French Grand Prix #10
Julien doesn’t know what else to say but, “Yeah.”
“You should’ve stayed with me in the restaurant world.” Matthieu knocks into his brother with his shoulder. “I know a couple of chefs who are exactly your type.”
“I don’t have a type,” Julien answers on reflex. “And why would you encourage me into a job you hate?”
“Because you seemed happier back then.”
“I’m happy now!” Julien just won the French Grand Prix, for crying out loud.
“Yelling ‘I’m happy’ isn’t as convincing as you think it is.” Matthieu kinda sucks, actually. “Could you put some clothes on? Also, your celebratory dinner is mandatory for you and a guest. Make up with Rafael and pregame before you get there. Alcohol should help.”
“Copy.”
When he’s dressed and alone again, Julien digs out his phone and types out a text.
Wanna suffer through a celebratory dinner with my family tonight?
He sends it before he can think twice and scrolls through social media while he waits for a reply.
Are you sure you texted the right person?
Yeah
You in?
Should I bring something?
Wine?
It’s at a restaurant
That’s not the question I asked
You bring your own wine to a restaurant?
Depends on whether I want to make a good impression.
Despite himself, Julien flushes. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a friend.
A friend he’s fucked.
Okay, that was uncalled for.
Bring it.
Curious glances track the drivers as they’re guided down the narrow aisles to the back of the restaurant. Phones follow quickly after, their flashlights at full brightness, removing all subtly.
Julien grimaces and presses closer into his taller companion. Attention comes with the sport. If he didn’t want to be noticed, he shouldn’t have won the French GP.
They’re the last to arrive, and the full table looks up with horrified surprise as they approach. They didn’t need to make it so obvious.
“Maman, Papa, Matthieu,” Julien says, pushing his date forward. “You all remember Hugo?”
“Bonsoir,” Hugo says with his silly little Canadian lilt. “Comment allez-vous?”
“Hugo, of course, it’s been a long time.” Maman stands to greet him, kissing both of his cheeks. “How have you been, dear?”
“Well. I’ve been well.” Hugo presents a bottle that Maman graciously accepts. “I didn’t know what we’d be having, but I remembered you had a penchant for woody reds.”
Sam snorts and Thomas jostles him.
“That is very kind. Please, sit.” Maman gestures to the seats they’ve left open.
Julien takes the chair furthest from Thomas, but Hugo is there to pull it out for him.
“Merci,” Julien says with a little uncertainty.
Matthieu glares at him from across the table, matching Thomas’s ire. He didn’t specify who the guest needed to be. That was his own fault.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses, Hugo,” Sam says, breaking the silence.
“Ah, yes.” Hugo pushes his round wire frames back up his nose. “Contacts dry out my eyes, so I try to wear glasses when I can.”
“Looks good.”
“Thank you.”
“Where is Rafael?” Thomas demands. He’s such a petulant little child.
Maman fixes him with a look. “Thomas, be nice to our guest.”
“Hugo finished fifth today,” Julien says to Matthieu, pointedly ignoring their oldest brother. “It’s a big deal that he was able to pass both Mercenaries in a McLean.”
“Santiago gave me a real battle through the straights, but I managed to lose them in the turns.” He lifts a shoulder into a shrug. “Still, not bad for a midfield car.”
Matthieu looks down the table at Thomas and Maman arguing in harsh whispers and back to the duo. “Why doesn’t everybody just drive the same car? Wouldn’t it be more fair?”
“It’s a team sport,” Julien explains. “The differences are part of it.”
“Then why don’t you just make a faster car?”
“Why don’t you just cook better food?”
“How would you make it faster?” Hugo asks, like he’s seriously asking for advice.
Matthieu doesn’t have a license, much less a car. “I don’t know? I’m not a car person.”
“We’ve got car people working all year long to make our cars go faster. Some teams just get the recipe right.”
“Huh.” Matthew stews on that for a moment as he pretends to read the menu. “That makes Julien’s win today sound far less impressive.”
“Hey!” Julien squawks. “Be impressed! I’m still impressive!”
“A bad chef in a good kitchen won’t suddenly cook better. He needs the skill before he gets in the car.” Hugo points at his own menu, at a chicken dish. “That sounds good.”
Julien leans over under the guise of looking at his selection.
Hugo smells better than he ever did while they were dating. His cologne is musky and more adult than the sweat and dirt that coats fresh-from-the-car teenagers.
“Y’know, only a really good chef could squeeze out a fifth-place finish from a bad kitchen.”
