Chapter 23
EVANGELINE
BARCELONA, SPAIN
Every team is invited, and more than that, the drivers are expected to be here. I’ve attended this particular event twice before: Once as Mia’s date, back when she was a reserve driver for Waytrek, and last year, as Luca’s date.
It was our first official outing as a couple.
Looking back, I cringe at my total lack of self-respect.
Why didn’t I care that he had cast me to the side for over a year before that night?
I guess because I was just happy to be included and have an invite to the party my friends would all be talking about the next day.
Luca made a huge deal about avoiding his dad last year.
Ironically, I’m making a concerted effort to avoid both him and his father now.
I’ve worked to keep my distance from Alaric since I woke up in his arms in Japan. And I’ve done a decent job. I dropped off his fidgets with Quinn ahead of the practice sessions at Suzuka, then I made it through the entire race weekend without running into him.
We didn’t bump into each other in China, and I haven’t seen him since arriving in Spain. If I’m lucky, I won’t break that streak tonight.
If we encountered one another, I don’t think I could hold back completely from reacting, no matter the setting.
Alaric sees me in a way no one ever has before.
The affinity I have for him has grown into so much more.
I’m starting to crave his attention, the desire he inspires extending beyond attraction.
I’m in too deep. And I’ve already learned my lesson on limerence. I cannot get carried away when the man has made his boundaries abundantly clear.
“Do you want a drink?” Mia asks as we make our way across the enormous ballroom.
We’re doing a lap, taking in the crowd, and casually searching for our friends.
Lucky for me, this year’s ball is being held in the hotel where our team is staying for the week, so it took no time at all to get from my room to the event.
Granata has proven at each stop that they don’t skimp on the accommodations.
“For sure. I’m not driving.” I wink at my bestie, then stifle a giggle.
Corny jokes about driving hit different for those of us whose lives revolve around motorsport.
With a roll of her eyes, she loops her arm in mine and pulls me to the bar.
“Oh, there’s Saint and Kenj.” I nod at where the guys are hovering a couple dozen yards from here. “It looks like they’ve got a table.”
“Anyone else with them?” my best friend asks, waving at the bartender hustling behind the counter.
I scan the area surrounding them and come up empty.
Everyone in the Even Better Eleven will be here tonight, as confirmed by the group chat.
But the drivers all have varying levels of responsibility at these kinds of events.
They’re expected to speak to management, schmooze with sponsors, and smile for every picture and video their social media teams deem necessary.
There’s a very good chance we won’t all be together at once.
“Doesn’t look like it.” A relieved breath eases out of me.
I’d love to make it through the night without even having to look at the back of Luca’s stupid head.
Unfortunately, if I hang out with the other drivers, the risk of bumping into him goes way up.
I should keep tabs on Silas and Marisol so I have a backup plan.
“Are you looking for anyone in particular?”
Though she doesn’t answer, her cheeks flush slightly, accentuating her perfect contour.
“Mia.” I nudge her with my elbow.
She keeps her gaze set on the bartender, refusing to look at me.
My attention is locked on her. She’s legit blushing now, the apples of her cheeks matching her gorgeous pale pink dress.
“What are we having, ladies?” the bartender asks as he approaches, saving my best friend from my scrutiny. For now.
I order a gin and tonic, and Mia asks for seltzer in a lowball glass with a lime. She’s been doing that for years—ordering a seltzer but requesting that it look like alcohol so others don’t rag on her for not drinking. She takes her nutrition seriously and sticks to an extremely strict diet.
As the bartender gets to work, Mia still doesn’t look my way, but she clears her throat. “If I tell you something, do you promise you won’t tease me? Or mention anything to Shelbs?”
“Pinky promise,” I vow.
She side-eyes me once more, glossy lips pressed together like she’s still considering how much she wants to share.
“I’ve been… talking to Prince lately.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from outwardly reacting.
“After Australia, he was really kind, and he gave me a lot of good advice. We hung out a few nights in Japan, then again in China. Though I haven’t seen him since we arrived in Spain.”
My eyes are so wide they water, and despite my efforts, I can’t help but hiss an enthusiastic, “Mia.”
She gives me a pointed glare, silently telling me to keep it together.
