19. Everest
Everest
I take the side jack this time. As the Chief Mechanic, I usually stand back, count the pit time, and approve the car release by pressing the button that lights up a green light that tells the driver they can go.
Everything has to be completely precise and on point. If we do over three seconds, we can cost our driver too many places and essentially ruin the race.
If we do under two seconds, Maddock and Jaxx can keep up their stride.
That’s why we practice. Day in, day out, for weeks on end. All we do is dismantle and put together the cars as quickly as possible.
Wheels are the most important, but we also have four jacks. One at the front and back, which hoist up the car, and two people in the center on either side who raise the car by hand and hold it steady.
Each completed action will flash a light, which will go back to the receiver that I usually hold. Once I click the button, the driver has the okay, and they speed off.
It’s a dance that happens so quickly it’s over in the blink of an eye. And the whole team works hard to make sure that we get everything in perfect tandem. Not a single microsecond can be wasted.
Our best time ever is 1.82 seconds, but that isn’t fast enough to beat the Blue Ox’s, who’d made a change of exactly 1.80.
If we can beat that one day, then we’ll become the best pit team there is.
“Harmony’s coming into box, change her to mediums.” Jacob's voice comes through the walkie-talkie I keep in my breast pocket. “Don’t worry about speed, just make sure she stays stable.”
“Who are you talking to?” I ask.
“Good point,” he chuckles.
“We’re boxing!” I call out, throwing up my hand to signal. “Medium tires!”
I hate having to shout. It’s one of the few parts of the job I could do without.
Each tire has a three-person team, and next to the four positions is a rack of wheels, each one wrapped up in an individual color-coded case.
For Harmony, the watch company that paid for her new car made sure their logo is stamped proudly in the middle of the cloth cases. Thankfully, the cases aren’t as pink as her car.
One moment we’re lined up in the garage, the next, twenty-five of us are spread out, ready for her.
My team is good.
In ten seconds we have the wheels prepared, the gunners are in place, kneeling down on the tarmac with their drills to unscrew and screw the tires. There's three people back and front waiting to replace any other parts if she needs them, but there hasn’t been a report.
I still swap with a side jack at the last moment. As soon as I see her pull into the pit lane three hundred meters away, I know I need to be next to her to check she’s okay.
Even just to nod to her in the two seconds we have. Even just to see that she’s enjoying herself after the way we were this morning.
If we get the pit timing right, then she can stay in front of Jaxx and get the 1.45 circuit time Jacob said she promised him.
My nerves pick up as she draws closer. All the lines are in place, it’s up to her to stop in the precise position so we can operate as quickly as possible.
Jaxx won’t come into the pits while he’s racing her, so this is our only chance to practice on a live car in the next hour or so.
“Everyone in place?” I shout out, getting a chorus of “yes’s” in return.
The car rumbles as she slows, parking at exactly the right spot, her tires under the guide lines, her car in place for the crew to jump in.
And the production begins.
Two of us grab the top of the car as the front and back jacks come in, hoisting her up.
Four loud buzzes in perfect unison signal the tires are loose, and I usually watch the dance of the old tires being swept away in an arch as the new ones glide in.
But I’m suddenly struck, frozen to the spot as I stare at her pink helmet with wide eyes.
A force hits me so hard I almost fall and unbalance the car. I gasp, trying to catch myself, the sound hidden by the drills.
I can’t breathe. If I draw in another breath, I’m going to snap. Because the second she stops under us, strawberries and cream perfume billows from the cockpit, so powerful my vision actually blurs.
A haze takes over my brain, and I can’t focus on anything but the scent of her perfume, and the thick wave of slick that follows.
It hits me too hard, and my eyes suddenly roll as it races over my tongue, through my nose, down my throat, filling my lungs with a tart sweetness that makes me moan.
A low growl rumbles from me, shocking me instantly as my alpha senses roar at me to whip her out of the car so I can take her right here.
I need to do something. I have to help my omega. She’s needy, and horny, and I’m her scent match. It’s only right I give her what she wants. I hurt her earlier, but I can heal her now.
With her visor down, I can’t see her, but she has to feel the same.
There’s no way she can’t.
I’ve already made my decision, and another growl builds up in me. I’m ready to drag her off to my office when she snaps up her visor and meets me with a glare.
“Everest!” she shouts. “Let go!”
I gasp as I’m wrenched out of it.
The moment the spell releases, I jump back, the front and back jacks drop the car, and she shoots off, her tires screeching as she soars out of the pit lane.
“What the fuck was that?” Jacob’s voice beats in my ear, but I can’t answer.
I’m filled up with perfume. Wheezing, my heart thundering, shock squeezes my chest as my hands shake.
“Time?” I ask the crew roughly.
There’s an awkward pause, but I already know it won’t be good.
“Eight seconds, Everest,” someone says softly.
My heart plunges as the tail end of her pink car vanishes around the corner.
“What was going on?” the other side jack asks. Everyone on the team waits, looking at me, but I can’t give them an answer.
Eight seconds is the worst we'd done in years. Even when we fumble a tire, it hasn’t been that bad.
“She was perfuming though, wasn’t she?” another alpha asks.
“Yeah, I always heard her perfume was intense, but I almost lost it there. It's been a while since I've been around an omega perfuming like that.”
“Maybe the cars just really do it for her?”
“Or Jaxx is playing his games again.”
There’s a chuckle between some of them, but they’re just trying to clear the awkwardness as I stare at the tarmac, unable to move because her scent coats me.
If we ever did eight seconds in a real race, we were done for. Maddock or Jaxx would lose the entire thing, and it would be my fault.
“But omegas are meant to take scent blockers when they race.”
“Didn’t you hear? She’s allergic to blockers. That’s why she’s always trending with some new scandal or whatever.”
“People can be allergic to blockers?”
Their conversation fades into the background as panic takes hold of me.
We are some of the best in the business. If the other teams find out we pulled a change like that, I don’t know how we’d live it down.
If it's going to be like that every time she comes through, maybe I’m not fit to be the Chief Mechanic. Maybe I should just quit.
There’s no way I could lead a team properly when I lose myself in that way.
I either have to distance myself from her or find a way to neutralize her perfume. I have already taken a risk by allowing her to sit with me in the mornings. What other mistakes might I make if we carry on?
What if I cost Maddock or Jaxx the championship because my alpha senses have taken over? What if I make a mistake that ends in something worse than a crash?
It’s my fault. I put myself directly in the line of it. I have to take responsibility.
And the first thing will be to talk to Jacob and apologize for messing up his sister’s race.