17. Evangeline #2
Shelby raises both eyebrows and shakes her head slightly. “No idea. They’ve been huddled up like that since I got here.”
I cross my arms and study them. They’re standing with their heads lowered and nearly touching, as if they’re the only two people in the room.
Prince finished P1 today.
He is the reigning world champion, so that’s no surprise.
He’s also a notorious fuckboy, known for casual hookups and intense partying. He’s one of the fastest drivers on the grid and has a smug, unwavering confidence that makes fans either love him or love to hate him.
With a reputation like his, he’s the last driver I would have thought Mia would approach for advice. But what do I know? He did land on the podium today, and Mia’s shrewd and canny. If she thinks Prince has something to offer her, who am I to judge?
“Evan.” Stefan strolls into the kitchen area. “So glad you could make it.” Ducking a little, he gives me a side hug. “Do not forget to stash your phone,” he reminds me, nodding toward the bowl in the entryway.
Dutifully, I head over to the bowl, checking my phone on the way. Once I confirm there are no messages on the screen, I place it in with the others.
We’ve all had experience being photographed and have had unflattering pictures and videos shared on social media, so the cell phone rule isn’t only to keep us engaged while we’re together but to allow us to fully relax, knowing we don’t have to worry about what might end up on the internet.
The drivers tend to stay offline after races so they don’t get sucked into what the fans are saying about them and find themselves trapped in a doomscroll spiral.
Everybody thinks they’re an F1 analyst after watching a grand prix.
It’s really hard on the psyche to have to read so many mean messages and be flooded with so many opinions and insights.
Ironically, where they finish has almost no bearing on the commentary.
I could go online right now and find dozens of posts criticizing Prince and Rampage Motor Sport for today’s performance, and they won the whole damn thing.
Nothing is ever good enough. People seem to have no problem being nasty when they’re sitting behind the shield of anonymity the internet provides.
While I searched for and analyzed the chatter about Granata today, I came across dozens of posts and comments I wish I hadn’t seen.
It would be hard enough if the criticism was only about the racing.
But in Formula 1, it never is. Reading sexist, racist, and homophobic comments about my friends is a lot to filter through and process.
I cannot imagine what it’s like to be the driver exposed to all that hate.
I can’t even count the number of times that Luca would be in a poor mood after doing really well in a race because of comments he’d read about himself online.
The phone bowl concept is the most logical way to keep spirits up, and it ensures we stay present and enjoy each other’s company.
“I got the popcorn you like.” Stefan points it out on the table.
Giddiness bubbles up inside me. He remembered? That’s so sweet. It may just be popcorn, but this brand is air-popped in coconut oil and has a really lovely taste that doesn’t leave a gross film in my mouth. It’s one of my go-to snacks, though I can’t always find it, even in Austin.
I practically skip over and scoop up a bag, then turn back and smile at Stefan. “I can’t believe you found it here. Thank you so much.”
He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, his cheeks going pink.
“Stefan,” I hedge. “You did find this locally, right?”
Lips pressed together, he drops his gaze and excuses himself.
Stefan is a sweetheart, but it makes me more than a little bit uncomfortable to know he or someone from his team was concerned about sourcing special food for me. As nice as it is for him to go out of his way, I hate once again being the high-maintenance burden of the group.
“Just eat the damn popcorn,” Shelby tells me as she joins me at the counter. The knowing look on her face makes it clear she can tell I’m ruminating.
With a sigh, I pull open the bag and shove a handful into my mouth.
The flavor hits my tongue, and instantly, my mood lifts.
Yum.
I forgot how good this is. Okay, maybe I’m not so salty about the special treatment after all.
“Hey,” I say to Kenji as he saunters over, hot pink velour pants slung low in a way that only he can pull off. “Great racing today.” Grinning, I give him a little bump with my hip.
He tips his head back and forth, smiling. “Not a bad start.”
He finished twelfth on the grid. While not in the points, he was pretty darn close. More importantly, he fought like hell after he had issues during qualifying and started P17.
“Improving five places is more than not bad,” I remind him.
It takes serious talent to move through the midfield like that, especially when the cars are already so well tuned. There weren’t many regulation changes between last year and this year, meaning the teams used a lot of last year’s data to perfect their vehicles during the offseason.
“I’m pleased,” he admits. “It’s only up from here.” Moving in closer, he snags a few pieces of popcorn from my bag and tosses them into his mouth. “I’m far more worried about my teammate than I am about myself right now, though,” he admits under his breath.
“I’ve got her.” I cross my arms over my chest and give my best friend another quick look.
She’s still deep in conversation with Prince, but as soon as she’s available, I’ll scoop her up in the biggest hug and try to take her mind off things.
“Movie’s starting,” Saint calls from the living room.
“Hang on,” Kenji hollers back. “Half of us are still getting snacks.”
“Oh, bring me another seltzer and a bowl of Coco Crunchies,” Saint yells.
With a roll of his eyes, Kenji gathers the requested items.
I can’t fight back my smile. These two bicker like an old married couple, but they really are the best of friends.
Kenji heads for the massive living room, and with a second bag of popcorn in hand, I meander that way, too.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask, hovering near one of the open spots next to Lincoln.
“I was saving it for you,” he replies, his tone more suave than usual.
I cock one brow at his attempt at flirting, and in response, he ducks, attention darting away.
Shit. The bashful look instantly makes me regret teasing him.
Lincoln is the softest, sweetest driver on the grid.
He struggles with intense anxiety and regularly defaults to laughing or smiling to mask his emotions.
He’s really candid about his mental health, and he’s doing brilliant work with the foundation he started.
“Congrats on today,” I tell him, settling in and tucking my legs under me. I take up more space than I need, but I want to save a spot for Mia.
Lincoln started in P3 and finished P2, securing his first podium of the year.
“Where’d you watch from?” A yawn escapes him on the last word. It’s been a long day for everyone, but especially the drivers.
“I was in the grandstands by turns eleven and twelve. You were brilliant on that overtake on lap seven.”
He lights up in a genuine smile. “Thanks. I thought you’d appreciate that one. I was going to show you a replay if you hadn’t seen it yet.”
Lincoln is like a stealthy ninja on the track. He knows when to push, when to pull back, and how to maintain the apex while also defending his position until he’s put enough time between himself and the car behind him.
He overtook Luca on lap seven, leaving him choking on dirty air and unable to maintain his position. My ex started P5 today, but he finished in seventh. He still earned points for Waytrek, but Lincoln’s overtake initiated a sequence of events that resulted in Luca losing another place after that.
With an arm on the back of the couch behind me, he ducks in closer. “Hey. So, listen… I heard what Kenji and Saint were saying the other night at dinner. I want you to know that goes for me as well. You’re one of us, and you belong here.”
Emotion rises up in me, causing tears to well, but I blink them back and lean into him, giving him a grateful side hug to show my thanks. He squeezes me in return, placing a kiss on the top of my head.
“Don’t get too sentimental now,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m just glad I don’t have to pretend to like Luca anymore.”
Laughing, I hug him a little tighter.
I’m really glad I’m here, too.