Hard Pass (Full Throttle #2)

1. JULES

JULES

LONDON

‘Excellent fondant penis, Minnie,’ Ash proclaims, picking it off her cupcake and inspecting it. ‘Really gives a sense of the occasion.’

Minnie shrugs with a tight smile. ‘It’s Reveal Day.’

‘Right, girls,’ I say, securing the last of the blackout blinds in my living room. ‘Ready?’

Ash’s eager eyes follow my every move as she bites the head off her penis. ‘Should we sign NDAs?’

I recoil. ‘Why? I trust you two with my life.’

Minnie’s baffled gaze swivels to Ash. ‘We didn’t sign NDAs the other times we did this.’

‘I know, but I’ve always wanted to sign an NDA.’

I grab my clicker and the screen bursts to life. Ash gives an appreciative, ‘Ooo.’

‘It’s just a background, Ash, don’t wet yourself,’ I murmur.

‘I know, but it’s very exciting. In the last five minutes, @julesjewels’ fan poll has put basketball in the lead, with baseball close behind. Surfing was at the top this morning, but now it’s sixth.’

Jules’ Jewels, the title my fans gave to themselves. It’s a bit cringe, but it shows they see themselves as a collective, which makes my cold British heart swell. It’s every content creator’s dream to have a ‘club’ of people who share our values and buy into our lifestyle.

‘I can’t see Jules with a basketball player,’ Minnie muses, cupping her tea with both hands. ‘They’re too tall. And American.’

‘You think a surfer?’ Ash chimes in. ‘They’re way too chilled!’

Minnie snorts. ‘That’s true.’

I clear my throat with a loud, ‘Ahm.’

‘Sorry. Proceed.’ Minnie flashes an angelic grin.

‘I can be chilled – if everything’s in place because I made it so,’ I mutter before turning to my PowerPoint. ‘Anyway, as you both know, each new boyfriend is selected from a professional sport—’

‘Do you remember Dom, the swimmer?’ Minnie suddenly asks Ash.

‘God, he stank in the beginning.’

Minnie picks the penis off her cupcake. ‘Jules Butler, introducing men to benzoyl peroxide since 2021.’

‘At least we’re not going back to the NFL,’ Ash adds. ‘Those matches were like a circus. I had a headache for days.’

‘They’re called games, not matches,’ I point out. Not that I’m sad to be away from them either. If I never see that stupid gold miner mascot again, I won’t be sorry. ‘Can we continue please?’

They nod in unison.

I take a fortifying breath. ‘The sport must have major media attention, a large global audience, luxury branding, fashion crossover, and, ultimately, be cool. This year, one sport rises above all the others, and it is…’

I click for the next slide. My best friends gasp.

‘Formula 1,’ says Minnie, in disbelief.

‘Yay! Vroom vroom!’ Ash does a little flutter clap. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’

I click onto the next slide, revealing his photo, stats, and highlights. Best to be quick with it, like a plaster.

‘Tom Webber? Tom Webber?’ Minnie cries. ‘Your next target is Martinelli’s number one driver?’

‘You two can be together all year!’ Ash exclaims, doing an excellent job of not reading the room.

I perch on the armchair beside Minnie. ‘I won’t get in the way of your fab presenting. I might need the occasional paddock pass, but I promise to steer clear of you. Sponsorships will help—’

‘I’m not worried about that.’ Minnie takes her time putting her half-eaten cupcake on the coffee table beside her. ‘I’m just… surprised. Why F1?’

‘I’m glad you asked.’ I click to the next slide teeming with charts and graphs. ‘It’s the fastest-growing sport with ninety million new fans last year alone – particularly in Australasia and Asia. And, most importantly, 41% of its fan base are Gen Z and millennial women – my target audience.’

‘But the men are short,’ Minnie counters.

Ash recoils like Minnie said they were serial killers.

‘Tom’s five foot ten,’ I fire back.

Minnie sighs, tempering. ‘Ok, give it to me. Why Tom?’

‘Because he’s fit,’ Ash proclaims as we return to Tom’s slide, twirling a black curl around her finger. ‘Though he really loves cargo shorts, doesn’t he?’

‘I don’t even think he has social media,’ Minnie says. ‘Isn’t that the whole point of this?’

It matters, of course, but unlike other sports, there are only twenty athletes to choose from and most don’t fit the bill.

I had to prioritise. Besides, Tom has millions of mentions and hashtags, impressive Reddit threads and Google Trends rates, not to mention ample exposure on Martinelli’s channels with reams of positive comments underneath.

I’ve never dated someone without their own social media before. Look at me, I’m branching out.

‘He doesn’t,’ I yield, ‘but he’s the only driver who meets the rest of my criteria.’

Ash wiggles her eyebrows. ‘Oo, criteria. Sexy.’

I count them off on my fingers: ‘He’s a former World Champion and looking to be one again.’

‘Not if Mins’ boyfriend can help it.’ Ash nudges her and she gives in with a small chuckle.

‘He’s a man close to the top of his game who needs my help to unlock that extra 5%. Martinelli are the second best team on the grid behind Pagari, and Pagari are obviously out – one of their drivers is taken by Miss Minnie, and the other one’s nineteen.’

Minnie shakes her luscious blonde hair. ‘You’d terrify Eilo. He can barely speak to girls as it is.’

