Chapter 29 Aurélie
aurélie
She could ignore me all she wanted. But if I had her alone, just for a second, I’d make damn sure she remembered exactly who’s been inside her head—because I’d be inside her in every other fucking way too. -Callum
“Good work out there,” Karl said, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’ll fine-tune the setup tonight, but you’re in a good place.”
I nodded, setting the tablet aside as I stood. The movement sent a dull ache down my back, radiating through my shoulders. My fingers flexed, trying to shake off the ache that had crept in. I’d raced tougher tracks, sure—but this tension felt different. Deeper. Like it had taken root.
Nothing I couldn’t handle.
I reached for a bottle of water, taking a long sip as I surveyed the garage, rolling my neck slightly.
“Auri.”
The familiar voice made me turn. Kimi stood in the entrance, his helmet tucked under his arm. His easy smile and relaxed posture were a welcome change from the garage’s environment.
“Kimi. Hey.”
“Fucking killer session,” he said, leaning against the wall. “P4 in FP2? Not bad for a rookie.”
I rolled my eyes, but the teasing note in his voice made me laugh. “Not bad for a midfield car, you mean.”
He grinned. “Same thing.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, the hum around us fading into the background. Kimi and I had known each other for years, our careers crossing paths in F3 and F2. He’d been promoted to F1 two years before me, but we’d always stayed close.
“How’s it been?” he asked finally, his tone softer. “The transition, I mean.”
I hesitated. “It’s… a lot. More than I expected. The racing, the media, the politics—it’s like a whole different world.”
He nodded, his expression understanding. “You’re handling it better than most would. Better than I did, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks, Kimi.” The sincerity in his voice was a balm to the self-doubt that had been gnawing at me since Suzuka.
“By the way,” he added, his grin returning, but this time there was something too knowing behind it. “Fraser couldn’t stop staring after FP2.”
I blinked. The plastic water bottle crinkled in my hand.
“What are you talking about?” I scoffed.
He chuckled, bumping his shoulder against mine. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said smoothly, tilting his head toward the pit lane. “I’d say he’s got it bad.”
My pulse kicked, but I ignored it. Ignored the sudden heat creeping up my neck, ignored the way my skin prickled like someone was watching me.
No. No fucking way.
Callum Fraser wasn’t—
He wasn’t—
He wasn’t.
I didn’t care that he’d been watching. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t something I was going to think about later when I climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to picture the way his fire suit clung to his body.
It wasn’t something that sent a wave of heat through me hotter than the desert itself.
I didn’t replay our fight in Bahrain like a masochist, didn’t let myself wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t stepped back.
And I definitely didn’t think about how his forearms flexed when he was leaning over his car.
Never once pictured his head between my thighs, his stubble scraping my skin.
No, I absolutely did not use a variety of vibrators to quench that particular thirst.
I wasn’t obsessed.
And I sure as fuck wasn’t as bad as he was.
I forced my expression into something neutral. Unbothered. But my fingers were still too tight around the water bottle, and Kimi noticed.
Of course the bastard noticed.
“I don’t have time for this,” I muttered, brushing past him.
Kimi let out a low laugh, the sound smug and annoyingly fucking entertained.
“Right. Whatever you say, Dubois.”