Chapter 18
aurélie
She was just getting coffee. Just standing next to me. Just existing. And somehow, that was enough to make my whole damn day. Which would be fine—if I wasn’t also fucking obsessed with her. -Callum
The gentle chime of my phone alarm stirred me from a restless sleep. I blinked at the soft light filtering through the heavy hotel curtains, the previous day hitting me all at once.
Aching muscles and a foggy head reminded me of the physical toll the weekend had taken on me, and the quiet of the room seemed too loud, too empty. Too lonely. No one to share the excitement with. Not like I used to.
I stretched carefully, wincing as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My physio had worked miracles last night, but even Jules couldn’t erase the bruises from the cockpit or the stiffness in my neck from hours of intense concentration.
You’d think after all these years I’d be used to it, but that would be a fucking lie. It had only gotten worse since F1.
My phone was still lying on the nightstand where I’d tossed it after my last message to Callum. A sense of giddiness rushed through me as I replayed our exchange in my mind. He had a way of making me feel seen, in a way I hadn’t expected, let alone wanted. Or so I once thought.
Shaking that off, I padded into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to wake up and hopefully shake the grogginess.
The mirror reflected a pale, tired version of myself.
My lips were still swollen—bitten raw last night, thinking about him.
I exhaled sharply and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. This was fine. I was fine.
By the time I made it to the lobby with my suitcase in tow, the familiar buzz of F1 life was already in full swing.
Staff bustled about, checking out, coordinating transfers, and preparing for the journey to Suzuka, Japan.
I approached the reception desk, offering a polite smile to the clerk as I handed over my room key.
“Aurélie.”
His voice hit me like a physical thing.
I turned, pulse pounding in my throat, to see Callum standing a few feet away, his duffel bag slung casually over one shoulder.
He was dressed in a simple black hoodie with his number stitched into the shoulder and jeans, casual but stupidly hot, his dark hair just tousled enough to look like he’d just rolled out of bed.
That slight shadow on his jaw made me blink.
I knew exactly what that stubble would feel like if he pressed his mouth against my stomach, my inner thighs—yep, they clenched without permission.
Fuck.
For a brief moment, with the way he looked at me, I felt like he could see my thoughts, feel the shift in the air between us.
“Callum,” I replied, voice a little too even, too controlled, because my body was anything but.
His piercing blue eyes flickered over my face, my throat, and I thought I saw something dangerous there. Something we didn’t quite want to name yet. Oh, but the fucking butterflies in my stomach knew exactly what it was.
Want.
Need.
Arousal.
“Headed to the airport?” he asked, falling into step beside me as I made my way toward the entrance, trying desperately to outrun this whole thing with him, but he just kept sucking me back in.
“Not yet. I was thinking of grabbing a coffee first,” I said, glancing at him. Noticing how close he was now, the heat of his body against the slight morning chill. “You?”
“Same,” he said, his lips twitching like he was hiding a secret. “Looks like we’re on the same schedule.”
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “Awfully presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
He fought a grin, but I saw it in his eyes. That playful glint. The kind of glint that made my stomach clench.
“What, it’s a crime to accompany a lady to get coffee before a full day of travel?”
God, his voice was lethal. Rough, deep, effortlessly cocky.
I rolled my eyes. “Mon Dieu, that Scottish accent of yours isn’t fair. No wonder you have women worshipping your existence,” I muttered, doing a slow perusal of him before I could stop myself. Damn it. I immediately regretted it.
The teasing was meant to be light, but I caught the way his pupils dilated—just for a second. Like he was registering something new in my voice. Like he caught the way I’d been checking him out.
“What do you mean?”
“You say shit like that. It sounds chivalrous in a day and age of players, fuck boys, and assholes. Paired with your accent and it sounds fucking majestic.”
This time he did grin, and I saw a hint of a dimple in his right cheek. What the hell? It shouldn't be legal that he could look like that.
“Honestly, fuck off,” I teased, shoving his shoulder as we slowed in front of a coffee shop. Anything to break whatever moment that had just been. Except my fucking fingers lingered half a second too long.
“Can’t change how I was born, Dubois.”
My eyes rolled even harder as he opened the door to the café for me. His hand brushed against the small of my back, barely there, but enough to send a jolt of white hot heat rushing through me, a shiver skating down my spine.
Despite the teasing, his presence was grounding. Welcome.
When I glanced at him over my shoulder and saw him watching me like he was debating something. I held his stare. Long enough to show him I wasn’t afraid. Just… hungry.
His mouth curved. “Still not going soft, by the way,” he said under his breath.
Oh my God. I would not survive this man. I bit back a grin. “Good to know,” I murmured. “Would’ve been such a shame if I was losing my touch.”