Hugo smiles as he slides his menu between them and leans closer. “We’re collecting new appliances every day. Pretty soon we’re going to be fighting for wins. You can count on it.”
“As long as you stay behind me in Imola.”
“No promises.”
After the waitress collects their orders and menus, Matthieu has nothing else to distract himself with. He pointedly clears his throat and asks, “So why did you two break up in the first place?”
“Smooth, Mathé.”
“I’m just saying—” He’s never just saying anything. “I mean, Juju, you were really upset. It’s interesting how those feelings could be swept under the rug so quickly.”
Julien scoffs. So quickly. It’s been years.
“There was a lot of resentment towards the end.” Hugo sips his water and fixes Julien with a stare, daring him to disagree.
“And a lot of jealousy, at least on my part.”
“Mine too.” Hugo shrugs. “You won the championship and moved on. Felt like I was getting left behind.”
“There was nowhere for me to move on to, though. It would’ve been better if we both lost. If both of us could’ve kept competing.”
“I dunno about that.” Hugo casually shifts in his chair and his knee connects with Julien’s. “We’re at a restaurant celebrating your record-breaking victory. Life has a funny way of working out in the end.”
Julien pushes back against Hugo’s knee but keeps the contact. Their friendship might be a little raw, but he can still remember stolen touches in the dorm room, sneaking around classrooms, and sharing cramped showers at the tracks.
There’s a heat in Hugo’s smile that says he remembers it too.
The food is actually good, if Matthieu’s nod of approval is to be believed, but Julien is too distracted by Hugo’s wandering hand to taste any of it.
Upper thigh, knee, inner thigh. Every stroke burns in Julien and spurs the Canadian man on further.
“You should slow down on the wine, you’re turning red.”
“Thanks, Matthieu. I’m fine.” Julien takes another sip, but it sticks in his throat after Hugo’s fingertips dance up his inseam.
When the group finishes, Hugo leads Julien out with a hand on his lower back, guiding him through the restaurant. It’s more assured, more confident than Julien remembers.
Hugo leans in close to ask, “Want to share a car back?”
“I’m staying at my apartment down the street. I can walk.”
“Mind if I join you?”
It’s a bad idea, but Julien nods. He wanted to celebrate. It’s his prerogative to do so however he likes.
“My place is a wreck, though.” Julien hadn’t thought about company when he left this morning. If he had, he would’ve imagined an entirely different man.
Oh well. Rafael made his decision when he chose to defend Thomas.
Hugo chuckles. “Some things never change.”
Just outside the door, the party stops and turns back, towards Julien and Hugo. Judgement clouds their expressions as they stare between both boys.
“What?” Julien asks.
Maman, with all of the grace in her body, turns away and says, “Rafael, this is a surprise.”
Julien immediately sobers up.
The group parts, and Rafael looks dashing in a silky black button-up shirt and pressed matte black slacks.
“Mrs. Dubois, Mr. Dubois, I’m sorry for intruding.” Rafael’s gaze wanders over the party and stops on the youngest Dubois.
Julien tries to step away from Hugo, to put distance between them, but the Canadian driver stays in step and tightens his grasp.
Ah. Some things really never change.
Julien forgot how controlling Hugo could be—how territorial. He’s just some nerd in glasses until he wants something, then his racing personality bubbles to the surface.
Rafael doesn’t back down. “Hey, Hugo. I was hoping to speak with Julien?”
“I can hear you,” Julien replies for himself. “How did you know where we were?”
“I—uh…”
Yeah, he can guess. “Really, Thomas? This is low, even for you.”
Thomas scoffs and pointedly turns away. “I do not care about your love life. Please leave me out of this.”
Hugo looks between all three Ferraro drivers and asks, “Love life?”
“Rafael and I are just friends.”
“I texted him,” Matthieu finally says.
Wait, what?
That actually throws Julien for a second. He stares between his favorite brother and his fling. “Et tu, Brute?”
“Relax, he wanted to apologize. He had my number for the private chef gig.” Matthieu shrugs. “Honestly, I feel like you should hear him out.”
Julien might not get along with Thomas, but he’s always had a soft spot for Matthieu. If Matthieu thinks he should hear Rafael out, maybe he should.
“Sorry, Hugo,” Julien says, struggling against his strong grip. “Rain check?”
Hugo hesitates before his hand falls back to his side. “See you in Imola?”
“Yeah, see you.”
Hugo casts one last discerning look at Rafael before pulling his phone from his pocket. “Very lovely to see you all again. I better get back to my hotel. à bient?t!”
Maman gently waves at his quickly retreating back. “It’s so strange to hear a Quebecois here,” she says under her breath.
