SO AMERICAN | max verstappen

seven.

Last week's GP in Bahrain didn't go as planned, Max had DNFed in the last few laps of the race due to a power failure, leaving him in the most foul mood I'd ever experienced him in.

He had even asked me to keep Lili with me that night, needing the night to himself so that he could decompress. I was quick to agree, hyping up the night spent away from her father as a good thing to the young girl. Lili was over the moon at the mention of having a sleepover.

Max had been left in a bad mood for a few days, it quickly turning around when we made it to Jeddah this weekend for the Saudi Arabian GP. The Free Practices and Quali had gone well and he even won the GP itself earlier today. Comparated to last week, Max was on top of the world.

"What number shot is that?" Max questioned as I downed the liquor.

I shrugged, setting the small glass back down on the bar. "Uh, 4?" Most of the drivers and wags had gone clubbing after the race. We'd been here for nearly an hour now and I was having the time of my life.

Well, as good of a time as I can have while having to stick by Max.

"You've also had what, 3 cocktails? Don't you think its a bit much?" His facial expression looked less than pleased with me.

"But I'm having fun, you should too! You just won a fucking race." I giggled, patting his chest with my hand.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding my hand there, "I think you're over doing it, Riley."

I raised my eyebrows, my fingers tapping a pattern on his firm chest. "No such thing." My neck was craned looking up at him, he was just barely too tall for me to look at comfortably.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding onto me, "You don't have to go back to a 5 year old."

"Not my fault, I didn't get a girl pregnant when I was 18." I quipped with a smirk, but my face dropped when I realized what I said. "Max–"

Max dropped my hand rather forcefully, "Oh fuck off, Riley, just leave me alone."

I deserved that.

I nodded, taking a step away and walking toward the dance floor from our spot at the bar. I'm thankful no one had been close enough to listen into our conversation.

Somehow, I had forgotten that my filter disappears when there's alcohol in my system – that was when I usually get in trouble for what I say. People always take my drunk words too seriously.

I'm sure I'll be getting the silent treatment when we return to the hotel tonight, that or he'll make me find my own way back.

I'm not sure why I hadn't found one of the wags to dance with, but I stayed out by myself for who knows how long. The alcohol in my system allowing the guilt I had felt from my words to slowly dissipate, making my time out on the dance floor eventually enjoyable.

I didn't even mind when random hands gripped my waist, a random guy coming up to dance with me. My eyes scanned his body and I was surprised by how attractive he was. Maybe I should come to Saudi Arabia more often?

I start to relax into his grip, dancing more with him, but my current situation comes to the forefront of my mind, making me freeze. I'm supposed to be dating Max, I can't be dancing like this with other men, if paparazzi catch sight of this I'm done for. The relationship, my image, my career – done for.

"Can you please back up?" I question, trying to step away from the man. "I have a boyfriend."

The man snickers, "You must not care much about him based on how you're dancing with me, Sweetheart."