Fake It - OP

Chapter 33

Spa, Belgium. One of the best tracks on the calendar and one of my personal favourites. Only this time I wasn't going around here in a formula three, or two car. I was in a formula one car. What a fucking dream this should be.

For the past few months, things have been tense between Blake and I but with her modelling career taking off and my contract negotiations starting with Mclaren for the next few years we felt safe enough to put some distance between us. At this point we've mastered the media, keeping our posts mostly our own with only a hint of each other on each of our profiles. And since she was based out of Monaco basically living with Alex and Lily, and I started to visit Lando more, we had lots of time between races to be seen together in public. My racing has seen a few lows lately, with a shit qualifying last week and an equally shitty result I am feeling the pressure for this weekend to get back up close to Lando in the points.

There is some small part of me that thinks Blake is like my lucky charm. She was at a shoot in the US last race and couldn't attend. The last time I finished out of the top five she wasn't in my garage. And all the times she was in the back of my garage? Well, that of course was when I seemed to do well. I knew better than to rely on superstitions in or around a racetrack, but I couldn't deny the similarities either.

It was raining harder than it was this morning outside of our hotel room when Blake and I arrived in the paddock and I got the hint that Blake was less than pleased about it. She reached for my hand right before the entrance to the paddock, something that felt so natural at this point. We had gotten used to where the cameras were and weren't, this was one of the places where there were always cameras. Every time we saw each other I found it hard to deny how perfectly her fingers threaded through my own. I drew my pass out of my pocket and walked under the cover that surrounded the entrance scanners.

"Not a fan of the rain?" I teased.

"Not around here I'm not," her tone was flat, but I knew it was worry flashing behind her eyes. I guess everyone holds some kind of level of fear or apprehension around here. You'd be soleless if you didn't. I nodded getting the hint she didn't really want to talk. She was always so cold lately, and not in means of physical temperature.

Generally, after what happened in Australia we spoke to each other a lot less. And even when we did talk it was almost like a business meeting. When are you in Monaco next, what flight time do you want, is there a specific dress code for the event, and when is your next shoot? I knew all of Blake's comings and goings for the next month or more, but I had no idea how she was feeling. When we first met I thought she was someone easy to read, forthcoming with their emotions. Nowadays she's locked herself up behind this impenetrable wall and I hate it. I hate it the most because I know I'm the cause of it.

She's the kind of person who gives so much she doesn't know when to stop. Not even when it's draining her. I was thankful for her modelling career taking off because I know I felt like less of an obligation to her. If it's painful for me to hold her hand when I want to hold her in so many other ways, I can't imagine her feelings after I told her everything she said I didn't feel. A blatant lie I'll regret for the rest of my career it seems.

We crossed into the main area of the paddock, with the rain pouring down like water from a hose, there were fewer people out and we made it to the Mclaren hospitality much quicker than yesterday. We stepped inside the large doors and I shook off some of the water on me. I really was no use though, I would have to change clothes.

"You look terrible," I looked up to see Lando, equally as wet as I was. Blake let go of my hand and the little smile I did have on my face, receded with her touch.

"I could say the same for you man," I attempted a smile. I turned to glance at Blake. The hair she spent ten minutes blow drying this morning was still dry, makeup unsmeared and clothes still pristine. Save for the bit of wetness at the bottom of each of her pant legs and shoes.