Free Practice | Formula One

Chapter Seven: Spoken Like A True Convict

Happy 3k reads everyone!

FYI: Celadonia is a fictional country in Europe that I will be creating in this story for plot purposes :)

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The first time I got drunk, I completely blacked out and only remembered bits and pieces of the night before. It was my nineteenth birthday and Syd and I had decided to go bar hopping around New York with only fifty dollars in each of our pockets. We made a bet that night on who would get the most free drinks– which she won, of course– and ended up getting a total of twelve glasses. Most of hers were martinis while mine was a mixture of rum and coke. Already past my limit of being a responsible drunk, I made the mistake of admitting defeat when we were at our last stop and Syd chose the worst punishment. She managed to get a group of guys to buy shots and handed three of them to me. Mind you, they were already drunk as well, so one of them just carelessly said yes and flagged down one of the waiters walking around.

The worst part about it was that I had to attend a dinner the following day and it wasn't the type of setting where a hungover teenager was acceptable.

Loud music surrounded me as I watched Atlas and Saint argue with one another. We've been inside the club for over an hour, the table filled with a variety of bottles and glasses. There were even a few cigarettes from the other people who had joined us, but I knew none of those came from the drivers in attendance. Levi's teammate– Mason– was here as well, but he was busy chatting up a group of girls from the other table.

"That's not the point!" Saint rolled his eyes at Atlas who grinned at him foolishly.

"But it doesn't make sense!" Atlas yelled back as Saint huffed, leaning back against the couch as he nursed his glass of whiskey. "What the fuck is wrong with garlic? It's a basic vegetable that adds flavor. Without it, the food is just fucking bland." I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing as I listened in on their conversation.

Being around the Tres Pilotos has given me an insight into how they were whenever their inhibitions were gone– walls put down for the next few hours and ignorant of the professional life they have outside of this club.

Atlas liked to swear. When he's sober, the only time you'll hear him utter a curse word is when he's in the car. It's normal because even I have a tendency to use extra colorful language when I'm frustrated about what's happening on the track. But outside of that, you would never hear him say those words and would even go so far as to use the censored ones. However, I think the alcohol has helped him get loose, including his tongue. The French man has uttered the word fuck about fifteen times in the past five minutes.

For Saint, he's still the same golden boy who listens intently to what you have to say. The only difference is his face. You could see how his eyes would become unfocused, hazed even, as he tried to regain the sliver of consciousness he held. I've witnessed a few moments where he'd snap out of it and would drink a bottle of water in between glasses of whiskey to avoid getting sloshed. It wasn't surprising to see that he could handle his alcohol really well, but I'm curious to see how he'd look if he just let go like Atlas.

As for Levi, well, Levi is himself. He's only on his first and only drink for the night and we've been in the club for over two hours. Half an hour ago, I was on the dance floor with Atlas, the two of us flinging our arms about as we deliberately avoided being in tune with the music. Levi doesn't speak, only observes. His eyes landed everywhere, blue eyes piercing through each space they strayed upon. When they connected with mine, I couldn't help but feel a shiver creep up my spine as if his eyes held a bucket of ice water that had just been dropped onto my back. Despite the darkness, his hair stood out clearly against the mixture of LED lights. He was obviously listening to the conversation of the other two buys because I noticed him chuckle lightly when Saint slapped the back of Atlas' head.