For once, she wasn’t chasing perfection.
She was building it, lap by lap. The car felt like an extension of her, her breathing synced to the turns, her mind clear in a way it hadn’t been for months. This is what racing was supposed to be.
Now, walking through the quiet hotel corridor with her helmet bag slung over one shoulder, she could still feel the hum of the track in her bones. Her muscles ached, but it was the good kind. A ghost of engine vibration still tingled in her fingertips, the phantom sensation of speed still clinging.
By the time she reached her room, a small, proud smile tugged at her mouth. She hadn’t conquered the field, but she’d conquered herself. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she had a grip on her own destiny rather than making it up as she went each step of the way.
She sat near the corner of the bed, unzipping her suit halfway, the adrenaline finally fading.
She knew, deep down, where that steadiness had come from.
Sloane’s voice had been in her head, urging her to measure her risks and trust the long game.
It had sounded so simple when Sloane imparted it, but no one had ever framed it quite that way before.
“Because she’s a driver,” Reese mumbled, the words soft but certain.
She trusted Julie implicitly and respected her more than others. But Julie had never been in that seat, never felt the surge of fear and exhilaration as the world blurred at 200 miles an hour. Sloane had. And somehow, Reese could feel that difference every time Sloane spoke.
She lay back on the bed, the mattress squeaking beneath her weight.
The room’s decor didn’t help her find peace.
She was surrounded by the world’s strangest ode to ocean science.
Was this place owned by the same folks from Miami?
Perhaps a marine biologist had discovered their passion for interior design.
A massive jellyfish mural glowed faintly blue across the wall, and a mobile of plastic clownfish rotated lazily near the air vent.
The bedside lamp was shaped like a coral reef, and when she walked through the hotel lobby, she was greeted with the sounds of whale calls.
Even the carpet looked like someone had printed satellite images of the Great Barrier Reef and called it a day.
Veronica’s assistant, Miranda, whom she heard was responsible for booking accommodations, certainly had an affinity for unique spots.
Before she could get even the slightest bit comfortable, there was a knock at the door. “No. Go away,” she called, her voice muffled by a pillow. Her body had hit too many adrenaline peaks and valleys today, screaming for stillness. “Immediately.”
“You’re sending me away? Me?!”
Delaney. Reese softened instantly and laughed, imagining her friend’s incredulous face. “Well, not you.” She sat up with a groan and swung her legs off the bed. “I’ll get up for you. But understand, I don’t move around for many people.”
She opened the door to find Delaney leaning against the doorframe, smirking. “I guess I’m honored to be on the VIP list.”
“Is that code for teammate? Because you’re my only one of those.”
Delaney grinned as she stepped in. She’d finished qualifying P5 for the race tomorrow, which meant they’d start practically side by side, two neon-blue blurs defending their turf.
“You looked good out there,” Reese said, collapsing onto the small couch in the living area. It had a coral reef pattern that seemed to vibrate under the lamplight. “Very Finding Nemo chic in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, I had,” Delaney said, kicking off her shoes. “I was happy with my time, but Sloane got me thinking. I don’t want to settle for midfield. I want to win races.”
“The great Sloane Foster got to you, too?”
“How could she not?” Delaney raked a hand through her hair. The light streaks in the dark strands popped nicely tonight. Reese was jealous. “She’s an effective speaker. For someone who comes off kind of contained. I didn’t expect that. But, fuck. I gotta get it together.”
Reese groaned and covered her face with her hands. She felt her filter falling away. She was too exhausted not to be honest. Especially with Delaney. “Pretty sure I hit on her.”
“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Delaney blinked. “You’re definitely not talking about Sloane Foster.”
“I am. I’ve hit on her twice now.” She winced. “I have a problem. And her name is Sloane. She does things to me.”
Delaney opened her mouth, then shut it. “I have too many questions to form words.”
Before she could recover, there was another knock at the door. Reese dropped her hands and stared, wide-eyed. “What’s happening right now?”
“It’s Cassidy and Marissa,” Delaney said, heading that way. “I invited them before I knew this was a VIP teammate-only party full of unbelievable confessions. I didn’t know those were a thing.”
“They’re not. Let them in. We have that pact, remember? The grid thing that Cassidy said.”
