Love Has No Limits

11.

George got pole position. He dominated the qualifying day, all three stages. Gone were all the brake issues and the sector losses. Again, him and Max we're head to head.

You were going to send some of the girls from the PR team to go with him to the TV pit, but in the end you decided to go with him since he was the pole man. He received the award and took the photos for the press, and went to you already lifting his arm to receive your high five.

"Congratulations George!" You told him. "Was it easy? It looked easy."

He chuckled as he walked with you. "I was scared I would lose some tenths in the second sector but overall it was pretty easy, yeah. Felt a lot lighter too."

"Because you stopped sulking around?" You teased him.

"Or maybe because I had the true support of my whole team!" He teased back and winked as he jogged off to the press. You just laughed and followed him, knowing you couldn't get back at him until he was out of the cameras.

—

Saturday was all about the sprint qualifying and race. You arranged for the social media team to photograph and film George doing all kinds of pre race preparations, showing how a champion focus and of course, how committed he his with his job.

All of his stories and posts lately had been about cycling, running or spending time with family or friends, no sign of clubs or drinks. Paps had been hired to "spot him" around the city during the day driving towards the gym, having lunch or even shopping. Mundane stuff, daily life but slowly getting away from his night life persona. George seemed glad with the change, even more because he was in charge of the decisions too.

You were currently analysing some articles and polls around the internet, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned and saw a 1.85 metre tall man in a black suit and a blue shiny helmet with his arms wide open.

"Do I get my good luck hug?" George asked, minutes from getting into the car.

You chuckled and went to hug him. "Crazy man, go win this thing and then win the big one tomorrow!"

"Yes!!" He yelled, pumping his fist to the air and leaving to do his job.

The man got P5 in the sprint quali, because of some red flag caused by a Haas, and made a heroic come back to P1 in the sprint race.

"You really are good luck," he commented to you, walking back to the paddock.

—

Sunday was amazing. George drove insanely well, giving a right masterclass along with Max and Charles following closely behind. Toto offered you a pair of headphones and a seat on the garage to watch the race. You kindly declined, going to George's room to watch it from the sofa in peace. Toto chuckled and let you go, congratulating you on your choice. It was the truth, you liked to watch the race, not the backstage. Besides, for you it was nerve wracking, so you would be able to jump and talk to the tv without being judged. George thought it funny but left the room totally adequate for your comfort.

That's how you were celebrating jumping off from the sofa and running off straight towards the team huddled together below the podium when George crossed the finish line.

You were at the press area, waiting for George's turn to speak. He was chatting with Lando, who was also waiting, when Daniel Riccardo came to you.

"You're coming tonight, right?" He asked.

"Hi, nice to meet you," you chuckled. "Yes, I'll be there if my driver here still wants to go!"

"Of course I do," George chipped in and went back to his conversation.

You giggled. "There you go."

"Good, I'll see you then!" He said, then turned to George to give him a hug. "Congratulations mate!"

He corresponded the hug and thanked Daniel, who left right before your turn with Sky Sports was on.

—

The lift from your floor opened and you were about to go in, ready to attend the party.

"Whoaaa doesn't someone look nice tonight! Wohooooo!" Lando cat-called from inside.

You laughed. "Are you drunk already?"

"He isn't, I swear," George asked, and slapped the back of his head. "Behave, mate."

You got in the lift. "Don't worry, it's a party night so we're off formalities," you smiled at them. "Besides, I do feel nice."

"Ah well, then in a less effusive way, I agree with Lando," George nodded with a smile.

"Thanks boys!"

Leaving the hotel, the drivers offered their car, since you were going on your own to the party. Lando insisted he wanted the window, so you were sat besides George, who tried very hard to stick with his friend, to leave you space.

Lando's phone rang, with his friend Max calling. Apparently, their car cancelled him, his girlfriend and his brother, so they were asking if they could pick them up. Of course, they agreed.

"How on earth are we going to fit three more people inside this car?" You asked.

That's when you arrived to the hotel where Max and his group were staying. They decided he will go at the front seat, with his girlfriend on his lap. His friend, would sit at the back, leaving you on George's lap.

You tried your best to protest but there was no other way. It was either him or Lando, and let's face it, you were much more comfortable with with George, even though he struggled the whole ride because he didn't know where to put his hands.

"You okay?" You checked on him. "Sorry you have to put up with this here..."

"I'm fine, it's totally okay, truly I'm just cursing Lando for putting you in this clown car," he chuckled.

"Oh no this is fun, reminds me of school times, when I used to ask my dad to drive me and my friends around."

"Yeah but you weren't sat on the lap of someone you work with have you?"

You smirked. "Well, if you count my stripper years..."

"What?!" George asked, scandalised.

You laughed. "I'm joking, obviously, but you should've seen your face, wishing you could see a lap dance!"

"I was just going to ask how did you end up there!" He tried to defend himself.

You patted his chest and laughed. "Sure thing, Russell, this is the closest you'll have me near your lap."

"I wouldn't be so proud of this seating arrangement but it'll do," he chuckled.

You laughed with him and kept chatting nonsense until you arrived at the much expected party

—