Australian Grand Prix #11
Thomas’s mouth ticks up into an evil smile. “It is what he deserves after winning France last year. I even sat in the middle seat.”
Well, yeah. “That’s where the winner sits.”
“Correct.”
After a quick knock, a voice on the other side of the door calls out, “We’re ready for the picture.”
“Let’s go.”
The team cheers as both brothers make their way to the front of the crowd. Claps on the back from people they pass have both of them laughing, stumbling, and hanging onto each other for support.
The sign board in the middle of the crowd reads:
DUB P1
DUO P7
1st RACE
1st POINTS
Julien didn’t expect to be on the board at all. “You’re leading the championship. Why is it mostly about my race?”
“Because points on debut is a big deal!” Thomas hooks an arm around his shoulder and shakes his little brother to the delight of the crowd.
“But I’m in a Ferraro.” A rocketship.
“Go kneel over there and try to be proud of what you accomplished today.”
But Rafael’s on that side. His black sling stands out against the sea of matching red shirts.
Julien ignores the man as he crouches in front of him and faces all of the cameras.
There must be fifty photographers there all calling for attention. Who the fuck is he supposed to look at? Hopefully the ones in Ferraro red.
“You and Thomas okay?” Rafael’s warm breath tickles the edge of Julien’s ear.
He nods, unwilling to admit defeat by turning and looking at the older driver.
“Good.” Rafael pats his shoulder, the last touch a lingering squeeze. “I’ll put together a plan for China. It’s a sprint weekend, so you’ll have less practice time.”
Julien finally turns. “You’re still going to help me?” Even after Rafael specified he only cared about Australia?
“Well, I didn’t really do anything for you today. Besides, I’m not doing anything else around the garage. Is the offer still good?”
The offer.
Julien nods enthusiastically, though he should probably ask which one he’s referring to. Either result—a top five in Qualifying or top three in the race—would be impressive. What’s one more blowjob or meaningless fuck in the grand scheme of things?
Rafael grins. “The cameras are behind you. C’mon now, big smile.
“Your alarm is going off.”
Julien pushes against whoever is shaking him and groans. When he blinks, all he sees is the grey leather of the back of a couch. That’s weird. Why does he also feel like he’s moving?
“What time is it?” Julien pats the area, searching for his phone. He can hear the vibration, but that doesn’t help pinpoint its location.
It’s Rafael who answers, “In Australia time? Or China time?”
Julien finds his bearings and his phone in the same moment. His first trip on a private plane, and he fell asleep? It feels like a waste.
Then again, when was the last time he actually slept in economy? The whole point of the charter is to be comfortable.
“Thanks for waking me.” Julien shuffles through his backpack, retrieving his laptop, controller, and headphones.
Planes don’t normally have the best Wi-Fi, but there’s an entire couch. Hopefully that bodes well for the internet speed.
The plane is pretty empty sans the team principal and team owner at the back, conversing boisterously.
Ahead of them is a photographer, reclined in a chair with his headphones on.
He clicks his laptop, probably editing the sponsored photoshoot Julien had to suffer through at the start of the flight.
The only table on the plane is a four-top with an abandoned chess set. Thomas is slumped over in one of the chairs, curled in on himself with his head perched between his fist and the window.
If Julien tickled his cheek, he’d probably punch himself.
Maybe later.
Rafael returns to his seat, the one across from Thomas and their chessboard. He has some sort of e-reader he glances down at, his thumb scrolling every few moments.
Julien gathers his things, balancing the controller, headphones, and rolled-up power cord on the laptop. “Do you mind if I set this up next to you?”
“Sure. Internet password is in the pamphlet.”
Why would the internet need to be password-protected? They’re in the sky.
Julien dumps the computer on the table, ducking under to plug the cable into an available outlet.
Password accepted, he quickly logs into the server while adjusting his microphone.
The camera light flashes for a second, but the electrical tape fastened over the lens blocks any image it might capture.
Wait, is he the first one in? That’s weird. Julien has no idea what time zone he’s in, but he’s pretty sure he did the math right when he set his alarm.
Oh well. Just in case it’s not a fluke, Julien pulls up Shanghai International Circuit. Comments flood in immediately, everyone surprised to see him first.
“I get it, I get it, I suck.” Julien peeks over at his brother and Rafael. Neither of them seem to care that he’s talking to himself, so he continues. “Most of you are only here for Kevin anyway, so it doesn’t really matter when I log in.”
I’m here for Romeo’s bj tips (2 upvotes)
It’s all bs
Upvote if you watch for Kevin (5 upvotes)
Go on cam
Upvote if you watch for John (1 downvote)
Show us your dick (3 upvotes)
As more people tune in, the chat scrolls so quickly Julien can’t keep up. “Jesus, can you type one at a time? How does Mick deal with all this?”
The chat only types faster
No more weekends?
“Yeah, no weekends for a bit. Sorry, chat. I picked up another job. It’s temporary though, so I’ll be back like, next month. Gotta give the other guys a chance to win sometimes.”
“Are you streaming?” Rafael’s face reflects on the darkened screen when he leans over to investigate. “You don’t have your camera on.”
Julien slides back one of the ears of his headphones. “You wanted to look at your own face? I’m sure there’s a mirror in the bathroom.”
“Nah, my book is boring. Figured I could be a surprise guest on your stream instead.”
“I keep the camera off—it helps with lag.” Or, at least, it’s an unexpected benefit.
Rafael leans closer, scanning the chat logs. “Looks like I’m still a surprise guest, even without the camera on. Hello, everybody!”
Rafael Souza?!>!
That is absolutely Rafael’s voice
RAPHAEL?!?!
Why the fuck would rafael be on romeo’s mic? (2 upvotes)
Use your head, it’s not actually him
RAFAEL SOUZA!!!!!!
HI RAF GET BETTER
Julien wasn’t muted. “Fuck.”
“Penalty to Romeo for swearing.” Finally, Mick logs in. “Weird to see you here first. Why is the chat about Rafael Souza? Did something happen?”
“Nah, I’m sitting next to my cousin who sounds like him.” Julien knows it’s a stretch, but any connection to Rafael will just link the account back to him. “Sorry chat, my laptop camera doesn’t work. That’s why I took the second job.”
“Yeah guys, you gotta sub.”
Kevin and John finally log on and Julien hides behind his mute button with a sigh. Nobody would actually believe it’s Rafael, right? God, what a stupid way to blow his cover.
Rafael nudges him with his shoulder. “You’re not embarrassed by me, are you?”
“What? No.” If Julien’s embarrassed by anything, it’s his own stupidity. “I don’t want them to find out I’m me.”
“Who are you pretending to be?”
“I’m not pretending to be anyone. I’m still me, they just don’t know my name.” Julien nods to the screen as he cycles through the car options. “This is the only place I can race where I’m not ‘Thomas’s Little Brother’. Here I’m just… Exactly who I am. I can’t ruin that by telling them my name.”
After a long moment, Rafael finally says, “Y’know, he’s not a bad person to be compared to. Even as a teammate—it’s a compliment.”
“I know.” Julien’s eyes wander past his screen and land on Thomas, still sleeping in that stupid contorted position. “But I needed to prove to myself that I could do something without his help. Now, I don’t want to lose it.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well? Are you any good?”
It’s a thinly veiled challenge, but Julien grins as he angles his screen towards the Brazilian and pointedly chooses a lime green Sobber.