𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗, oscar piastri

𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗣 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥, compliment, compliment

          IT WAS THE WEEK after the Jeddah Grand Prix when step four of the plan began. Jeddah hadn't been a great weekend for Oscar, at least as far as F1 was concerned. He had gotten P15 in the race, yet to score his first points. But, he had outperformed his teammate by two places, so he wasn't too mad. Oscar wasn't thinking about Jeddah anyway. He had two things to focus on, getting ready for his home Grand Prix the following weekend, and figuring out how to compliment Stella without stuttering and blushing like an idiot.

Oscar was on his way to Stella and Addie's apartment, where he, along with Logan, would be eating dinner and likely watching a movie. They were a bit of a half and half friend group, half homebodies (Oscar and Stella) and half partiers (Logan and Addie). So, they split their hang outs in half. Half at home, watching films and playing games, and half out at the clubs, getting wasted. Thankfully for Stella, who was worn out from a day full of standing on her bruised feet, spinning in a circle while her instructors analyzed every move her body made.

Stella was sitting criss cross on the hardwood, rolling her ankles, attempting to alleviate the aching in her feet. Her long blonde hair was wet, soaking the back of the Brawn GP shirt she was wearing to bed. She had just gotten out of the bathroom, where she had spent half an hour soaking in a steaming bath, full of epsom salts and lavender essential oils. She had been forced to leave her lovely bath when the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Oscar and Logan. After getting into her pajamas and covering her feet in a pair of giant fluffy socks, which looked a bit bizarre paired with her small shorts and massive shirt.

Addie was in the kitchen with Oscar, the two of them being the only ones with any love for cooking. Stella could do it if she had to, but she would seriously rather not. Something about it bored her to no end. Logan on the other hand was just completely hopeless in the kitchen. So Oscar and Stella handled the cooking.

Stella let out a groan, rolling her neck in annoyance. She would have to be up early again the next day, off to her old studio to teach a ballet class to kids. She had been dragged into it by her old ballet teacher after running into her at a grocery store, being told that they were a teach short. In typical people pleaser fashion, she had volunteered. Stella loved kids, she seriously did, but she could already feel the headache she would get from getting up at seven to teach fifteen overexcited four year olds how to plié.

"Still dreading that class tomorrow?" Logan asked from his place lounging on the couch, petting Odie who was fast asleep in his lap.

Stella stretched out on the floor, laying down across the hardwood with a nod. "I love kids, really. But I just can't handle this, I swear I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks."

"Sucks to suck." Logan shrugged, nothing but amused by his friend's suffering.

Stella scoffed, ready to shoot an insult at the American, when Oscar entered the living room, two bowls of whatever him and Addie had cooked in his hands.

"Dinner is served!" He cheered, placing the bowls on the table, Addie behind him, carrying the other two dishes.

Oscar smirked down at Stella, who's finally air dried hair was sprawled around her like a golden halo. He held out his hand, pulling her to his feet when she slid hers into his.

"Hey!" Oscar held Stella's hand for a moment longer, running his thumb across her knuckles. "Your hands are really soft!"

"I– uh..." Stella tilted her head, confused by the compliment. Sure, it was true, Stella lathered her hands with sugar scrubs and lotions and oils, but no one had really commented on it before. "Thanks!"