barely legal | max verstappen ✓

chapter 1 | what happens in monaco, stays in monaco

«And if you wake up feeling happy, you're doing it wrong, you should be in cold water with your best dress on.»

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Sloane groaned, everything felt so heavy she couldn't even open her eyes. There were vague memories from the night before: a party, a lot of drinks, some questionable substances — models just loved those — then her manager looking angry...and a guy. That was all it took for her to find some will and force herself to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was the ceiling and that was definitely not her father's flat in Monaco.

Turning her head slowly to the side, and with a bit of reluctance, the hopes that the spot next to her on the bed would be empty suffered a painful death, because just as she should've suspected, there was someone there. A back of course. She held the sheets tighter against her chest and propped on one of her elbows to make sure she could take a look at the person sleeping next to her, and then it clicked.

Her eyes flew wide open. The pain in her head was killing her, but the realisation was stronger than anything else. "Oh fuck." It came out as a low whisper, even barely audible to herself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Even in her less lucid state, she could recognise the man laying in bed with her. Her hand covered her mouth, and her gaze stayed glued to him. The guy sleeping deeply and peacefully. The memories kept pouring back into her brain like a cascade of bad decisions. From the beginning to the end. It was like she could recall the exact moment when the decision was taken. Of fucking course.

See, Sloane wasn't one for regrets. Surely she'd had some debatable experiences with men, but it had never taken enough from her to get her to regret them. Now there was a difference between hooking up with her usual prospects to doing so with someone who was definitely not on her list of options. For various freaking reasons.

Reason number one: that someone was her ex-boyfriend's friend slash colleague. Or whatever.

Of all people in the world she just had to fall into bed with none other than Max Verstappen. The joke wrote itself.

She took one last look at him, just to make sure she wasn't completely going insane and losing her mind, but it was very real and she was there, naked in what she assumed was his bed. It couldn't get any worse. She pulled the sheets off, and tip-toed her way out of bed and the room, picking up her discarded clothes on the way out.

Sloane zipped her dress back on, and carefully grabbed her boots. The term walk of shame was short for what she was feeling at the moment. She peeked at the open door of his room one last time before sneaking out of his loft, as quietly as she could. Once she was out and in the empty corridor, Sloane breathed out. It felt shaky. No, she was quite literally shaking. Her lower lip was trembling.

With clumsy hands, she pulled out her phone. There were a bunch of missed calls from her manager Vivianne...and missed calls from Aurora, as well as some texts from her. Well, at least her best friend could not judge her for that one. Not that it would be disclosed any time soon.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor startled her. Sloane locked her phone and lowered her head, making her way to the elevator with quick steps. The boots were still hanging from her hand, she didn't even want to assess just how obvious she looked. She breathed a sigh of relief once her back hit the cold metal of the elevator, and the doors closed. She hit the button to the lobby multiple times in the act of desperation.

Quickly putting her boots back on, and smothering her dress and hair, Sloane straightened up, wishing that would be enough to make her look a bit more decent. Her gaze drifted multiple times to the phone in her hand until the clink from the elevator distracted her from that.