The Adults are talking | Charles Leclerc

Chapter one

Charles 

"It'll be fun Charles!" Carlos huffs in exasperation. "Just come, please." He bats his eyelashes at me and pouts in mock sadness. 

"I told you already, Carlos," I reply. "Karaoke isn't my thing."  

Carlos, my teammate, has been trying to convince me to go to a karaoke bar with him and our friends for the past half hour. So far, he has been unsuccessful.

"Come on, Lord Perceval. You love music!" The Spaniard eyes me up and down. "You were working on that piano thing at the studio last-"

"Exactly! Piano, Carlos. Not singing. It's completely different." 

"Ayyy, come on mate," whines Carlos. "You don't even have to sing! But if you do, we can duet the...smooth operator!"

I chuckle at his grammar, hypocritically perhaps, knowing my unique accent doesn't make my English any better. "Smooth operator is a one-person song," I laugh.

He smiles at me, the lines around his mouth deepening. "Just come, Charles?"

I am about to say no - the word is forming in my throat - but Carlos Sainz has always been a persuasive man. He stares at me expectantly. 

"Fine. I'll come. But I'm leaving early."

Carlos' face lights up. "Yes! Okay, let's get going mate. Pierre and Lando will meet us there."

We walk to his Volkswagen Golf together - a comedic car for a Ferrari formula 1 driver to have.

"So," I begin, "where exactly is this place?"

The brunette keeps his eyes on the road while he replies to me. "Not far from the hotel. If I can't drive you home, it should only take you about five minutes to walk back."

I raise an eyebrow at him, disregarding the fact he won't look at me. "Are you planning on getting wasted or something?"

"Something like that."

✦✦✦ 

The music in this bar is loud - no surprise, people come to sing karaoke here. But this place has more energy than the usual place I'm dragged after a race. The people here have more bounce in their step, more brilliance in their eyes, or perhaps more alcohol in their systems. 

I follow Carlos to a table up some stairs - VIP lounge. Fancy. Lando just received a spectacular P1 at the race, so I presume he splurged on something nice. That, and it's nice to have some privacy. Our group of friends knows that better than most.

"Charles! Carlos!" Pierre stands up to greet us both with a hug, his breath already thick with alcohol. "Wasn't sure I'd see you tonight, Mr. Leclerc," he shouts at me over the music. He's a little too loud.

"I wasn't sure I was coming," I shrug. "Carlos made me."

"Well thank you Carlos," Lando adds. "He needs to get out more." 

I scowl at the curly-haired brit. "I get out plenty."

Lando sticks out his tongue at me in reply. 

"Anyway, you two Ferrari boys look like you need some drinks!" Pierre motions for us to follow him back downstairs.

I look at Carlos. He gives me a cheeky smile and a thumbs up. Pierre is right. Ferrari hasn't exactly been performing lately. Today, Carlos and I ended in P7 and P11, respectively.  

Pierre waits for us at the bar. "Four shots of vodka, please!"

The bartender hands me two shots. I turn to Carlos. "Cheers, mate." He touches his glasses to mine. I down the first one, and the liquid burns in my throat. The second one does not taste any better.