“Right, right, right. Excellent, because at this point I need backup—and witnesses.”
“Witnesses? I didn’t murder anyone,” Reese called after her.
Delaney swung open the door. “Yeah, well, this is equally shocking.”
Marissa frowned, holding up a grocery bag. “What is? I brought snacks. Good ones.”
“Our friendship continues to improve,” Delaney said, grabbing a bag of Doritos as Marissa passed.
Cassidy followed with a grin, carrying two sacks of what looked to be sparkling water, cold brew, and Gatorade Zero. “And multiple hydration options.”
“You’re both hired,” Delaney said, stepping aside. “Grab a spot. There’s news.”
Cassidy flopped down on the couch beside Reese, eyeing her. “Why do you look like you can’t decide whether to nap or host a rave?”
“It’s been a lot,” Reese said.
“What’s the news?” Marissa asked, already unloading her spoils onto the kitchenette counter. Pop-Tarts spilled forth in every flavor known to humankind—chocolate fudge, strawberry frosted, cookies and creme, peanut butter and jelly—like a pastry rainbow had just unfolded in Reese’s hotel room.
Reese blinked. “Did you rob the convenience store? What in the world is happening over there?”
“It’s a whole thing. I get ridiculously hungry after driving,” Marissa said, utterly unapologetic. She tossed Reese a box of Brown Sugar Cinnamon, the best one, obviously. Reese tore it open and pulled out a silver-wrapped pair like it was a sacred treasure.
“The news,” Delaney said, raising her voice over the crinkle of foil, “is that Reese apparently hit on Sloane Foster.”
Silence fell. Even the air vent seemed to pause.
Reese froze midbite. “What? Is that … awful?”
“Only you would wonder that,” Delaney said, arm outstretched in mystification. “You have such absurd luck with women that I don’t think you even recognize the concept of ‘out of your league.’ You’re completely unmoored from dating reality.”
“I dispute that,” Reese said, chewing. “I know she’s out of my league. But I’ve had, what, four or five encounters with her now, and each time I’m more and more attracted to her.”
Cassidy nodded thoughtfully. “That’s understandable. She’s beautiful.”
Reese squinted at her. “Wait—are you gay? I don’t mean to pry, but considering we’re eating Pop-Tarts in an underwater theme park of a hotel, it feels like the right moment for radical honesty.”
“Valid,” Delaney said, biting into her own Pop-Tart.
“I dated a woman back home for a while,” Cassidy said.
“That’s a pretty gay thing to do,” Marissa said. “You’re in the club.”
Reese held up her pastry like a toast. “Well then, we have a queer quorum. I can officially dish all.”
“Thank God,” Marissa said, leaning on the counter. “Now, tell us exactly what you said to her and the specific tone you used.”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes. “And was your hair up or down? That affects the entire vibe.”
“Good point,” Marissa said gravely. “Hair context is important. How are we supposed to know if you had that windswept quality or not?”
“You might be mocking me.” Reese sighed and sank deeper into the couch cushions, clutching her Pop-Tart like a stress ball.
“I definitely am,” Marissa said. “Cassidy’s serious. These are the details that keep her going.”
Cassidy nodded like a straight A student. “She’s figured me out fairly quickly.”
Reese nodded, enjoying their differences. “Okay, but you have to promise not to judge.”
Delaney snorted. “Oh, that’s absolutely not how this works.”
Marissa raised a hand solemnly. “But we will judge quietly.”
Cassidy nodded and squeezed Reese’s hand. “And supportively.”
“Fine.” Reese sighed. “The first time was in the bar before the opening reception. I informed her that the race starts when all five lights go out.”
The room went silent.
“You did not,” Delaney said in shock.
Marissa’s head snapped up. “Wait, back up.” A smile tugged. “I want to make sure I have this straight.”
“I get it,” Reese said. “I’d probably enjoy hearing this story, too.”
“You tried to teach Sloane Foster—Sloane fucking Foster from the lore of F1—how a race starts?”
“I didn’t know it was her!” Reese said. Damn, hearing the whole thing out loud was almost worse than living it. Almost. “In my head, she was this beautiful, unassuming woman in a bar. And I was hoping to impress her with my job. It’s worked before.”