Misscommunication||LANDO NORRIS

9

Lizzie Jones

I run back to the hotel to get to Charles room, but looking at the time, seems i'm already late. I made a stupid mistake. Like, the kind of mistake you immediately regret but can't undo because you're already way too deep in it. I should have never gone out tonight. It was all just... too much. Too overwhelming. And now? Now it's even more overwhelming. Great. Just great.

I sprint up the stairs—because who even waits for elevators anymore? If I waited, I'd probably have had a full existential crisis. Between gasping for air and trying not to trip on my own feet, my brain rewinds all the night's chaos. Everything Lando said. All those old memories crashing in like waves during a storm. Us. Just us. Moments frozen in time, but blurry and distorted, like a bad Snapchat filter on a bad day.

That moment tonight, sitting so close to him, the cold ocean crashing behind us—it felt like the first time again. When we met. Our stupid, awkward first kiss. That night when he told me he loved me. But... it's all wrong, right? He hates me now. Or at least I thought he did.

See? Confusing doesn't even begin to cover it.

By the time I finally reach Charles's door, I have to stop myself from hyperventilating. Midnight. Three hours late. Legendary. I knock softly, praying I don't wake anyone else. The door swings open and there's Charles, rubbing his eyes like he's been personally victimized by life.

"Where were you?" he asks, tone low-key unimpressed. Oh boy, can I tell him the truth? No. Nope. Absolutely not.

"Just went for a run," I lie like it's the most believable thing ever.

He raises an eyebrow. "In that?"

Yeah, thanks for pointing out the obvious, Sherlock. I'm standing here looking like I lost a fight with a tornado.

"I'm sorry, Charles. Really. But at least I'm here now," I say, forcing the cheesiest smile I can muster. It's pathetic.

He crosses his arms. "Technically, you broke tradition. Because it's Friday."

"Technically," I mock him back, but no dice—he's stone cold.

"And—fuck—I forgot the cookie dough," I confess, guilt piling on like an avalanche. This is why I can't be friends with Lando. Bad things always happen.

"Just come in. I knew once you were late you'd forget something," he says, leading the way.

I flop onto the bed, face first, because why not? Charles comes over, takes my jacket, and hangs it up. I crawl under the covers like a burrito, and he settles next to me in red plaid pajamas and a white tee. His hair's messy—like he's been running his hands through it all night. Honestly, kinda cute. I flick on the movie and we sit in silence for a solid ten minutes. Then Charles gets up, hands me a milkshake and spoon, and brings over the ice cream like it's some kind of peace offering. I'm officially spoiled.

"Thanks," I mumble, looking up at him.

He nods and turns back to the screen. Feeling brave—or maybe just drunk on how chill this moment is—I rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me in closer. Okay, not gonna lie, this feels nice. Halfway through the second movie, he switches it off, turns to me, still holding me close.

"What were you really doing? You obviously weren't running, unless you forgot to tell me you can run in heels," he teases, voice low but curious.

I sigh, half admitting, half deflecting. "I was drinking. At that little bar we used to go to."

"By yourself?"

"No."

"Who then?"

"Lando."

His expression drops, colder than the ocean outside. Suddenly I feel like I'm freezing from the inside out as he pulls his arm away and folds his hands in his lap.

"I don't understand. You never talk to Lando. Is there something I should know?"

"No, I swear. He just sat down next to me, and then... I guess I lost track of time. I didn't mean to meet him. It just... happened."

Charles lifts his hand, cups my cheek. "Lizzie, I want you all to myself. Tell me we're more than friends. If not, I'll back off. But I have to know."

And there it is. The moment I should've seen coming but totally didn't. We've been friends for years, but this? This feels like way more. Do I feel that? Maybe. Maybe we hang out like this because it's more than friendship. Late nights, drinks, the quiet closeness—I lean in and close the gap. His lips are soft, warm, and he responds instantly. My hands tangle in his hair, and he moans softly like it's the best thing in the world. It's like a safety net, wrapping around me, making me feel happy in a way I haven't felt in a long time. His hands slide to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. But then a sick feeling twists in my stomach.

Do I miss screaming, fighting, kissing in the rain? Or am I just afraid to let go? 

When I pull away, Charles is grinning like I just gave him the moon. But I feel... underwhelmed? Maybe this is love, the kind I've never felt before. That must be it. I love Charles Leclerc.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Lizzie Jones?" His voice says my name like it belongs to someone else, and it feels weird—like hearing a new song that could become a favorite.

"I would love to, Charles Leclerc," I whisper.

He leans in for another kiss, and I force myself to believe this is what I want. No turning back now.

I'm officially dating Charles Leclerc.

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100 reads🥶
Im so ready for this enemies to lovers shit to evolve