‘Outside of racing,’ I continue, ‘Tom’s single, pretty clean cut – though he could do with a fashion upgrade – and has huge global sponsors.’

Ash tongues the back of her teeth. ‘If your exes are anything to go by, he also needs to be a dick. He doesn’t exactly scream man whore like Brennan, or ogre like Damian. I’m seeing kind eyes.’

Her casual mention of Damian makes me flinch.

‘Trust me, Ash, all top sportsmen are dicks,’ I assure her. ‘They’re completely self-obsessed. Everyone around them treats them like kings so very soon they start believing it.’

‘Don’t be fooled by Tom,’ Minnie agrees.

‘He’s the reason Ackland dropped from first to fifth in the space of two years.

The story goes that when he drove for them, he was so difficult that half the team quit, and he was fired super late into the season.

He left them in such a spin they couldn’t recover.

They still haven’t almost four years on. ’

‘That’s awful,’ Ash breathes. ‘I take back what I said. Use away, Julesy!’

‘I’m not using,’ I mumble, ‘there’s mutual benefit.’

‘Where’s he from?’ she asks.

‘I’m glad you asked.’ I speedily advance a couple of slides before Minnie can spoil it.

‘A koala!’ Ash sings and peers curiously into her cup. ‘That explains the eucalyptus tea.’

I’ve dated a German, two British, one Nigerian, and an American. There’s a whole continent I haven’t tapped into yet. Australia boasts five million women in my target demographic, if the last census is to be believed. Yes, I’m thorough.

Minnie’s still not sold. I knew she wouldn’t be.

She’s had her doubts about my audience-building tactics from the beginning, and that was before they went anywhere near F1.

Motorsport is her thing, with her dad being a legendary driver, and her getting a job presenting for Channel 3 last year.

I know how hard she’s worked to be taken seriously in a male-dominated environment, even changing broadcaster to France’s Sportif+ to prove it.

The last thing I ever want is to undermine her credibility – I’ll always be her number one fan – but I can’t ignore F1’s status anymore.

As last year was the NFL, this sport needs to be even bigger.

More glamorous, more global, more renowned.

I need results, and Tom Webber’s going to give them to me.

Minnie nurses her forehead. ‘You couldn’t help someone who’s not Jack’s biggest rival?’

‘Let’s see,’ I humour her, jutting my hip out, ‘there are only five drivers my age or older, three of whom are single—’

‘Matteo D’Ambrosio?’

I give her a bland look. ‘No one would believe I chose him.’

Minnie concedes with a nod. ‘Tiago Cabrera?’

‘Minnie. He drives for Leone.’

‘He didn’t used to.’

‘Well he does now.’

‘I know, I know,’ she says through an out-breath, ‘you want someone successful. He’s really hot, though.’

‘Last season they finished joint bottom,’ I say flatly. ‘They haven’t scored a single point for three years.’

Her eyebrows lift. ‘Someone’s been doing their homework.’

I smile sweetly. ‘I watched clips from your coverage. You’re a very good teacher.’

At last, she softens. ‘I love you, you know I do, and I’m so proud of the empire you’ve built – your lifestyle content, your podcast, your clothing line, your partnerships.

I just… I wish you’d choose a different growth strategy and…

try love for real. It’s not a business, Julesy, there doesn’t need to be purpose to it. It’s… the best.’

Ash snorts. She’s been with the same man since school and has no illusions about relationships. Just like me. Just like Minnie used to be.

I cross my arms. ‘One boyfriend and suddenly you’re an idealist.’

‘I’m not an idealist.’ Minnie rolls her eyes. ‘Ash, back me up.’

Ash tucks into her second cake as she flicks back onto Instagram. ‘Julesy is very picky.’

‘Thank you. See, I can’t fall in love. And I don’t have time.

I’m too busy manufacturing fake love.’ I plonk myself down and pick up a cupcake.

I did a spicy reformer session this morning so I’ll allow it.

‘Why would I want a man anyway? I can watch Selling Sunset whenever I like – without being judged.’

Minnie huffs. ‘Some men like Selling Sunset.’

‘No hetero man likes Selling Sunset, Minnie,’ Ash chimes in without looking up. ‘There’s too much yelling for their delicate palettes.’

‘Sure they—’

‘Look, F1’s ranking fourth in the poll!’ Ash bursts out and I pause mid-bite. ‘Holy shit, there’ve been four-point-five million votes.’

I lean over her shoulder to see and swallow a gasp.

‘Crazy to think how much people get into this,’ Minnie says.

‘I’m counting on it.’ I settle back. ‘How else am I supposed to afford living in Hampstead?’

‘I think it’s an inspired plan,’ Ash decides, tucking her feet under her. ‘You two can travel the world together; I can fly out for fab holidays courtesy of Jules’ partnerships; Jules can bag a sexy new athlete. Everyone gets what they want.’

Minnie bites her lip. ‘It would be nice to have you on the circuit. It gets lonely sometimes, and yes, Jack refuses to watch Selling Sunset with me.’

I grin. She’s not fully sold, but sold enough. I raise my mug – now lukewarm but I don’t care, it still tastes like victory. ‘To F1.’

‘To getting what we want,’ adds Minnie.

‘To fondant penises!’ giggles Ash. ‘Let’s hope Tom’s isn’t a chode like this one.’