𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮; oscar piastri ✔

PART THIRTY FOUR

Word count; 2,122

Addison

— November 6th, 2023. São Paulo, Brazil.

Plugging my hair curlers into the wall, I examined the bathroom basin, wondering where I had put my hair product - only for Oscar to appear, holding up my makeup bag, as if he was mocking me for not keeping track of it. I snatched it from him, sparing a sly glare as he returned to the bedroom.

We were attending a dinner with various members from the McLaren team - for reasons I was unsure of, though I could never turn down an invitation to dress up, much less appear at Oscar's side - and we had another hour or so before we needed to be downstairs in the lobby. Beginning to curl my hair, I glanced through the door to the bathroom, at Oscar studying two different shirts he had laid out on the bed.

"The one on the left." I indicated, his head darting towards me.

"You sure?"

"I prefer the colour."

In reality, there was no real difference between the two shirts, but I knew him and I were similar in many ways; we'd both stand there for hours trying to decide what to wear, unless someone told us specifically. He picked up the shirt on the right, hanging it back in the cupboard, and slid out of his current sweater.

"At least take me to dinner first." I flirted, eyeing his abdomen, the contours of his skin.

He rolled his eyes, slipping into his shirt, and I faced the mirror in front of me, twiling strands of hair around the iron. Oscar came into the bathroom again, presenting two different colognes in his hands, and I pouted, deep in thought.

"That one," I pointed with my elbow.

He obliged, spraying some on his neck and wrists. 

"You haven't curled your hair in a while," He narrated, putting the bottles of cologne on the basin.

"Thought I'd change things up a bit." I beamed. "Register your complaints with HR."

"No complaints." He grinned, watching me through the mirror.

I rested the iron on the counter, wondering what part I should do next, "Have you ever curled your hair?"

"I'm all natural." He pointed to the natural curl in his fringe, how his hair sat in two parts.

"You should let me curl your hair." I smirked in jest.

"Absolutely not."

"It won't even make a difference!"

"No."

"Why not?"

He exhaled, standing up straight, and I giggled, grabbing the curlers. Delicately, I twisted the centre of his hair around the iron, his scowl piercing through me.

"Happy now?"

"Slick back the rest of it and you're from the fifties." I grinned, admiring my work.

He glared at the mirror, "It looks the same."

"I told you!"

He rolled his eyes playfully, heading back towards the bedroom as I resumed with my own hair.

"The things you let me do..." I listed, "Curling your hair, painting your nails... have you ever thought about bleaching your hair?"

"Don't even think about it." He pointed at me.