Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 20: Seb (Part 2 of 2)

My sixth and Lauren's sixteenth place finish in an incredibly tough, German race really help boost our popularity. She's been booked on a few TV shows in England, while I—with an overall third place standing in the championship just four points behind Gareth in second—am covering the local press circuit ahead of the upcoming Italian race. We'd be apart for five days before coming together on Saturday for a joint fan meet-and-greet in Rome.

I've had almost two months to make my mind up about her. Are we competitors or am I supposed to be more of a mentor to her? Could we be friends or are our goals too different? And most importantly, is she worth my attention or would the distraction prove too much a risk? Even if I had come up with the answers, the last few days threw a goddamned wrench into the whole thing.

I didn't mean to lead her on. And she probably didn't mean to make a move on me. Yet both happened. At least things didn't go all the way. After a couple of days apart, we'll have a new perspective to freely blame the alcohol and have a good laugh.

But what about next time when we're both sober and in the same situation? I can list a handful of reasons off the top of my head warning against it: she's only here temporarily, if it goes bad we still have to work with each other, and if anyone found out, it would take the focus off what we do out on the track.

Then again, one thing I can do is keep a relationship secret. Of course, I've never been tested with a girl like Lauren before. And she's definitely different. Whether that's good or bad, I'm not sure.

Okay, so I am sure. I wouldn't still be daydreaming about her even as my taxi rolls through Rome if I didn't think she's different in a good way. But that's bad. Bad for me, at least, because I shouldn't even be thinking about her lips just centimeters from mine, the smell of her skin as she leaned against me, or her breasts pressed against my chest. Oh god. I'm doing it again! It's stupid. I'm stupid. This whole situation is stupid.

Clenching my fist in my lap, I stare out the window as the car passes the old buildings of my Campo Marzio neighborhood. I love this city. While I have the pick of pretty much any place, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Two more blocks and a roundabout later, the taxi stops. I pay the fare and grab my bags, happy to be home. When I turn the key in the exterior door to my apartment building, my mobile rings. It's Nigel, which isn't unusual except we'd just spent the last three hours together on the same flight from Germany.

"Ciao," I say, picking up the call. "Do you miss me already, boss?"

"Please tell me you're not fucking your teammate," he says.

Nigel is nothing, if not blunt, but holy shit, is the man telepathic? Where did that come from? I stand in the doorway with one foot still on the sidewalk as I blink in shock.

"What?" I manage to ask.

"The story broke while we were in the air, but it's all over the news now. You were in her room last night. There's even a photo," he says.

"I . . . I," the single syllable is all I can say as I close my eyes to recall seeing anyone who could have ratted us out. There was no one as far as I can remember. But this is bad. Really bad.

Nigel huffs on the other end of the line. "So, you're not denying it?"

"No. I mean, I was in her room," I say. "But only because she had too much to drink. You know. We were celebrating the race. That is all."

"If I was to call Lauren right now and ask her, she'd say the same thing? That nothing else happened? Because if you're lying to me right now, that would be worse than if you two had actually—"

"Yes, it is the truth," I interrupt before Nigel can finish. It's bad enough to hear him put it like that the first time. I don't want him thinking of Lauren this way. Luckily, it is the truth. "Call her. Nothing happened."

"You better hope not. But either way if anyone asks, all you say is 'no comment.' Got it?" Nigel asks.

"Yes. Of course," I say before ending the call.

Being right has never been so disappointing. Now both Lauren and I have to face a week's worth of media vultures in denying our non-existent relationship. There's no way we can get into anything real after this. And it's the lead-up to my home race, too. Fuck. This week is already hell, and it's only Monday.