Last Straw

Pure Chaos

Max and I have texted nonstop since the moment we parted in Monaco, and I'm actually quite excited to surprise him in Bahrain. He has absolutely no idea what exactly the job I talked at length with him about actually is and there's no way he's going to be expecting this.

It's pure gold.

Well, it would be if I had a spare second to talk to him.

In all honesty I thought it would be easy to be Lance's minder and now looking back at only a few days ago I wish I could kick myself for thinking that. It's actually pure chaos. Everyone wants an interview, he has more time commitments that the president of America and my inbox is fucking teeming with messages.

Somehow, I'm thriving.

There's something nice about being so busy your brain literally switches off the outside world to focus on the ten immediate needs of that second.

And I see why Lance loves it out here. It's a fucking rush watching the cars zoom by so I can't even imagine what it feels like to be inside of one. It smells like hope and gasoline in the paddock, teeming with hundreds of people rushing to their next destination.

That part of it reminds me of New York. If it's possible I'm half listening to Lance's interview, half thinking of a witty text response to Max and half turning down a media request email all at once when the words that cross the reporters mouth unmistakably cross the line.

"You've been progressing a lot lately. Do you think you'd still be here if it wasn't for your father buying a team?"

"That's all we have time for, thanks." I tug at his arm and Lance shoots me a grateful look.

Fucking hell, where do some people get the nerve?

Dad only got interested in this sport after Lance, not the other way around. Neither of us are keen on falling into family business and between the two of us we've shared many a talks of frustration around Lance feeling trapped. If anything he'd like to leave the team for a new one, leave the choke hold. In spite of the offers he had, our father doesn't allow it.

And we know all too well how he gets what he wants.

Hence me standing here, right now.

"Alright, you have five until PT." We move out of the press circle, heading back to the garage so I can deposit Lance in his drivers room for a bit.

I'd love to grab a coffee while he's training and I'm just about to ask him if he'd like anything, when I see him.

Max, walking in his team gear and a hat shading his beautiful eyes. It shouldn't, but my heart physically skips a beat when my eyes land on him.

He looks confused, but heads straight for us regardless. Time to break the news then, good a time as any."Cat!"

"Hey Max," I greet him with a little side hug and then remember Lance is there.

Lance who looks confused as hell, staring like we suddenly sprouted four legs. I haven't yet worked up the nerve to tell him about meeting Max, neverthless spending those nights with him. There's no doubt he'll have a lot of questions. Questions I don't know how to answer yet.

But here we are.

"Hey mate, great car this year!" Max slaps Lance on the shoulder as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Pretty exciting," Lance tosses me a glance that says this is something we're definitely discussing later "How do you two know each other?"

Funny question that.

How does one explain he picked me up in a bar in spite of the fact I have a boyfriend, but not in the sexual way more in the hangout until the sun rises two nights in a row kind of way?

Doesn't really roll of the tongue with ease. This is exactly why I was keeping it to myself.

Max takes the lead, "We ran into each other in Monaco."

To say the least of it.

"Cool." Lance says, concerned older brother tone edging into his voice.

"What are you doing here?" Max asks, and now it's my turn to be put on the spot.

"I work for Aston Martin." Giving the simplest answer possible as if all my passes don't give that away. Passes that confuse the hell out of me but he's bound to understand them far better than I after his years in the paddock.

Why am I suddenly nervous?

I find myself waiting, hoping for his approval.

Instead his blue eyes tell me he's confused this is the job I was ranting about, and why didn't I just say it? I grant Max a little shrug answering the unspoken communication between us.

Now it's time for the kicker, courtesy of none other than my brother "This is my little sister."

He doesn't need to say he's shocked, it's written across his face.

"Shit," A glimmer of something unrecognizable passes across his face as nerves start to crawl up my spine. This conversation feels weird, so weird. "We know who got the good genes." Max recovers with a quick joke between the boys that breaks the ice.

"You can say that again." Lance stiffens beside me but doesn't reject the chance to compliment me, playing the good older brother.

"You guys coming out tonight?"

A party?

Um, yes.

Hell yes is on the tip of my tongue but I refrain. "Yes-"

"No." Lance answers at the same time as me. He turns, giving me an even more confused look than earlier if that's even possible.

Well isn't this a lovely encounter.

Not awkward a bit.

Max looks back and forth between us, rocking back on his feet like he's unsure how to proceed. "Okay... well I gotta do the press circle."

"Good luck, they are in rare form today." Lance snorts.

"Good to see you." He nods, eyes twinkling that the comment was just for me. When he walks away I can finally breath again, exhaling air I hadn't even realized I was holding in.

Fucking hell, that man does something to me. But there's no time to think about that now.

We start to walk because our schedule is so packed it wouldn't allow for anything else. "So, you met Max?"

"Yup." I pop the p, keeping it short and sweet.

"Is there anything I need to know?" He sounds defensive, very big brothery since the whole interaction. He's concerned about me likely because of my terrible taste in men. This time though he has no need to worry.

"Nope. Just friends."

He spins his head, attempting to read me behind both of our sunglasses. "Sure." I know him well enough to know he's unconvinced but time will tell.

He's got places to be and I can practically hear the coffee calling my name from here, "See you after PT." I touch his arm and step on my own way, sucessfully evading any further questions.

For now at least.