Free Practice | Formula One

Chapter Twelve: I'm A Handsome Arse

Bit of a semi light chapter here hehe

Enjoy!

*****

There's a certain high that drivers feel. Before I started racing, the best thing that happened to me was getting to eat cake for breakfast on my birthday.

Getting into a car and finding that the seat was perfect only made everything feel more right. It's the way I push myself and the car to get through a single lap. It's the way I could hear the other drivers around me fighting to catch the same win I'm aiming for. It's the way every shake and vibration of the car was buzzing through me. Not eveyone has the privilege to know the feeling, and that's something I cherish because it makes every moment more valuable.

With the highs of racing, there are also the lows. I wouldn't call losing a race a low because that's normal. Everybody fails. At some point in your life, if you haven't experienced a single failure, you need to. There's a certain amount of pride that comes with racing and if you let that get to your head too much? Nothing will satisfy you. You'd think that just because you haven't made a mistake means your the best racer out there.

I'm talking about the lows that hit you at the most unexpected times. It's the regret of letting your team down. It's the doubt you feel whenever something good happens and you think do I really deserve this? It's the never ending insecurity of being in a sport that's hard to get into and even harder to stay in.

I don't know what kind of lows Levi has had in his life, but I find myself wanting to pull him out of it, even for just an inch.

His fingers are cold which isn't unusual with the wet race we had. Mine are cold, too. But his? It felt like my hands were holding on to ice. I looked down to glance at our hands and saw that streaks of white on his knuckles, barely noticeable against his pale skin. He was gripping my hands so hard that I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers anymore.

But I don't tell him that.

Telling him that would mean he'd let go and I know he's not okay enough to do that yet.

"I need you to speak." Levi said, voice low as he stared at the space behind my head.

"What?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from our hands.

"Speak, Katarina. I know I like silence, but not this kind."

"Okay, uhm." I paused, thinking of something clever or entertaining to talk about but the words that come out of my mouth are anything but. "Do you now that people make coffee from cat poop?"

"The fuck?"

"I know it sounds weird. I think it started out in Indonesia or something, but they also do it back in the Philippines. I tried it when I went home five years ago and it's not that bad. As long as you erase the idea that it's technically cat poop from your head, it's just regular coffee. Unless you're scared of cats because that just feels wrong. It's a good thing I'm pretty neutral about cats, though. I'm more of a dog person, if I'm being honest. I don't like how cats are moody sometimes and I think dogs are cuter—"

"Katarina."

"Yes?" I stopped my rambling and looked up, lips parted in shock when I saw the small smile on Levi's face.

"Are you really talking about cat poop?" He smirked and I felt his fingers loosen on mine but he didn't let go. Levi's fingers with long and mine looked so small surrounded by his.

I glared at him and let out a sigh. "You told me to speak!"

"I thought you'd talk about racing, not cat poop."