"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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𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚊'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚟
September 4th, Montreal, Canada
There were no pictures of Lance with random women in The Netherlands.
There were multiple pictures of Lance with one specific woman in Italy. They all told the same story, Lance looked out of his mind drunk, and the woman walked him into the hotel.
Of course the media speculated about other things. I didn't want to believe them, but I also know Lance had a record. He had the tabloids of the specific country buzzing. I was surprised, to say the least, but maybe he had been more careful with the paparazzi.
Brent asked me to meet him at a little café downtown, and I see him sitting in the corner of the outside terras as I walk up to him, "Hi there," I say as I tap his shoulder.
"Hi Maya," Brent stands up and gives me a quick hug and a peck on my cheek. See, it was friendly.
"How are you doing?" I ask as we both sit down.
"Isn't that a question I should ask you? I saw the pictures of Lance in Monza," He smirks. "Feeling jealous already?"
I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile just a little bit. Brent sees me through, he always has. "I am fine. It is not like I want to be one of those women."
Brent laughs, "No, you want to be the woman."
"That's not true either." I say, but I know I sound less convincing than I had hoped, and Brent shakes his head laughing.
"He is not good for you, Maya," Brent gestures to one of the waitresses, and we order our coffee. "He isn't right for any woman."
I want to roll my eyes, but I resist the urge to do so, instead I change the subject, "How is your love life? Has to be more interesting than mine non-existing one."
Brent snorts, obviously not blind for my poor attempt to change to subject, but he rolls with it, "There was a boy in New York," He starts. "Nothing too serious, but we had some fun."
"Fun," I raise my eyebrows with a cackle. "What a way to describe sex."
Brent sighs, but I can't withhold a chuckle, "Okay, okay. Let me rephrase. There was a boy in New York. Nothing too serious, but we had some sex."
The waitress clears her throat as she puts down the coffees, "Enjoy," She says with a smile and then walks away.
We both look after her, a smirk on both our lips and the moment our eyes meet we laugh.
"It's like I wanted her to know," Brent rolls his eyes playfully, and refocuses on me. "Anyways, I have his number, but he is an officer in New York City, and long distance isn't really my thing."
"No, I know. You are terrible at keeping in touch when the person isn't living within 10 meters from you."
It was a hit under the water, I know that. Brent had trouble reaching out to me for the seven months he was in the States. A guilty look appears on his face. "I said I am sorry."
