Chapter 8
callum
If he’s going to stare, the least he could do is make it less obvious. But fine—let him look. I’m not the one who’s going to break first. -Aurélie
The final practice session of the weekend had just ended, and the sun dipped low on the horizon as I climbed out of the car, sweat clinging to my skin, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins.
The paddock buzzed with activity, teams scrambling to analyze data and finalize strategies for qualifying tomorrow.
I tossed my helmet onto the counter in the Vanguard garage and ran a hand through my hair, still damp from the heat trapped inside the cockpit. This last practice session had been… something.
Aurélie was proving to be a real problem.
She stuck to my line through sector after sector, that Luminis car glued to me like she belonged there. Precise. Audacious. Too bold for a rookie—but maybe that’s what made it impressive. And perhaps a bit annoying.
Every time I pushed, she pushed harder, even attempting a ballsy overtake on the inside at Turn 6. It didn’t stick—she overshot the braking zone, and I took the position back. But damn, she was close. Closer than any rookie had a right to be.
Marco handed me a water bottle and smirked. “You’re quiet.”
I took it with a grunt, downing half before answering. “Just thinking.”
“About the rookie?” Marco asked, grinning knowingly.
I shot him a look, but he didn’t back off. “What about her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Maybe the fact that she spent two practice sessions giving you a run for your money? Or maybe the way you couldn’t stop looking at her in the media pen yesterday?”
“Piss off, you bloody idiot,” I muttered, though my ears betrayed me, burning like I was the one under lights in the press tent.
Marco laughed, clapping me on the back. “Mate, it’s okay to admit you’re intrigued. She’s good. Better than good. And you like competition.”
He wasn’t wrong. Competition was my lifeblood, and Aurélie had it in spades. There was a fire in her that reminded me of some of the greatest drivers I’d ever seen—the kind of fire that made people legends.
It wasn’t just her driving. It was her. Nothing broke her focus when she climbed into her car. She was intense, but in a layered way.
And maybe the way her ponytail swayed when she walked wasn’t entirely lost on me either. Not that I’d admit it.
“Come on,” Marco said, nodding toward the paddock exit. “Media’s waiting. You know they’re going to ask about her.”
The media pen was loud when we arrived, reporters already shouting questions before I’d even stopped walking. I plastered on my usual mask, letting Marco take a few questions first before stepping up myself.
“Callum, what do you make of Aurélie Dubois after today’s practice sessions?” one of the reporters asked. “It looked like she was giving you a run for your money out there.”
“She’s quick,” I said, keeping my tone even. “No doubt about that. She’s got great pace, and she’s not afraid to go for it. That’s what you want in a competitor.”
“Now that you’ve seen her drive, do you think she’s a threat to your title defense this season?” another voice chimed in.
I leaned into the microphone. “I don’t see anyone as a threat. But I’ll say this—if she keeps driving like that…” I paused, eyes drifting past the crowd, subconsciously looking for her, “… especially in a midfield car, she’ll be making a lot of people nervous.
The reporters laughed, scribbling furiously in their notepads.
One of them asked, “There are already rumors about a rivalry between you two. The internet’s even given it a nickname: Frabois.”
“Frabois?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the best they could come up with?” The group chuckled, but I shrugged, playing along. “Hey, if it gets people excited, I’m all for it. Rivalries are good for the sport, right?”
The paddock had quieted by the time Marco and I headed back toward the motorhomes. Most of the teams were already deep into debriefs, leaving the area bathed in the warm light of early evening.
And that’s when I saw her.
Aurélie stood a few meters away, leaning against the Luminis motorhome as she spoke with one of her engineers. The glow of the setting sun lit her up like she’d been painted in gold, her expression sharp and focused as she gestured toward a data sheet with animated hands.
I caught her reflection first, the late sun casting a golden shimmer across the mirrored windows of the Luminis motorhome.
The way she moved—fluid, animated, completely at ease in her element—held my attention without me meaning to.
She was talking, gesturing, her braids swaying slightly as she made a point, and for a second, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
And then her gaze lifted. Locked with mine.
A brief glint of confidence crossed her face before she turned back to her engineer, the corner of her mouth barely tipping up. It was captivating.
Damn it.
“You’re staring again,” Marco said, his voice low and amused.
“Am not,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe it.
Marco snorted. “You like her.”
“She’s a rookie,” I said, shaking my head. “And a competitor. That’s all.”
“Right,” Marco said, drawing the word out. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. She’s not bad to look at, either. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
“She’s good, though,” Marco added as we walked away. “Better than anyone expected.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. To both of your statements.
As we rounded the corner toward the Vanguard motorhome, Marco clapped me on the back. “Careful, Fraser. You keep looking at her like that, and you’ll be the one losing focus.”
I laughed it off, but his words stuck with me, because she'd said something similar back in Bahrain.
She wasn’t just another rookie. She was the rookie.
And if I wasn’t careful?
She’d ruin me.