GREENE | CS55

25 - For Real This Time

Carlos ran a splayed hand through his hair, combing through any wind-locked tangles that had formed since walking the distance along the tarmac from the plane to the car.

A date, the words echoed in Carlos' mind. The way the word seemed to strike Pierce, an arrow straight to the heart.

Her bold brows lowered back down, lips twisting into a look of deep thought, desire at war with reason. Her first instinct was to say yes, and that was the answer that had left her lips, sure. But that wasn't without at the very least an inkling of doubt. A cloud of realism, locked behind her curiosity to explore more of her and Carlos, to do... more of what they'd done the night before.

Carlos and Pierce had carried on that morning, jokingly chiding about with each other, barely aware of the world moving onwards without them until they were justly interrupted by a knock at the door.

One latte in a to-go cup, a matching order in a porcelain mug, foamed to perfection.

"For real this time?" Pierce threw her clothing from the night before back onto her body, after guessing where the separated articles had been tucked away to. Her brown locks were scrounged up into a bun, her skin glowing. Flushed still in the way it had been since last night. She leaned a shoulder against the wall in the suite's kitchen, either unaware or unyielding to the fold in the sleeve, her full attention and pursed lips focused on Carlos.

"What— Ibiza wasn't enough?" He shook his head at her. "I called in a lot of favors for that one."

"Well but that wasn't a date, now, was it? That was to apologize," She countered plainly, feeling the warmth from the latte, the condensation warming the lid where Pierce had rested it against her chin. Her pointed eyes laughed in Carlos' direction— timid, but ready to strike. 

That look. Carlos couldn't get enough of it. Pierce knew how she'd left him, dangling her words like a carrot while she backed into the hotel hallway, leaving Carlos leaning against the doorframe.

Those eyes that nestled in Carlos' mind for the long hibernation between watching her leave his Vietnam hotel room, and the moment he set eyes on her again in the paddock in Shanghai.

Her black leggings elongated her legs for miles, until they met the white sneakers on her feet. The Haas kit was unmistakable, as was her long brown hair, left down and in its natural waves, beckoning against the shake in her head caused by whatever discussion her and Holden were having. Though her eyes were shielded by narrow black mirrored frames, Carlos knew she was shooting poor Holden daggers.

Pierce had forced her mind on the media duties set for her since her and Holden's arrival in Shanghai, of which, there were plenty. After placing sixth in Vietnam, and Romain placing behind her in seventh, everyone wanted a word with Pierce and Romain on what unexpected successes lay ahead of them.

Real racing from the midfield, people had called it. Racing isn't dead, others had proclaimed.

Midfield. That one made Pierce do a double take in pride. That one made her heart flutter like a murder of crows taking flight. That was what her and Romain were able to achieve this year, so far. Haas; a midfield team. No longer crowned the King and Queen of the back row.

That contract was ebbing against the horizon like a laughing child hiding around a corner. Jim was making her suffer for it. Keeping her motivated. Pierce knew her father and the games he liked to play, the way he manipulated his way through business dealings.

Perhaps he liked the attention it was drawing to Pierce as a driver. Maybe this wait, this pause, was all strategic. It had been weeks since any headline bashing Pierce's attendance at a function and causing a scene, or scrutinizing her behavior out with friends, had tainted the populated results when one typed her name into search engines. It was all racing. All performance-related.