Ranked nº 14 by the WTA, French-Japanese tennis player ÉLODIE LODGER dreams of achieving her first Grand Slam title.
Meanwhile, F2 Champion and member of McLaren's F1 Team OSCAR PIASTRI seeks the World Driver's Championship.
Their only common grou...
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After arriving from my flight from London nearly two hours later, my hands trembled slightly as I typed the password to my apartment. Oscar's text had been playing on a loop in my mind: "I'm at your door. I need you right now." My heart had been racing ever since, and the nervous energy hadn't faded.
The door clicked open and I stormed inside, bracing myself for whatever awaited me. As soon as I entered, I saw him—Oscar—sitting on my couch, casually watching TV like he owned the place.
He looked up and waved like everything was completely normal.
"What the hell, Oscar?" I snapped, still standing in the doorway. "You scared me half to death!"
He got up from the couch, that guilty-kid smile on his face. "Hi... I need a haircut."
I blinked, still trying to catch up with the situation. "What?"
"I was supposed to go to the hairdresser today," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "Media day tomorrow, remember? But I kinda forgot my appointment. Now I really need my hair done... so I kinda need you to cut it."
"You texted me like it was an emergency... for a haircut?"
"Well, it kinda is. Media day, remember?"
I let out a long breath, dropping my bag to the floor. "You're unbelievable."
He shrugged, grinning. "But you're going to help me, right?"
I rolled my eyes, walking over to him. "This better be the best haircut of your life, Piastri."
We moved into the guest bathroom to avoid getting hair all over my bedroom. Oscar sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, waiting patiently as I pulled up a YouTube haircut tutorial on my phone. I rummaged through a drawer for the necessary tools—scissors, a comb, and a spray bottle. The oversized plastic gloves I slipped on were a bit too big for my hands, making the whole situation feel even more ridiculous.
I glanced at him as I shook the water spray bottle. "You sure you trust me with this?"
Oscar nodded with a lopsided grin on his face. "You're the one holding the scissors. I've got no choice but to trust you."
I sprayed water into his hair, letting it dampen the strands. "So, how was London?"
"Cold," I replied simply. "And rainy." I sprayed more water on his hair, watching as the droplets clung to his dark strands. "There's something about London I've never liked. It's too sad."
He tilted his head slightly, considering. "So, you like tropical places? Because they seem happy?"
I shrugged, focused on wetting his hair evenly. "Well, I've never seen anyone sad in Rio de Janeiro."
"Fair enough."
He smiled, but I could feel his eyes on me, studying me. I fought the urge to look back, focusing on the video instead. "How was your afternoon after recording?"
