Rules of the Game • Daniel Ricciardo

Don't Look At Me Like That

Sunday, February 19th, 2017- The Monte Carlo Quarter, Monaco

"Come on, you can still talk back to me once we've gotten you on your feet," Daniel reaches for you as he speaks, both arms held out to you, hands turned palm side up and fingers waggling playfully in the air in front of your face.

It's strange what happens next, the way you feel like you're watching the scene unfold through the eyes of someone else, as you react without conscious thought, responding to the offer before it's even finished being made.

Your body reacts to Daniel's like it's known his for an eternity, like you've gone through these motions countless times, like you've been here so repeatedly before that it's become instinctual to match his movements, to grasp both of his hands in yours like you've already memorized his touch, already accustomed to the warmth of his skin against your own, already become so familiar with everything about him that it's not a stranger that stands before you but a man you know best than you know yourself.

Daniel's hands are solid and steady beneath your own, his long fingers and the junctions above and below where knuckles meet his palms all decorated by callouses, the rough bite of repetition worn skin leaving you with no question of how skilled they are, of the strength they hold and just how much more they're capable of than helping you get up off the ground.

And yet, they're still beneath your own and there's no sign of any action beyond what's already been done, so you look to Daniel for further explanation, hoping to find the reasoning behind his reluctance to take further action in his face. Instead, what you discover is that you're being watched, that his eyes are trained on you, narrowed in careful assessment, his gorgeous features twisted in an expression you can't quite seem to place at the moment, the name of the emotion held in it hovering just out of reach.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," Daniel's tone is full of knowing, kept intentionally light and taunting, the words clearly chosen as to further distract you, to give him the time he needs to hide whatever it was that had been held in his face, in the look you'd just barely caught the tail end of previously.

"Should look at you like what?" you don't miss the light that kindles in his eyes at the sound of your voice, at the challenge in it, denying nothing and simply demanding he elaborate further.

"Like you think I'm beneath you."

"I don't think you're beneath me," you tell him, not bothering to try and catch the astonished, surprised laughter as it burbles out of you at his pronouncement. "I'm certainly not looking at you like that either. Actually I feel it's pretty safe to say I'm not looking at you in any particular way."

"Oh? Oh. I see my mistake now. Is that what I said?" There's a dangerous grin now creeping its way across Daniel's face, his fingers tightening around yours, his shoulders tensing as if readying him to strike.

"You see, what I meant to say- what I'd intended to say was that you look at me like you want me beneath you," without any warning at all, Daniel puts everything he's got into pulling you up off the ground, failing to realize until there's nothing that either one of you can do about it, that he'd grossly overestimated the amount of force necessary to haul you out of your current position, sprawled out across the grass.

As if in slow motion, the momentum behind the sudden movement sends you toppling over forward into him, his hands releasing yours and leaving you to scramble desperately to find purchase against his chest, fingers twisted helplessly in the fabric of his shirt, as he attempts to stop what's already been set in motion.

Daniel's so zeroed in on trying to catch you, on keeping you upright by bracing your body against his, that he fails to notice until it's a moment too late, until his feet have already been knocked out from under him, and the two of you fall crashing to the ground together.