«And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along, she might want a kiss before the end of the song.»
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His place was as expected from a twenty-something-year-old guy who raced cars for a living, she thought. It was nice, neat actually, and when they'd arrived she tried to scan around as discreetly as she could. There were pictures with family and friends around, she took notice, and a knot formed in her throat when she saw them. Why? Perhaps guilt, that was easy. Pierre had told her she was welcome to get comfortable, and although it'd been a bit awkward at first, once they settled into conversation the dynamic flowed as usual.
Her fingertip ran along the rim of her glass, half full of red wine. He'd gotten a whole selection of it for her because he said that was her drink of choice every time they'd been in a restaurant together. Salma didn't know what to reply to after that. Now he was standing at the other side of the kitchen island, clumsily chopping things and trying not to make a mess. She observed his every movement from where she was sitting, right across from him. The scene was sickenly domestic if she thought about it, but it didn't matter. She wasn't allowing those ideas into her head this time around.
"The car isn't feeling nice, to be honest. I don't think we'll be having a good season this year." He grimaced, only peeking at her for a second before returning to his task. "It was way better last year. This year...it's shit." He concluded with a resigned smile.
The reason he was telling her about his experience with testing was because she'd asked. After he'd inquired about her family — how her mother and grandmother were doing — and the modelling, she decided to return the politeness and show interest in his life as well. Probably because she was genuinely curious about how his week away in Bahrain had been. Sloane had mentioned something, but from her boyfriend's point of view, and quite frankly, she wasn't as engaged with that.
"Isn't the testing supposed to help make adjustments and all of that?" Her hand vaguely motioned in the air.
He nodded, moving around the kitchen to pick something from the cabinets. "Yes, but overall the car is fucking awful. And I'm putting it nicely. No adjustment is going to get that thing to work." It was her time to pull a grimace, and he softly chuckled at her reaction. "Maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to invite you to races this season." Pierre joked.
"I don't care about that. The winning thing, I mean." She said with a neutral tone.
The chopping halted for two seconds, and he pointed accusingly at her with the knife. "You asked if I got into the podium at Las Vegas!"
"You needed a reality check, that's different." Salma clarified, rolling her eyes and trying not to smile.
"Charles would love you just for that alone,"
Sipping from her glass, she gave him a half-shrug. "That doesn't sound like hard work. Your friend seems to be very fond of Sloane's friends already."
His response to this remark was a laugh, along with a slight shake of his head, but not to denote he didn't agree with her. Pierre appeared to be entertained by whatever she said, all the time. His eyes crinkled a little at the end because he kept smiling and looking at her. He slowed a bit of the chopping and suddenly snapped his fingers, as though he had remembered something.
"Speaking of Las Vegas, I think I saw you way before we met that day."
Her brows knitted into a confused frown. She couldn't recall ever crossing paths with him before attending that race. "What are you talking about? That was the first time we met. You embarrassed yourself." She reminded him.
