𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕒 𝟙,𝟚,𝟛 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤 / 𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤

Max Verstappen - You wish (part 2) 🥱

In Pursuit

It had been a week since you last saw Max, but the memory of that kiss lingered like a bruise you couldn't quite shake. You told yourself it was nothing—just a mistake, a moment of weakness. After all, Max Verstappen was the last person you should have feelings for. He was arrogant, cocky, and infuriating. There was no way you were going to let him get under your skin.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he looked at you, the way his presence seemed to fill every room you were in—it was maddening. You avoided the paddock, the races, and any events where you knew he'd be, hoping distance would help you clear your head.

But Max wasn't one to give up easily.

It started with a message—simple, direct.

Max: We need to talk.

You stared at your phone, your heart doing an annoying little flip. You should ignore it, move on like it never happened. But then, the second message came.

Max: Stop pretending you don't want this.

Your jaw clenched. How dare he act like he knew what you wanted? You tossed your phone aside, trying to push him out of your thoughts. But deep down, you knew it wasn't that simple.

A few days later, you were at a quiet café, trying to focus on work when you saw him through the window. Max—standing across the street, leaning casually against a lamppost, sunglasses perched on his face as if he owned the place. Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly turned your attention back to your laptop, pretending you hadn't noticed him.

Within minutes, the door to the café swung open, and you knew it was him before you even looked up. The air around you seemed to change, electrify, the tension between you palpable.

"You're hard to find these days," Max said as he slid into the chair across from you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn't even wait for an invitation, just made himself at home like he always did.

"I've been busy," you replied curtly, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you, though your hands had gone still on the keyboard.

Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving your face. "You've been avoiding me."

"Maybe I've got better things to do than play your games," you snapped, finally looking up at him, irritated that he thought he could just waltz back into your life after a week of silence.

"Games?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't playing games. You kissed me, remember?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at the reminder, but you refused to let him rattle you. "It was a mistake, Max. You and I... we don't work."

His eyes darkened slightly, the playful spark fading for a moment as he studied you. "You sure about that?"

You stayed silent, hoping he would take the hint and leave. But Max wasn't the type to back off, not when he wanted something. And right now, you were what he wanted.

"I'm not the kind of guy who chases after people," he said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "But for some reason, I can't stop thinking about you."

You swallowed hard, his words catching you off guard. This was not the Max you were used to—the arrogant, cocky driver who was used to getting everything he wanted without lifting a finger. This was different. This was real.

"I'm not interested in whatever this is," you said, though the words sounded weak even to your own ears. You could feel the pull between you, the tension simmering just beneath the surface, but you didn't want to admit it. Not to him.

Max's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't look away. "You don't mean that."

"I do," you insisted, though your heart was pounding.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze still fixed on you. "Then why did you kiss me? Why do you keep showing up at the races, looking for me even when you pretend not to?"

"I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you explain it when you didn't even fully understand it yourself? The last thing you wanted was to admit that maybe, just maybe, you were falling for him, no matter how wrong it felt.

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression softening. "I'm not perfect. I know that. But I'm not playing games with you, okay? I like you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. He wasn't teasing this time, wasn't taunting you. There was something raw in his voice, something genuine.

"You don't even know me," you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze fully.

"Maybe not," he admitted, his eyes holding yours, "but I want to."

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you found yourself softening, your defenses crumbling. Maybe Max wasn't just the arrogant driver you had thought he was. Maybe there was more to him, something real beneath all the bravado.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation. "Max, this... it's complicated."

"I don't care about complicated," he said, his voice steady. "I care about you."

You blinked, your mind reeling. This wasn't how you'd expected things to go. You had expected him to flirt, to tease, to wear you down with his arrogance. But instead, here he was, chasing