This is a big deal. Like, a really, really big deal.
Mia doesn’t date. She’s only ever been in one relationship, and that was over a decade ago, when we were teenagers.
She’s too committed to her career to allow anyone or anything to distract her.
The fact that she’s “talking to” someone, and he just so happens to be the reigning world champion in their shared sport, is huge.
“It’s not a big deal,” she mutters. “Don’t make me regret telling you.”
I stand straighter and mime zipping my lips shut. “I won’t.”
But it is a big deal. If she thinks otherwise, she’s only fooling herself.
Prince Marceaux is a Formula 1 superstar.
Part of the Elite Eight, he’s risen steadily over the years, biding his time.
Last year, during his first year with Rampage Motor Sport, he won the Driver’s Championship and helped his team secure the Constructor’s Cup.
He’s already leading in the points this season, ahead of Matty Olsenn, and there’s speculation that he’s got what it takes to reclaim both titles this year.
He’s also gorgeous and pompous, and he has the sexiest French accent.
By all standards, he’s everything Mia’s never wanted.
A whisper of doubt enters my mind. Could he be taking advantage of her?
They’re not direct competition because they’re so far apart on the grid, but this sport is cutthroat at its core.
Prince is a notorious fuckboy. Or so I thought.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the rumors aren’t true.
Mia is a good judge of character. If anything, she’s extra critical of the intentions of her competition.
Is it possible there’s more to the reigning world champion than I realized?
“Earth to Evan.” My best friend waves a hand in front of my face.
I snap out my thoughts and grin.
“You don’t have anything to say?” she presses.
I take my drink from the bartender, thank him, slide a tip across the bar, and take a long sip through the tiny stir straw.
Then I turn back to my best friend. “Oh. I’m allowed to react now?”
Groaning, she tips her head back. “If you must.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” I set my drink down and release a breath. “First things first. I assume you’re being safe and taking precautions?”
“Of course,” she defends. “And it’s not like that. I mean, we haven’t…”
I let her trail off instead of pressing for details. She’ll share what she wants to share in time.
“Good. As long as you’re being safe and are happy, I’m all about this. You deserve to have some fun, babe, and Prince is hot as hell and fast as fuck. He’s the pinnacle of fun, if you ask me.”
Mia glowers.
“What?” I ask. “We’ve all seen his thirst traps on Instagram. That man is fine with a capital F. And last year in Belgium when he started P8 and won the entire grand prix? So epic.”
Her expression softens, a small smile teasing at her lips. “He’s really sweet, too. Thoughtful and well spoken. We stayed up for hours in Japan talking in his hotel room.”
“Just talking?” I can’t help but ask.
Mia quirks one brow, her blush deepening.
I wag both of mine, but she shakes her head, clearly done spilling the tea.
“Ladies,” Stefan calls as he and Lincoln approach.
I give Mia one last knowing look. While I’d never break her trust and speak about this in front of our friends, we’re far from done with this conversation.
The boys lean in and kiss us both on each cheek in greeting.
“Hey. We were looking for you,” I tell them.
“We only just arrived,” Stefan grouses, thumbing over at Lincoln. “You would not believe how long it takes this one to do his hair.”
Lincoln smacks our friend’s chest with the back of his hand. “Me? I waited outside your room for nearly twenty minutes, you big cockwomble. I had to cancel two rideshares.”
Stefan smirks.
The guys have been best friends for years, despite never being teammates.
They’re opposites in so many ways. Stefan is a cocky charmer.
The media and the fans love him, and the armchair experts love to hate him.
He’s had a streak of bad luck the last few years, but every few races, he pulls out a big win for his team, ensuring his place on the grid.
Lincoln is softspoken and shy. He hates attention. He’s in the wrong line of work for a man who likes his privacy, but he’s a really good driver. Sometimes even great. But he gets in his own head a lot, and he doesn’t handle media attention or external pressure very well.
“Ah yes, perhaps I was the holdup. It’s big night, though, is it not? I was determined to look my best.”
“You both look great,” I assure them.
They do, both dressed in dark tailored suits, with fancy watches fixed around their wrists.
“And you are both stunning,” Stefan replies, doing a quick assessment of Mia’s pink dress and my bold, formfitting red number.