Adrenaline

50 | and away they run

Heat pounds against the pavement under a smoldering Melbourne sun. Using the back of my hand, I swipe at the beads of sweat against my forehead while trying to balance my drink, phone, and badge in the other. I'm not sure why I was convinced wearing a jacket in the middle of Australian summer is a good idea, but here I am, ready to sweat my entire weight off before I even make it to our seats. The FIA will have to weigh me after the race to ensure I haven't sweat all the water out of my system.

        "Wait!" Stacey calls out to me, causing me to turn around. She bends down and the crowd behind her parts like she's Moses. "My laces got untied. One sec."

        A group of fans walk past us with their F1 Paddock Club badges hanging around their necks and one of them attempts to sneak a picture of me, but they don't realize it's near impossible to accomplish at this point in my career successfully. At this point, I could start an Instagram account where I only post pictures I've snapped of fans trying to sneak ones of me.

        I glance down at my wrist to check the time. "Do you think we're cutting it close?"

        "It's almost an hour and a half until lights out," Hudson replies before taking a sip of his beer. It leaves a layer of foam on the edge of his mustache that he uses his hand to wipe away. "Bash said he was going to see you before the race started, yeah?"

        "Yeah," I sigh. "But it's been kind of a while. I'm sure he's super busy. I can just send him a text if I need to."

        Glancing around us, I don't see any of the drivers walking about. Most of them are probably trying to get in the zone or getting ready for the race, and I imagine that's what Brendon is doing, or should be, at least. If he doesn't make it out to see us before the race starts, I can't be mad. Starting the new F1 season at his home race means extra stress and excitement. Taking time to himself might be good. He deserves it if that's what he wants.

        Stacey jumps to her feet after she's done, and scrambles to catch up to us with a bucket of popcorn in her hands, the occasional stragglers falling to their demise. Once she catches up, I place my hand on her back and guide her between Hudson and me so we can keep an eye on her. The Windsor crew is familiar with her but I don't want her to get caught in the storm of a crowd.

        "Is Bash here yet?" she asks, looking up at me.

        I shake my head. "No, he might be too busy. Do you want to go up to our seats already? We can always walk back down if he calls."

        "Okay!" she exclaims before bouncing in the direction of the VIP seats above the garages. Knowing our luck, we'll see him hanging around there and have to just yell down to him before the drivers all head out.

        Hudson does his best to keep up with her, but he's much older than her so he has to dodge a few people to get to her. I shake my head with a laugh and start toward them, making it a few feet when I feel arms encircle around my waist.

        My mind goes into overdrive and I almost through my drink in his face but stop myself when I turn around and realize who it is.

        "You little shit."

        Brendon smiles down at me, and it takes genuine effort to not immediately admire the way he looks with his racing overalls tied around his waist, giving me a perfect view of the way his long-sleeved shirt hugs his body like a second skin. Something so simple shouldn't look so good, and yet here I am, still drooling over him after seeing it a handful of times up close before.

        (Get yourself together, Stevie. You have time after the race. And his sister is right there.)

        "Missed me?"