𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

SHE began to bite her lip as she walked back to her room, wondering why the fuck she wanted to turn back around.

"Fuck."

Instead of wondering, she did.

Zia turned around marching right back to George, who stood shocked in his doorway. When she reached him, she sighed, pointing a finger at him.

"We aren't dating, because I don't know how I really feel about all of this yet." she said firmly, as George nodded, staring at her with stars in his eyes.

"We don't tell anyone about this, even Alex or Alice, because if this gets out it will ruin me and any chance I have with Ferrari ever."  she continued, as George nodded frantically.

"Of course."

"And you'll let me through tomorrow? On track if I need you to?" she added, more as a joke than anything to ease the tension.

"Can I please kiss you now." George said, rolling his eyes at Zia's bad timing.

Zia stood up on her toes, wrapping her arms around George's neck, as he bent down, placing her hands around her waist, gripping it tightly.

He kissed her passionately, holding her as close to him as she possibly could, not wanting to let for go, for fear someone might take her away from him.

It was an odd sensation he'd never felt before. But no matter how much she might pester and annoy him, something about her sat in his brain, constantly reminding him of her presence, and how much he liked kissing her.

Zia had never really felt anything with Jake. To her, he was just a big mistake. She had beend blinded by the tempting thought of having someone who truly understood her struggles, someone who could relate to her stories, someone she knew.

Expect she didn't really know Jake at all, and it took her a while to figure it out. But standing there with George, his lips on hers, his fingers grazing against a small part of her exposed skin from where her shirt had been pulled up, she felt something.

Not a spark... that was cliche, and meant she was in love. She didn't think she was in love. She couldn't be. She hadn't ever been before. Not a spark, but a flame. Something inside her was burning as she and George kissed, and it's faint glow screamed out at her: "this is right."

It was odd; he was an asshole.

But she had always been a big fan of odd things.

George moved backwards, waking them both into his hotel room, shutting the door behind Zia, blocking them away from the outside world.

Away from the press, away from the drama, away from the crashes and the rivalries and the wars.

It was just them. George and Zia. Zia and George, in a hotel room, kissing each other, wondering why they liked it so much.

SUNDAY
RACE DAY
ZIA POWMAN'S DRIVER'S ROOM

ZIA started at the floor of her driver's room, hands holding her forehead as her elbows were settled on her knees.

This was it.

This was the day the championship would be decided. Would it be going British, or would it be going Dutch.

Most importantly however, as Zia thought, today would determine whether or not she would still be in this paddock next year, or whether she'd be sat back home in Britain, in her dull flat, with her TV, staring at it mindlessly, watching her friends drive, torturing herself little by little.