"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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August 4th, Montreal, Canada
"You've got to be fucking shitting me."
Lance looks down at me, and gives me a faint smile, "Sorry, sweet heart. Did I beat you on coming here first?"
I roll my eyes, and climb up the ladder, "What are you doing here?"
"Watching the sunset."
"I thought you found them a waste of time?" I raise an eyebrow while I join him in the treehouse and sit down on the floor opposite of him, keeping a safe distance between us.
"They also ease my mind." He reminds me of his other words.
I roll my eyes and try to ignore his presence as much as possible, but he seems to have other plans.
"You know, Maya. I never understood why we stopped hanging out. We used to have so much fun together," Lance says, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "We were friends."
"We used to live in the same street, Lance," I correct him. "And we were never really friends. We played hide-and-seek with mutual friends, that doesn't make us friends."
Lance doesn't respond anymore, but I can feel his eyes on me again. I take a deep breath before turning to face him, "So, you just came here to watch the sunsets, huh?"
"Yeah, it's a peaceful spot," Lance replies, he looks away but I can see him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "And it's not like I have many peaceful moments with my schedule."
I resist the urge to scoff at his attempt to gain sympathy, as if he had forgotten what happened yesterday. "Yeah, I'm sure you're so busy being a Formula One driver and all." I say sarcastically.
Lance chuckles softly, "It's not just about being a driver, Maya. There's a lot of other things that come with it."
I roll my eyes again, "Like what? Being worshiped by thousands of fans and making millions of dollars a year?"
Lance tilts his head, studying me closely, "You're still angry about yesterday, aren't you?"
"You really are an oblivious, arrogant asshole."
Lance raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk, "Is that what you think of me?"
"Yes, Lance, that's exactly how I think you are," I reply, my voice laced with contempt. "You think you're so great just because you drive a fast car. Newsflash, that doesn't make you a good person or justify your behavior."