“Makes you wish he only spoke English, huh?”
“Maman, Papa!” Julien chides. “Bonne nuit. I’ll see you guys in a couple of weeks.”
Julien hugs his parents and Matthieu goodbye, but by the time he resurfaces, Thomas and Sam are long gone.
Thank God. Nobody wanted to suffer through that awkward exchange.
“Hey.” Rafael is still here, though. “Thought we could go for a walk or something.”
With a wave of his hand, Julien motions for the bigger man to lead the way, even though he’s the local.
After a couple of hesitant steps, they wander towards the docks, further away from the crowds and the strangers who hold phones up to their faces.
Once they reach the harbor, the duo strolls along the water silently. It’s a little bit frustrating, considering the whole point of Rafael being there is to talk.
“Are you fucking him?” That doesn’t sound like an apology. “I thought we were exclusive, but if you’re seeing other people I need to know. For my health.”
Julien scoffs. “I don’t fuck every man I eat dinner with.”
“Yeah, that looked like a normal casual dinner with your entire family present.”
“Listen, I didn’t want Thomas there either.”
Rafael glares instead of answering.
“Hugo was my roommate. We raced together. This isn’t the first time he’s met my family or eaten with them.
” Julien slows, his heels catching on the pavement.
After everything he’s suffered through today, he’s too drained to drag this on.
“What do you want from me, Rafael? Did you come all this way to talk about Hugo?”
“No, I—” Rafael grunts low in his throat. “How am I supposed to ignore that, though?! He had his hand around you, acting like he belongs there. You know how I feel about you.”
“Do I?!” Julien snaps back. “All you’ve told me is you don’t love my brother. And how am I supposed to believe that when he goes crying into your arms whenever he’s upset?”
“We’re still teammates.”
“Then what are we?!” Even after Julien explains why he’s upset, Rafael goes right back to defending Thomas. “If I wear Ferraro and drive Ferraro and fuck Ferraro then why am I still worth less than him to you?”
“You’re not less than him, Julien. You’re not.” Rafael ducks and scratches the back of his head. “I get it. I’m sorry. In that moment, on the sidelines, I was just comforting a friend. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“That moment is fine—it’s whatever.” It’s not fine, but whatever. “But why are you defending his radios?! Do you think it was wrong of me to win?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“That’s how it feels!” It’s gauche to yell in public, but Julien can’t claw his voice back down. “That’s how it feels when you comfort him and validate him. Why are you helping me—why are you fucking me—if you’re still going to take his side?!”
Rafael turns away and stares silently out at the boats parked along the marina. The waves topple them into the buoys and they clunk together rhythmically.
“You’re right,” he finally says. “I heard his radio. There was more than what they broadcasted, by the way.”
“Of course there was.” Julien still hasn’t actually heard them yet. The team worked overtime to keep him away from the transcripts all day.
“It was bad. Pathetic, really. It’d be career-ending stuff for any other driver.”
Oof.
“I heard it and I could tell he was spiraling, and I didn’t know what else I could do. You won—I thought that was enough. I didn’t think about what standing by him would mean to you. I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Well, it sucked.” Julien swallows around the frog in his throat as he nods. “Thank you.”
“Other people hugged him too, y’know. Comforted him. Davide even apologized. Lorenzo, your family…”
“Well, I didn’t notice them.”
Everything was kinda frantic, actually. Between the crowds and the teams and Fritz leading him away. Most of it was a blur.
“But you noticed me.”
“What?” Julien huffs. “Don’t say it like that.” Like he’s special or anything.
Rafael’s teasing smile only grows. “You care what I think.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Kinda sounds like you like me.”
“Definitely not. We’re just friends.” Even friends is pushing it. Julien shuffles away, but Rafael keeps in step until they’re walking side-by-side again.
“So, this is where you live?” The Brazilian driver looks up at the tall buildings that line the water. The motion knocks him into Julien and it feels purposeful. He’s so obnoxious.
“This is the city, yes, but I live on a much cheaper street.”
“Show it to me?”
Julien scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away. “We were just arguing. I’m not going to fuck you because we aren’t yelling anymore.”
“I didn’t ask to fuck you,” Rafael says. “I want to see where you bought the wine and that pretty little dessert. Show me the lot where you park your shitty car. I want to know more about your life.”
Julien falters for a moment, but recovers. “It’s not going to be what you’re used to.”
“You’re not what I’m used to.”
Yeah, that’s probably true.
“Alright.” Julien pauses on the sidewalk and tugs the man backwards by the arm until he turns around. “It’s this way.”