The bass thrums through the air, shaking the walls of the packed club, as Mads weaves through the chaos toward the bar. The music grates on her nerves—the DJ botches every transition just as a song starts to get good. "First time doing a private event?" she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes. Glancing back, she spots Lindsay, whose fiery red hair catches the light like a signal flare in the crowd.
"Are you sure?" Mads shouts, trying to make herself heard over the pounding music.
"What?" Lindsay finally turns, her expression glazed from the drinks they've shared.
"I said, are you sure?" Mads repeats, leaning in closer. She nods toward a group of guys nearby, their laughter cutting through the noise. One of them, in a backward cap and sleeveless top, catches her eye. His muscled arms flex as he tosses back a drink, curls escaping under the brim of his hat. Everything about him screams frat boy – the kind she had gone out of her way to avoid back in college – but there's something magnetic about him that she can't quite shake.
"Julie wouldn't lie to me," Lindsay replies with a shrug, though her casual tone doesn't quite mask the flicker of doubt in her voice.
"Still," Mads presses, "maybe she misread him. He looks like he's just here to have fun."
Lindsay raises an eyebrow and gestures toward him. "And yet," she says dryly, "he looks like an asshole."
Mads can't exactly argue. The guy oozes confidence, his sharp grin and relaxed posture practically radiating self-assurance. He reminds her of every guy she'd sworn to avoid in the States. But here in Monaco, with the champagne flowing and the tension simmering in the air, he's hard to ignore.
As if sensing their attention, he looks over, his gaze locking onto Mads. His smirk deepens. She glances away quickly, not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing she's noticed.
"Looks like he's noticed you," Lindsay teases, raising her glass.
Mads shrugs, turning her focus to the bartender. "Not my type."
Lindsay leans in with a mischievous grin. "No one's your type lately."
And, well, she can't exactly argue with that, can she? With a sigh, she heads to the bar, hoping to make this party at least somewhat tolerable.
***
"Mate, that girl keeps looking at you," Max nudges Lando, almost knocking him off balance.
Lando barely manages to stay upright, his grip tightening on Max's shoulder. The alcohol is definitely hitting harder than he thought.
"What the bloody hell was in those cocktails?" he groans, mostly to himself. Somewhere in the background, he hears Daniel's voice yelling, "Tequila!"
Ah. That explains it.
Max keeps motioning toward someone in the crowd, and Lando squints to focus. "Who's looking at me?"
Max tilts his head. "Over there, by the bar. Blondie, in the blue top."
Lando stumbles slightly, his vision still blurry, but he catches a glimpse of her. She is blonde –maybe golden brown? – and her confident smile suggests she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Alright, mate, let's get you some water," Max says, attempting to steer him toward the bar.
Lando waves him off. "I'm fine. Go back to the lads."
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bet on it | lando norris
Fanfictionin which Madison has no intention of falling for another Formula 1 driver - until the very last moment, when she does and can't help herself or in which Lando doesn't care enough to admit he has commitment issues - until the very last moment, when h...
