𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡
Lewis Hamilton's childhood best friend is planning to make all the drivers fall for her
𝐨𝐫
𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡
Amilia Ana López gets herself into so much trouble, she can no longer find her way out
As the sun shone through the large white curtains, I slowly woke up from my deep sleep. I felt a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation. Slowly my blurred vision came into focus and I found myself in a luxurious bedroom. My nose filled with the scent of roses as I allowed my eyes to adjust to the bright light. As i let my eyes glide through the room, I noticed a sculpture on a very vintage looking dresser and what caught my eye was the very luxurious painting hanging on the wall to my right. It was truly stunning and when I opened Instagram to capture it for my Story, I discovered that I had already posted one.
It was quite strange, because I couldn't remember posting last night. So I clicked on it.
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I was amazed at how good this photo looks. I let out a laugh at the fact, that nobody actually looks that good in real life. I shook my head and clicked through some other Instagram Stories, when I discovered that Marielle had posted quite a few. Some of her partying in the crowd, one of her and Lewis posing in a mirror they probably found somewhere around the property and one of her and my reflection posing in front of some glass doors. I have no memory of this whatsoever, but I made myself a mental note to text her later and ask her to send me the picture straight away. As I swiped the photo away, I landed on a Story that seemed incredibly familiar. My head was still hurting like hell, so I had a bit of trouble focusing on the person in it.
Oh, that's me. Then I looked at the user and my eyes widened. No. fucking. way.
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Seeing myself in Pierre Gasly's Instagram Story was one thing, but seeing the man come out of the bathroom shirtless at the exact same moment was something else entirely. My surprise must have been obvious, because he flashed me a charming smile. "You're staring"
That's when I looked down and oh my, that was a mistake. My eyes wouldn't leave a single thing on his well defined body unobserved, when Pierre slowly made his way over to the bedside, coming to a stop right in front of me. He placed two fingers under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
