Faking it || Lando Norris LN

9

Lando Norris

"Here." I spoke, holding out my denim jacket.

I looked at her for a brief second, my arm still extended towards her when I turned my gaze to the end of the street, my eyes fixed on the group of photographers that were just beginning to turn our corner, still unaware of our presence. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, raising my chin while eyeing them, pretending to scan the group of incoming paparazzi.

Truth be told, I hadn't planned on stopping under the awning, so as soon as Olivia had let go of my hand when we reached it, I immediately turned around to snap at her for being ridiculous and stopping. The rain was only getting worse by the second, and what had started as a drizzle once we left the restaurant had become pouring rain as we made our way down the street.

But when I'd turned around, she was twisting the excess water out of her long brown hair, looking down at the puddle of water that was forming on the sidewalk. My jaw flew open, her white shirt was completely stuck to her body. It was so transparent you could view the moles on her skin.

Everyone in the grid considered her either attractive or the sheer definition of beauty. I just considered her okay. She wasn't really my type if I'm honest, but the sight had caught me off guard and sent me spinning like a 14-year-old virgin.

I looked away quickly, feeling a twinge of rage as I shut my eyes.

Maybe she was a little more than okay.

It pissed me off. It angered me. It made my skin prickle and my mouth tighten and my fists clench. It made my veins pulse so loudly I could hear them drowning the loud tapping of the rain.

Olivia Reyes was a calculated, premeditated, mediocre driver. She was obsessive, irritating, and insufferable and annoying and she had no right to make me want to stare at the way her shirt gripped her body and brought the details of her white lace bra to public display.

"Huh?"

"What?" I raged.

"But you're wearing white too."

"Am I speaking Russian? Take the fucking jacket." I snapped.

She rushed to take the jacket from my hands as I kept my eyes on the crowd of photographers. They hadn't recognized us, but I knew I could only stare for so long until they did. I knew I could only use them as an excuse to not see Olivia for a couple more seconds.

One of them stopped, his eyebrows raising as he took the camera from under his raincoat. Shit.

I took an extra second until I turned back to see Olivia.

"It's them," a photographer whispered to the others, the echo loud and helping the sound travel all the way to our spot.

My jacket was on, her hands bringing her hair out from it as she nodded at me. I took her hand and we sped out of the awning, her steps following mine down the narrow sidewalk as the pouring rain tapped steadily against my now exposed shirt.

"Lando! Olivia!" The photographers called. They hurried to take their cameras out while we sprinted next to them.

"Hi! Sorry!" Olivia answered. "Good night!"

We reached the end of the street and stopped at the avenue. We were only a couple of blocks away from the hotel, we were close. The rain didn't seem to slow down, the droplets falling loud and heavy enough to dampen my shirt, making it stick to my shoulders.

I waited until there was a gap between two cars wide enough for us to cross the street and pulled Olivia's hand as she squeezed it tighter while we crossed. My sight fogged for an instant once our feet touched the other sidewalk —it returned the second after she stopped squeezing my hand.