Faking it || Lando Norris LN

1

Olivia Reyes

If I spend one more second with this fucking helmet on, I'm going to bang my head against a wall. 

I sighed and got out of the car, two disappointing sessions of free practice in my pocket. I know these sessions determine nothing yet. There's still one more session of free practice tomorrow and qualifying after it, which is where the starting positions for the Sunday race get determined. Still, I couldn't help but feel anxious about my result. P12 was nowhere near the result I'd been expecting. Hell, it's the result no one's expecting if you're driving a Ferrari.

I placed the helmet over a table and picked up my water bottle, Santiago already making his way towards me as I slumped on the chair next to me and closed my eyes.

"Santi, I really don't want to hear it. I know how I did." I whispered once he was close enough to hear my sad, tired voice. My entire body was dripping with bullets of sweat.

"Don't worry, Liv. You'll get them tomorrow." He sat down next to me and squeezed my shoulder for a moment. "Turn 10 is a bitch, but I know you'll get it just right. You just have to focus on taking Turn 9 properly." He smiled at me.

"And winning a Grand Prix is easy, you just have to focus on winning!" I remarked sarcastically, earning a few laughs from the mechanics and Santiago himself. 

Don't get me wrong, he was my rock and my best friend. I felt so lucky to have him as my personal trainer, but he did say some stupid shit now and then.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny, but I'm serious! Everyone messed up at least once on that turn today. Let's hit the simulator this afternoon and practice. You'll be able to give out Bahrain Turn 10 masterclasses in no time." He stood up and I grabbed my drink to go next to him.

We made our way to the Ferrari lounge and found Charles leaving as we entered. His gaze found mine and raised his brows, pulling me into a hug before I could even congratulate him on having left today's sessions with P5. As a matter of fact, he'd finished the first session as P2. He was unbelievable at practices and qualifying, but he'd dropped to P5 at the last second when Lewis, Norris, and Daniel picked up their pace. Max had barely managed to get a few milliseconds ahead of him and stole P4 from him.

"Don't sweat it, Liv. You'll kill it tomorrow." He pulled away and smiled before leaving.

I'll admit it. If I hadn't known Charles before joining Ferrari as his teammate last year, I would've gotten all the wrong ideas about him. The man knew how to drive. He had a magic type of driving that made it look insanely easy, like anyone could do it. Not to mention, he was extremely good-looking. Out-of-this-world and how-is-this-even-fair good looking. There are men you see and you'd die to date, and then there are men like Charles Leclerc whose face you'd die to have instead of your own. Regardless of how good-looking you thought you were, there was just no beating Charles Leclerc.

Now, those two things probably don't seem like they should go together, but they do. Oh, they do. One good look at Charles driving and another good look at him without his helmet — God, he had every tool to be a cruel, vicious womanizer who couldn't care less about anyone who's not himself or his car. He definitely wouldn't be the first F1 driver to fall into that stereotype.

Our story didn't go that far before I joined Ferrari as his teammate, but I already knew he wasn't like all the other drivers. Formula 2 had been a pain in the ass for me, and the drivers would often prioritize kicking my guts over winning a Grand Prix, but not Charles. He was kinder than the rest and more focused as well, so it didn't come as a surprise when he won the F2 Championship. We spoke little back then, but he stood up for me several times behind my back before he left for Formula 1.