The Race Director's Daughter (Sebastian Vettel)

37. Boys' Weekend

"Come on Seb, don't be a killjoy!" Daniel said as Seb slid into the back of Michael Italiano's Mercedes at Nice airport. "This is going to be one hell of a weekend."

"Why did I have to be unlucky enough to have a birthday so close to yours?" Seb muttered under his breath.

"Hey,  that's not my fault.  Take that up with my parents.  Now stop being a miserable fucker and show some enthusiasm."

Seb sighed.  It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the effort Daniel had gone to to arrange an early birthday celebration for them both, but he'd been hoping to spend his weekend off with Leah.  

"It's not even our birthdays till next weekend," he complained.  "We're going out after Silverstone to celebrate."

"I know, but you know me Sebastian.  I love an excuse for a piss up.  It's not every year I turn thirty three, is it?"  Seb shook his head in defeat. 

"I guess not. I can tell you now though, as someone who's been there and done that, it's no different to thirty two."

"Oh lighten up will you for pity's sake? Just because you wanted to spend your weekend getting into your girlfriend's pants doesn't mean you have to be so bloody grumpy."

Seb gave a small laugh. Daniel wasn't wrong.  It wasn't all about that though.  He just loved spending time with Leah.  He missed her so much.

They'd spent the evening together in his room in Montreal.  They hadn't done anything sexual at all, they'd just laid in each other's arms watching television.  He smiled as he thought of how he'd lightly stroked her back as she'd rested her head on his chest. 

"So who else is coming?" Seb asked, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.  

Daniel turned around in the passenger seat and grinned at Seb.  "Well let me think.   I asked Lewis, but he's out in New York doing something for Vogue.  Max is coming, if Kelly lets him that is.  Charles, Lando...that should be fun, he'll be shitfaced on just the smell of alcohol. He's not used to anything stronger than milk.   Esteban, Mick, Albono, Hulk, Valtteri."

"Mostly the youngsters then,  apart from you, Hulk, Valtteri and me."

"And me," Michael added. 

"It will be fun showing them how it's done.   As I said,  Lando will be drunk on the smell.  Max can't hold his drink, neither can Esteban. They are sure to embarrass theirselves, and I'll be waiting to capture it all on camera!"

"This could get ugly."

"It's Monaco Sebastian.  No 'could' about it."

Seb groaned inwardly.  He was getting too old for this shit. Why had he agreed to spend the weekend in Monaco? He had a feeling he was going to regret it.

***

Seb picked up the shot glass and emptied the contents down his throat. He pulled a face as it burnt on the way down. He slammed the glass back down onto the table. Daniel slapped him on the back.

"Way to go Weltmeister!" he shouted out. Seb grinned at him. He'd lost count of the number of shots he and Daniel had done now, but it was considerably more than the two drivers slumped in their seats opposite them.

"Nooo fair," whined Lando. Max nodded in agreement.

"What's not fair?" Daniel asked, picking up another shot and drinking it.

"You and Seb are winning."

"Not our fault you youngsters can't handle your drink," Seb said grinning.   He watched as Lando stood up and tried to cross the room.  He and Daniel laughed as the young Englishman bumped into numerous things, tables, chairs, pillars, people,  as he made his way to the other side of the bar where Esteban and Charles were having a dance-off to the latest David Guetta track.