8. Reed
Cooper Miles was right about one thing, race weekends are super fast-paced, but I don’t think his warning was adequate enough.
Yesterday morning I was given a quick-fire introduction to Wilder’s team, which included his personal assistant Laura, his trainer Jess, his engineers Sid and Scott, and his mechanics, Gareth and Paul.
We had a morning team meeting with them and the rest of his pit crew, where I barely understood what any of them were saying, before Wilder and the guys left to do some pre-race training in the gym.
Then they had to hang around and wait for their turn to practice on the track.
The only thing I could do was follow Wilder around like a lost puppy while trying to acclimate to my new environment.
There was so much to see and do, so many people to try and remember, and more protocols and plans than I thought possible.
The only time I didn’t feel out of my league was when I was snapping photos of him.
I got shots of him in his meetings, at the gym, during media, and even down by the track talking with his team.
I also took as many notes as I could, trying to learn on the go so I don’t keep feeling like a fish out of water.
It was productive though, because I managed to get more photos and footage than I know what to do with, but even I was exhausted, so I can’t imagine how Wilder must have felt.
Last night I skipped out on dinner with all of them so I could go through everything I captured and whip up a quick pre-race carousel of photos for his social media accounts.
I’m not sure if Wilder is checking my work, or even cares what I’m posting for him, but Mr. Miles texted me less than five minutes after my post, largely praising me for my efforts.
Clearly the PR is needed though, because Wilder has had eyes on him from the second we arrived at the track yesterday.
All the other racers seem to be very interested in his presence here, I guess that’s the kind of attention he is used to, considering his last name.
Not that he’s noticed, in fact, this is the most focused I have ever seen him, not letting in any outside noise for even a second.
It’s kind of fascinating to see, especially when I am used to him appearing as if he cares about nothing.
Although I am clearly the exception to that rule, because every time he turns to find me there, either taking photos or recording footage, he noticeably grimaces.
Still, I ignored his obvious distaste for me, and continued to capture his stupidly attractive face from as many angles as possible.
It’s Saturday morning now, and all drivers that made the cut for this season are currently gearing up for their formation lap.
During my note-taking and research I learned that today they will do two races.
The first one is so they can all battle for the top twelve, and then those who do, will progress to the next race, to battle for pole position.
Once their positions are decided, they will go head to head tomorrow in a ninety minute race, earning points depending on their rank, and the top six from that race will then complete a skills race.
The better you race, the more points you earn, and all eyes are on Wilder and his team.
The Academy’s sponsored team, The Academy Racing Group always has racers competing in the league and have claimed the final a few times in the last few years.
This year is the first time they have secured four rookies into the league though, hence why Wilder and the guys are getting so much attention.
I’ve already had multiple people approach me and try to get inside information about them, and when I told Mr. Miles he wasn’t surprised.
He just told me to give them nothing and keep them away from Wilder.
Laura and I are on the way to Wilder’s dressing room now, ahead of formation.
Her to check if he needs anything and to make sure he is ready, and me to capture my first lot of race day footage.
When we reach his door I can hear Bring Me The Horizon’s ‘Mantra’ playing through it loudly, and Laura only knocks twice before pushing inside, as if this is his normal pre-race routine.
“It’s almost time, Wilder, are you ready?” she asks as she enters, stepping aside to let me in, before closing the door behind us.
Wilder’s stare finds mine first, his green eyes assessing me closely, before trailing over my race day attire.
I’m dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, with matching black loafers.
I didn’t bother with a jacket or tie, my PRI press pass hung around my neck instead, and I see the way his gaze narrows the more he takes me in.
I shift uncomfortably, not sure what his problem is, as he watches me silently.
Laura is too focused on her iPad to notice, and I try to ignore the way he makes me feel.
“Almost,” he finally answers her, his black jumpsuit still bunched around his waist, his whole upper torso on display.
It’s not the first time I have seen him shirtless, but still I can’t help admiring the muscular slopes of his broad shoulders.
My eyes slide to his wide chest, then all the way down to his abs and defined V shape.
I know he works out and has to stay fit to handle his career, but my mind can’t help but remember what else it allows him to handle.
We have both been silently acting like that night between us didn’t happen, which is fine by me, but right now as I stare at his perfect physique, I can’t help but wish for more.
If he notices me checking him out he doesn’t react, in fact, I’m pretty sure he flexes his muscles at my attention, and I quickly snap my gaze away from him, but not before I see him smirk in triumph.
Stupid cocky asshole.
“Let’s turn almost into now,” Laura responds, finally giving him her full attention, and sighing when she takes in his still semi-naked form.
“I know you think your body is God's gift to mankind, Wild, but please put on your shirt so we can go, your dad is already on my ass today, so I have no time for your crap.”
Since meeting her yesterday I have come to know that Laura takes shit from no one, which is definitely needed in such a male-dominated sport.
What I like even more about her, is that the only thing she cares about is doing a good job, hence her not being affected in the slightest at the sight of a half naked Wilder Miles.
If only I could say the same.
“You know you love me, Laur,” Wilder coos teasingly, but still reaches for his shirt instantly, tossing me a wink before pulling it over his head.
Then he grabs everything he needs and we are on the move. Laura is talking him through some pre-race stuff while I trail behind them both, angling my camera different ways before I snap a picture of the two of them that I really like.
It’s the last bit of calm before the storm, because the second we step outside, the noise of the crowd is overwhelming.
There are fans screaming everywhere, flashing cameras, and hoards of people all getting their teams ready for the race.
For a moment I am stunned, frozen to the spot with no choice but to just take it all in.
“It’s crazy, huh?” A new voice hits my ear, and I turn my head sideways to find Matteo looking out at the crowd with a wide smile. “All these people here to catch sight of the new most attractive guy in PRI.”
Matteo, who has insisted that I call him Matt like the others do, truly fascinates me.
His family are basically a copy and paste of my own, yet we share none of the same demons.
It’s clear from the way he talks and carries himself that he doesn’t care what people think about him, probably thanks to a childhood with no trauma and parents who accepted him.
He’s openly bisexual, so much so that he even joked to the press about it yesterday, and instead of it causing outrage, they laughed right along with him.
Not that I can blame them, his charm and wit are almost as perfect as his good looks.
We have only spoken a few times since he joined us, but he seems nice enough, and we have been getting along well.
Still, I roll my eyes at his words, offering him a teasing smile.
“What is it with you racers and your giant egos?” I ask, turning to give him my full attention, and noting that he looks almost as good as Wilder in his black racing suit.
“Well, we have the giant machines to back them up.” He shrugs, a knowing glint in his stare, as he looks at me and smirks.
I open my mouth to respond, when Wilder yells out to us. “I’m not paying you to flirt, Lamont.” His tone sounds both scolding and possessive, and I hate the way it sends a heat down my spine.
When I turn in the direction of his voice, I find him staring us both down looking pissed, and I almost scoff.
In fact, it annoys me so much that I can’t help but shout back, “You’re not paying me at all, your father is!
” I see both Knox and Beckett hiding their obvious amusement, as Wilder only fumes even more.
Matteo of course isn’t deterred by his friend’s bullshit, and considering their past, I am guessing he is more than used to it.
Leaning down he gets so close to me that his chin is almost on my shoulder, as he purrs, “Make sure you get his good side, mi pequeno artista.” I’m not sure what the Spanish part of that sentence means, but he pairs it with a wink, before offering Wilder a mock salute and heading over to his own pit crew.
“They’re all his good side,” I grumble beneath my breath, as my feet carry me toward Wilder, who is still watching me despite his engineer clearly being in the middle of telling him something.