"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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September 17th, Ottawa, Canada
The room is slightly spinning from the alcohol in my blood. With a soft thud I fall on my bed, still giggling and laughing about the last ten minutes with Alexandra at the hotel bar.
I am a little lightheaded, and I probably shouldn't have drank so much wine so early in the evening. The time on my mobile says it's only 7 o'clock in the evening. Which means it's 7 o'clock in the morning on Monday where Lance is.
He had left on the 10th, his dad wanted to be their early to prevent having a jet leg and so Lance could train some more before the race.
Quickly I google his results; P4.
That's good, right?
I quickly text Lance, asking if he's already awake. And it follows with a direct call.
"Maya, ma belle... How are you? How is Ottawa?"
"Beautiful," I say, teasing at his newfound nickname. "The people here are so nice. And the wine is a bit too good."
"Maya, have you been drinking?" He asks, his words slur, but I am unknown if that's because of the bad connection or the alcohol. And it's his second time calling my name.
"I have," I admit. "I assume you've been drinking too? Celebrating your P4."
"P4 is not to celebrate for. It's the first one to lose out on the podium."
"So, that's why you've been drinking?"
He chuckles, and I feel my stomach turn and twitch, as if little butterflies are starting to awaken.
"Yeah," he replies with a soft sigh. "Celebrating, drowning my sorrows... you name it."
"Why aren't you asleep then? Have you been sleeping at all?"
"No, I am drowning my sorrows, and my decision to go into F1."
I laugh, and shake my head, forgetting for just a moment we're on a phone call and Lance can't see me, "P4 really isn't that bad."
"Do you even read what the tabloids say about me? Next to saying I am a womanizer, you obviously read those."
"Lance!" I cackle, he wasn't wrong but he didn't have to call me out like that. "I haven't."
"The media hates me, it won't surprise me if Netflix is going to make a whole subject on how I hate Alonso for beating me every time."
"Why would they do that?"
"Because they are Netflix and they like to create non-existing dramas. Don't watch it."
I chuckle, "It can't be that bad, right? I think you'd look good on television."
The comment had left my mouth before I could think about it.
"So you think I look good, huh?"
I sigh, sober Maya wasn't going to be proud of this moment, "Lance, please..."
