𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART NINETEEN

STILL PROCRASTINATING GOD also for all my American readers, the football mentioned in this chapter is soccer oops

Word count; 2,380

Tomás

Oscar avoided me for the rest of the morning. At breakfast - which was basically brunch, given the hour that Lando woke up - we each had our designated spaces at the table, with Oscar's being across from me, and for the whole meal he didn't even try to make eye contact, let alone ask me to pass him anything, always probing Lando or Charles. Not that they noticed a difference, too busy discussing what the plan was for that day, a debate between watching a movie Charles had spotted on the rack, or maybe going for a drive somewhere.

The downpour concluded just after midday, quickly replaced by sunshine, and I watched from the veranda as Lando kicked a football around, soon challenged by Charles to a proper game. Eventually, intrigued by the noise, Liam and Oscar joined in too, though even then Oscar still didn't bother to acknowledge me, walking onto the lawn as if I didn't exist. I rolled my eyes.

After an hour, Lando ran up to the veranda, crashing onto the bench next to me with a huff, the other drivers yelling at him in disapproval - with him gone, it was two versus one (and therefore unfair). 

"If I take another step I'm going to puke."

"High performance athlete."

Lando elbowed my side, "Don't see you out there."

"I'm busy." I said simply, indicating to cigarette between my lips.  

In reality, I was avoiding participating because my muscles had only just ceased to ache every time I moved - and I wanted to bask in it for as long as I could. Nevertheless, Lando pinched my burn, snatching it away and stomping on it. I glared at him - if there was one way to piss me off, that was surely one of them.

I exhaled, "There's ashtrays for a reason."

"Says the guy who smokes indoors."

I shook my head, stretching my arms as I stood up. Discreetly, Lando released a sigh of relief, thinking he wouldn't receive any retaliation for his actions, only to suck in a breath as I threw him over my shoulders, like a wooden plank that needed moving. He tried to squirm his way out of my grip, but nothing worked. I headed towards the pool.

"No, no, no, no, no!" He begged, resorting to clawing at my neck. "Taz, Taz, stop, stop it, I'm sorry, stop!"

"What was that? Can't hear you!"

"No, no, stop!" He giggled, digging his nails into my skin.

"Hijo de puta, stop that," I spun around, hoping to break loose.

"Put me down!"

"Gonna apologise?"

"I did!"

"Didn't hear you." I stepped onto the patio that surrounded the pool.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He grabbed at my chest, still laughing. "I'm sorry, please, put me down."

"You mean it?"

"Yes, yes I do." He cleared his throat. "On my mother's life, I'm sorry."

"That's a serious thing to swear on," I hovered over the parapet of the pool, "You said the same thing last time."

"Come on, I mean it, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, put me down."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."