Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Italy, Post-Race

TEN OUT OF TEN! @Max33Verstappen makes history at Monza by winning an incredible TENTH race in a row, a new F1 record! - @F1

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ITALY
AFTER THE RACE
SEPTEMBER

Laughter echoes from the table as Mick tells everyone how I went up to Alex after the race to tell him off. The Italian pop music playing from the bar's speakers are drowned out as Mick pulls out his phone to show them.

"Look, he snapped my wing!" I know defending myself here is pointless, they're all laughing at me, at the video Mick's playing of me giving Alex a rather scathing look, whilst he looks like I'd actually walked up and slapped him. "It was the second to last lap and he decided to go for a stupid move—"

Daniel laughs harder at me, shutting me up. I feel something touch my foot; I look to Max, who sits opposite me. He flashes me a quick, apologetic smile.

We fall into silence as our drinks arrive; we shouldn't be drinking alcohol but there's no way we're not celebrating Max making history with his ten-in-a-row winning streak. It's highly unlikely he'll keep it when it comes to Singapore, but that's two weeks away. For now, we're letting him enjoy the feeling of creating history.

"To Max!" Daniel announces, raising his glass. In the warm lighting, his drink looks dark orange rather than pale yellow. "Please stop winning races and let us have a few podiums!"

Another round of laughter breaks out, punctuated by clinking glasses. The sweet rum and coke I've ordered helps me wake up again after a long weekend as I take a rather large swig of it.

"I think that's impossible for him, unfortunately." Mick says, grinning as he takes a photo of his drink.

"I can be nice!" He refutes, eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Yeah, when you're fucking Jess." Daniel says without a hint of shame. "I heard you two at the hotel last night. The worst part is, even though you were saying it in Dutch, I know everything you said. I wish I had earplugs. It was so sickeningly cute but you two were screwing—"

My head drops instantly to hide the blush flaring up as Mick shudders whilst Daniel cackles at me. Max has no shame. As I raise my head, he looks proud of himself.

"I like to tell her she's beautiful, what about it?" He's not at all apologetic. He's defensive. His shoulders are slightly tense, his expression devoid of any warmth. His tone is sharp. But only for a moment, because I'm dropping my head again at him telling them that yes, this is how we are behind closed doors.

Daniel bursts into another fit of laughter as Mick - and I'm sure it's Mick given Max is now laughing - pats my back sympathetically.

"Well at least we were at her hotel room the night before qua—"

I kick him under the table to shut him up. It only makes Daniel wheeze because I've made things worse. I don't lift my head until his laughing dies down. But he takes one look at my beetroot-red face and starts up again, nearly falling out of his seat.

"I hate you, Ricciardo." I tell him, but the heat in my voice is pure embarrassment.

"Love you too, Jessy."

Mick's phone goes off, we all pause as he gets up. "It's my mum, one minute."

There's a nod and a murmur of understanding as we let Mick go and find somewhere quiet to answer his phone. I pick up my drink again, swirling the glass as Daniel and Max start talking about the race. It's clear Max doesn't care for the records he's shattering. He cares about the thrill of racing. He's talking about how difficult tyre management was, and all the lockups Sainz had. Not once does he say anything about how it feels to make history.

I tilt my head, watching them talk as I realise I've fallen into the same mindset. I still receive questions about being a female, being the first one on a podium, being someone that's setting records others will break one day... and yet it doesn't matter to me. I've really come to focus on my racing as a craft. Enjoy my time here. I've even managed to make friends as I so desperately wanted to at the start of the year.

And then there's me and Max, but that's its own thing. That wasn't planned. It just happened.

My thoughts are broken as Mick rejoins us, all smiles as he shares a conspiratorial wink with Daniel, who is still engrossed in conversation with Max.

"What are you two planning?" I ask, leaning sideways to hear Mick over the crowd that's entering, drowning out what had been ambient music with their glee and party mood. I glance over, past the vacant tables and booths made of rich, dark, varnished wood, seeing that they're quite a large group in comparison to us.

"Secret Santa." He says, refusing to elaborate.

"Shit, I forgot about that. I still have to find something nice for mine." My thoughts come out of my mouth without my internal filter engaging. Shit. I'm going to dig myself a hole if I'm not careful. I can't tell him too much. Otherwise I'm ruining the whole fucking point of Secret Santa.

"Who do you have?"

"That defeats the purpose of secret, Mick." I'm not telling him.

I've no idea what to get Mick for it, I only know my time to sort it out is running out fast. I might have to start asking Elena if she has any ideas. Or perhaps I can try to speak to Sebastian. But then I'll be risking too much, since I know he might be tempted to tell Mick.

I'll just have to pay closer attention to the idle things he says and hope that I can find something that's a worthwhile gift.