Race & Rally // Charles Leclerc

1.00

Everything has been leading up to this moment. Everything.

I can feel every single bit of air travel through my nose and into my lungs as I bounce the tennis ball multiple times, trying to give it the energy it needs.

I glance up slightly as the beams of sun that are shining through the roof of centre court hit my eyes.

Aryna Sablenka, my opponent, is glaring at me from the other side of court, 'the lion' they call her. She is losing her composure, something that I know she's fond of doing when she finds herself under pressure.

I'm winning by two games and I only needed one more to win, but we have been stuck on a deuce for the last three minutes and I have the advantage point. I know I have to wrap this up soon or my stamina will drop quickly.

I glimpse at the royal box knowing that William and Kate are watching contently along with various celebrities. My eyes land on a man in a beige suit who has sunglasses perched on the top of his head. He looks oddly familiar. He's crouched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together with anxiety. I smirk slightly, remembering why I love tennis so much - it has this much of an effect on people.

I close my eyes knowing that it's time to focus. I let my breath leave my body as I reach up towards the sky and throw the ball into the air. I then use every inch of muscle in my body to hit the strongest serve that I possibly can.

Sablenka strikes back and I return with a forehand hit, my racket slicing through the air. She responds with a lob and that's when I see my chance. I sprint up to half court and jump into the air, slicing the ball down with an overhead smash.

The ball whizzes past Sablenka and bounces on the baseline. The entire crowd erupts almost immediately, everyone jumping to their feet.

My knees buckle from beneath me and I collapse to the ground as the realisation hits me. I've just won my third Grand Slam. And not just any Grand Slam. It was Wimbledon. The tournament I used to watch with my mother as a kid. I'd stand in front of the TV with my racket, copying every move of each player, from Nadal to Federer, to the Williams sisters.

I had won both the French and US open throughout the past two seasons but nothing will ever compare to this. The grass courts are where I belong, it's where my love for tennis began.

I finally find the strength to stand and give Sablenka a hug, telling her how well she played. I send a beaming smile towards my coach David, who has been by my side since the beginning. This win means as much to him as it means to me.

I start circling to blow kisses to every section of the crowd, the cheers beginning to become overwhelming as tears line my eyes. My eyes once again catch on the man in the beige suit who is cheering like a maniac and I can't help but laugh.

Joy. Pure and utter joy. This is what this is.

-

I wait patiently at the counter of the bar for my next drink, swirling my straw around the remains of my last one.

It's been a long night of partying and we have somehow reached the club, which is hopefully the last destination of the night.
My feet are aching and my red silk dress already has a few drink stains evident on it. My brain is slowly exiting the high from the win earlier but it's definitely difficult to forget.

"What are you doing here alone?" asks a questioning voice, startling me out of my thoughts. I look next to me to see a man with scruffy brown hair and a slightly unbuttoned white shirt smiling at me softly. My mouth opens slightly when I realise it's the guy with the beige suit from earlier.

"Oh, it's you," I say as the bartender hands me my next drink. I can feel his eyes scanning my body, causing a blush to fall upon my face.

"It's me?" he states in a confused tone and I suddenly notice how odd that must've sounded.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, my hand reaching out to him in apology, "I seen you in the crowd at my match earlier right?"

I couldn't help but notice how his eyes slightly light up. "You might've," he says as his smile widens. "That was some of the best tennis I've seen in years. I have to admit, I was truly rooting for you."

A smile reaches my lips at his comment and I try to cover it up by taking a sip of my drink.
"Honestly, the support of the audience is what got me there in the end," I admit. He nods in agreement as if he is remembering the atmosphere of the match.

"I'm Charles by the way. Charles Leclerc," he says, reaching his hand out for me to shake it. As soon as he says his name it's like something clicks in my brain.

"So that's where I've seen you before! I'm Aria Summers," I laugh slightly as I shake his hand.

"Is Miss Summers an F1 watcher?," he asks, still holding my hand, his brows slightly pinched.

"Occasionally," I reply with a smirk before noticing how hot my hand is getting in his grip, and I quickly let go.

"Now answer my question. Why are you here all alone?" he inquires, his voice becoming lower and somehow more seductive.

"I'm not alone," I mutter, "my team is over there." I point to the group of men that are on the dance floor who are shamelessly dancing in all sorts of drunken ways.

I silently hope that Charles won't ask why I'm here with only my team. Tennis can be so isolating, especially as a solo sport, and I realistically only have very few friends who can put up with my constant training and dedication to winning.

"I see, I see," Charles answers and I can't help but feel a bit of relief knowing that my answer is enough for him. "Well, I could keep you company if you'd like?" he asks.

"I'm sorry Charles, but I better get back to my team," I respond, as I'm not fully aware of his intentions.

"I understand," he says before taking a step so close to me that I can feel his breath hit my neck. "But I have to say Summers, red is definitely your colour," he whispers.

His words catch me off guard as he pulls away with a smirk playing on his lips.

My eyes can't help but linger on him as he walks away from me.